The Space Between

There is a space between the way the world sees you and the way you perceive yourself.   

It's not a place  you like to visit often, this in-between space, because it's where you tuck your private fears and insecurities.   It's also the place you park your unrealized hopes and dreams:  the way you want to be versus the way you actually are.

The in-between space is where your subconscious thoughts live.   They can be hard to see, these quiet plot lines, because you're so used to avoiding them that you mostly don't even know they are there.   This is the place where the subconscious thoughts you seek to avoid gain power over you without you knowing it.

Most of us, I think, dwell in an external space:  we focus on keeping up appearances, staying relevant, involved, active.  

We like to participate in thoughts and actions that bolster what we want the world to see.   It is so much harder to stop, withdraw, and examine ourselves in a private, truthful way.    If the outside looks good, why bother with the inside?

When I was drinking, I lived from the outside in.   If you were okay with me, I was okay with me.   End of story.   Alcohol took root in my life because I didn't want to face my private fears.   I didn't want to sit with my feelings of inadequacy, insecurity, boredom or anger.   Why would I?   After a few drinks those feelings got quieter; I could believe in the version of myself I presented to the world.

I lost myself in the chasm between the outside and the inside.   

It's very, very hard to stop and look at the in-between space.  Most of us don't examine it too closely unless we're forced to - if some external force stops us dead in our tracks.    Maybe it's a health problem, divorce, loss of a loved one, pressure from family or friends.  Perhaps we just get sick and tired of being sick and tired.   But it almost always takes a Defcon 5 alert for people to examine their inner self.  

Why would we?   Who has time?  Why go poking at the hornet's nest with a stick when everything is sailing along just fine?

I guess it's a choice, then.   Do you want to live an unexamined life?   Or not?

A friend of mine said to me the other day, "I feel like I'm missing everything that happens to me, even though I'm right there.  I'm so consumed with the next thing, always in a hurry, that I don't absorb anything that is right in front of me."

If you want to visit your in-between space, deprive yourself of the things you do to escape.  It may be staying busy all the time, a drink at the end of the day, a favorite television show, the computer, a bowl of ice cream at night or a cup of coffee first thing in the morning. 

Look at those things you do just because you always do them.    If you always volunteer for committees and activities, try saying no.   If you always watch television at night, try turning it off.    If you always read before you fall asleep, trying lying quietly in bed instead.     Instead of an hour on the computer, try an hour of meditation.

Your in-between space will show up the moment you stop.

I've been experimenting with meditation.  I say 'experimenting', because I don't really know what I'm doing.   I had noticed, though, that as soon as I was alone in the house, I became edgy, restless.  Both kids were off at school, my husband at work, and I would pace around my house, my thoughts racing about what to do next.  Laundry?  Jewelry orders?   Vacuuming?   Blogging?   Run errands?    I'd freeze like a deer in headlights, get overwhelmed, and start puttering away on the computer just to get out of myself.  

I didn't want to be alone with my thoughts, so I'd tweet, facebook, blog.  I just needed to be out in the world, projecting.  

So I tried stopping.   I found a quiet, sunny spot on the floor to sit and think, just to see what came up.

It wasn't pretty.  

All the things left undone descended upon me: the unreturned phone calls, the unmade jewelry orders, the unfilled-out forms, the unmade appointments, the messy house, the unfolded laundry.   Within seconds I was in that in-between space, where I tell myself ways in which I don't measure up:  I'm a procrastinator, I'm disorganized, I'm lazy.    My mind went right to those negative plot lines I feed myself.   When I distract myself, I don't have to think about them.   When I stop, they crush me.

My subconscious negative thoughts gain power when I don't practice looking at them.   They are the white-noise that clutter up my accomplishments, my serenity, my peace of mind, my gratitude.

I resolved to sit with them at least once a day.    I pondered why the negative, undermining thoughts showed up loud and clear, and the positive, peaceful ones evaporated?  

I think it is because what we refuse to look at actually gains power in the dark.    It has certainly been that way for me with drinking, eating, and insecurity.

