Why is it considered brave to weather the storm without breaking down? Countless times since my husband passed away I have been called brave. I don’t understand this concept, it is not as if I had a choice, I just had to move forward. For me, it isn’t bravery, it is a necessity, putting one foot in front of the other.

I have struggled with writing this post for the past two and a half years. A friend recently told me not to worry about what others will think, just write it. So here I am, being quietly vulnerable. This isn’t going to be a fun post for me, but maybe once it is out of my brain, I can move on.

I am a very animated and outgoing person, I am not a person prone to drama in my everyday life. I much prefer positivity rather than negativity, and laughter rather than tears. I am empathetic and can easily cry and pray with and for friends. I am happy to help others bear their burdens. Why do I find it so hard to cry and pray for myself? Why do I feel that if I cry or ask God for a personal need, I am weak? I find it hard to be vulnerable, to let my guard down. I find it nearly impossible to cry cleansing tears for myself and my grief in the presence of others.

Andy passed away during COVID from a stroke. Because of the restrictions, it was a time when people could not grieve alongside me. There was limited personal or physical contact with others. His memorial was done over Zoom and is now on Youtube. I sat in my dining room alone and listened to people share memories. It was beautiful, but I was isolated. His funeral happened a year and a half later. It was a small private event and is also on YouTube. People from across the globe attended in real-time and it was beautiful, but still, I was isolated.

I had friends who cared for me and prayed for me, but the thing I longed for was someone to just hold me while I cried. Not just anyone, I wanted strong male arms to hold me and give me comfort. That is something I have longed for my whole life. Not having a father figure in my life brought that wound to the forefront. It wasn’t until times of despair I realized how much I needed a strong male in my life. That doesn’t mean being physically strong. While that is nice, I need them to have a backbone. For me, it means emotionally strong, spiritually strong, and mentally strong. Someone I can respect and who has the ability to open up and be vulnerable alongside me.

That is so hard for me to admit. I have long been the independent, strong-willed, get-things-done woman. Admitting that I need someone feels like an impossible task. The first time someone hugged me after the pandemic subsided I thought I would shatter and break down. I felt it bubbling up inside me and I cut it off. I locked my emotions down tight. I couldn’t be that vulnerable with another person.

Most strong women cry in the shower, did you know that? Rather than appear weak, we isolate ourselves and cry while we are alone and no one sees it. Or we scream into pillows. Doing whatever we have to do in order to remain smooth on the surface.

I remember when the planes hit the towers on 911, I just knew Andy was going to the desert again. Deployment was imminent. I just had stitches removed after major surgery and was finally allowed to shower. I made my excuses and slipped away, turned the water on hot, and stood there and cried until the water turned cold.

I did not want to burden anyone with my tears, my feelings, my anxieties about what may come. I could not bring myself to voice the worry I had, but I also could not show the weakness I felt at being powerless.

Being vulnerable is all about trust. I have trust issues. There it is. There have been very few people in my life with whom I have had a level of trust to show my vulnerability. I realized the struggle I was bumping up against was my own fear of being vulnerable. Miriam-Webster defines vulnerability as being capable of being physically or emotionally wounded or open to attack or damage.

Who wants to risk it? Why would I put myself in a space like that? I learned a long time ago that if I put everything out there, then no one could use it against me. If I learned to laugh at myself, others’ laughter wouldn’t bother me. So, I tend to be very open and honest about things and tend to go through life with a sense of humor. However, there is a part of me that will remain closed off until someone shows me they can be trusted.

I’m pretty positive that it’s why I’m afraid to date anyone. So therein lies the problem, life has become a Catch-22. A problem for which the only solution is denied by a circumstance inherent in the problem or by a rule (per Wikipedia).

I have been slowly making my way out of my comfort zone, being vulnerable. I know what I need, and I know what I don’t need, it’s still a learning process in this journey of self-discovery. So the challenge to myself is to take cautious steps forward and to keep taking them even when I want to retreat.

This is hard. But really, it’s just me being vulnerable.