We've been through a lot to say the least. At one point in time I would even venture to say I hated you. I hated the idea of being known to people that could so easily turn their backs on me and hurt me in ways I was a little too familiar with. I hate the idea of knowing myself so well that I would be able to vocalize the idea that sometimes I'm just not ok.
But I've also loved you. I love the way you push me out of my comfort zone to deep, meaningful friendships with those God only knew that I needed in my life. I love the way you've pushed me to love myself before I can love others. More importantly, I love the way you taught me the importance of sharing a table with others, and of sharing myself with others.
You've given me the extreme highs and the extreme lows, but you've also given me the extreme comfort in getting to know you in the day-to-day. You've given me real, raw conversations and true, authentic connections with people that I would have completely missed if I decided it wasn't worth sharing a little piece of my heart.
See for me, I know that my fear of you is related to my past. I'm always a little too scared for anyone to find out that I'm no where near as put-together as I would hope to seem. You taught me that I can actively choose to avoid living in darkness and fear by opening up little pieces of the story God has given me and living in the light of community. If nothing else, my struggling relationship with vulnerability has taught me to look past emotions, seek the why, and be willing to grow from it.
So vulnerability, I know I've been avoiding you for a while. Quite frankly, I would be lying if I told you I would ever not be intimidated by you. I would be lying if I told you I could wholeheartedly embrace you in every situation right now without the fear of seeming weak or broken. I stray away from you by bottling up the truth and acting like I have my act together, but here's to a change in season. A change in willingness to share my hurt and joys so that I can show that humanity is even more beautiful than perfectionism.
Here's to sharing my raw, truthful burdens with those who are willing to help me shoulder them. Here's to knowing there is beauty in community and walking alongside others in their struggles.
Thank you, vulnerability, for being the thing that draws me back to myself and draws me into myself, Jesus, and others. We're not quite done yet, but I'm glad to have you back on my team.