Opening up to Vulnerability

“There is no growth in comfort.”

– Rachel Rainbolt

Beautiful things can grow in unexpected places. Putting myself out there in this public way is difficult for me. With a Virgo natal moon guiding my emotions, I second guess myself, hearing my inner critic tear away at any confidence. “Why would anyone care what I have to say?” “I sound like a crazy person.” “What are people going to think?!” are just some of the things going on in my head. Ego speaks from fear. Instead of getting sucked into that spiral of negative thoughts, I’m choosing to breathe through it. “I hear you Ego, but I don’t believe you. I know it is risky to be vulnerable and you are trying to protect me, that’s what you are designed for. Thank you for being diligent. ”

When I acknowledge the fear and big feelings I have, I notice they pass more quickly. Space is made in my body and I can hear the softer, gentler voice of my higher self. The feelings of confidence and strength in speaking my truth wash over me like a warm blanket. This warm and cozy feeling is how I feel when I know I am in alignment with myself and Spirit. The feeling of expansiveness and goodness, love and light is where I choose to be guided from.

So, I am going to dive right into it. Bare my soul and share one of my most intimate experiences with you. Here. Out in the open on the Internet. I take a deep breath and walk through the fire to come out stronger on the other side.

I used to be a writer. And then I stopped. This is the story:

When I was young, I had a natural love and talent for writing. I wrote poems and stories, and of course kept a diary. I remember being asked to go into other classrooms in elementary school to read my stories aloud. My proud mom would share her vision of me going to Pepperdine and becoming a famous journalist one day.

In the middle of my senior year of high school, we moved to a different part of San Diego which meant I had to change schools. Just before we made the move, I was in the bedroom I had for most of my life until then, my safe space. I remember laying on my bed, writing in my diary, and confiding the intimate details that I had given my virginity to a close friend of mine earlier that week. My mom gave me a smile from the doorway as she watched me close the diary up and pack it away in a box. The movers were coming the next morning and I had plans to spend the night at a friend’s who was hosting a little going-away slumber party for me. My secret little side-plan was to meet and hook up with my guy-friend again, he conveniently lived across the street.

In the midst of having a blast with my friends, I got a frantic phone call from my mom. “Come home now.” The sound of her voice made my stomach drop and get stuck in my throat at the same time. Something was very wrong. I asked if my brother and dad were ok, thinking they must have been in an accident or some other terrible news was to follow. She repeated for me to “come home now.” I immediately did as I was told.

I never expected what I faced when I walked through that door. A hysterical mother holding my diary, waving it around while my brother and dad uncomfortably looked on. “Friends don’t fuck, Christen.” Those words still sting inside me like the first time I heard them over twenty years ago. She knew. She had read my diary. My inner-most secrets and details of the.most.vulnerable. time I had encountered in my life up until that point, was being thrown against me and used to bring me great feelings of embarrassment and shame. The rest of the night is a blur, I remember crying myself to sleep.

I was 17. That was when I stopped writing. I didn’t feel like I could open up and share myself again. No more diary. No more poems. No more stories. My trust was broken. My voice silenced.

And now here I am. With encouragement from a mentor, I finally started keeping a diary again last year. I purchased one with a combination lock to help me break through my wall I had built around that hurt from years ago. I had to work through the deep-seated betrayal by someone I trusted. Then the poems started coming.

And now, I am sharing myself with you in this intimate way. Open, honest, raw, and completely vulnerable. The wounds have healed but scars remain. The scars have stories to tell. I am reclaiming my voice.