Now, when I meditate, I try to cultivate an objective observer, one who doesn't put labels on emotions, who banishes judgment.    I'll feel panicky, thinking about all the ways I don't measure up, and my gentle observer will nudge me away from labeling myself.     Look at the panic, she'll say.  It's just a feeling.  Feelings are created in your head, it isn't who you are, it's just how you feel. 

It's a work in progress, to be sure.   As hard as it is to stop, meditate, cultivate the gentle observer, it's even harder to take her with me out into the world.    I'm working on that.

Something popped into my head as I meditated this morning, and it's kind of ironic:

The journey starts when you stop.



Note: Giveaway winner and this month's item in the post below this one... 

Monthly Giveaway - New Item!!

Congratulations to Piper, who won last month's giveaway!   Thank you to all who entered!

I'm giving away one of my new pieces this month - the Fly Away Home Necklace, made with Apatite semi-precious stones.   This necklace is near and dear to my heart, because Apatite is one of my favorite stones.  It is known as the "Stone of Acceptance", and it helps the wearer with healing, balance and seeing inner truth.

Click here to see this necklace listed in my Etsy shop, Shining Stones.

To enter the giveaway, please leave a comment below indicating you would like to participate.    Please provide and email address where you can be reached if you are the winner.  If you don't want to put your email, you can enter directly by emailing me at ellieandsteve@verizon.net.

This giveaway is open internationally.

The winner will be chosen at random on December 1st (my daughter picks a name out of a hat).  

Thank you!

Triggered

In the final days of my thirty day stay at the last treatment center I went to, we talked a lot about triggers.

I sat face-to-face with my counselor, a lean woman in her mid-fifties, with billowy silver-blonde hair and half moon glasses perched on the tip of her nose.   She asked me to make a list of situations that might trigger me - make me want to drink - so we could come up with strategies on how to get through them without succumbing to the obsessive thoughts, the cravings.

I wrote down the obvious ones - weddings, parties, the holidays, social events in town.   

"Dig deeper," she told me.   "Think about your drinking patterns, what made you want to hide from yourself?"

My hand trembled as I wrote two words on the page:    My kids. 

I burst into tears, sobbed into my hands and said, "What is wrong with me?   What kind of mother wants to hide from her kids?" 

She leaned forward, looked me dead in the eye, and said:  "The human kind."

~~~~

It took many months of sifting through guilt, shame and regret to figure out that my feelings about motherhood weren't there because I didn't love my children, or that I wasn't cut out to be a mother.    I love my children beyond measure - I always have and I always will.    

It's just that I don't always like them; there are days when I just want to hit the pause button for a while.   It's more than just the constant needs of two young kids - it's about fear, too.

Sometimes it hits me like a punch in the gut - how fragile the world is, how many bad things can happen, the myriad of ways to get this motherhood thing wrong.   The stakes feel insurmountably high.   My own flaws and inadequacies scream at me like sirens:  How can I possibly not screw them up when I'm so riddled with doubts, insecurities, and neuroses?   

It makes me want to hide, to withdraw from the center of their love.   Not because I don't love them, but because I do.   A huge part of my drinking was the mistaken belief that I was saving them - from me - by removing myself from the equation, bit by bit.

Admitting that to myself was the hardest part of getting sober, but without facing that truth I'm not sure I could have succeeded.  

~~~~

Yesterday was one of those days where I couldn't get out of my own way.   The sound of Finn's voice was sending shivers up my spine.   He was needy, clingy, whiny;  he spent most of the day pressed to my side or draped across my lap.     We had plenty to do yesterday; it wasn't boredom.    

He sensed something in me, I know he did , because he kept saying, over and over, "I love you, Momma.  I'll always love you, know matter what."

"I love you too, Finn," I dutifully replied, each and every time, but my insides were churning:  Don't love me, kid.   Don't need me this much.  I can't take it.

The needier and more clingy Finn got, the more the knife of guilt twisted in my gut.     I plugged him into a television show and snuck outside on the porch for some quiet reflection.  

Own it, I thought.  You don't feel like being a Mom today.   Just let it be what it is.  Let it go.

My counselor's words echoed in my head.   I'm human.   Being a mother doesn't trump my own feelings, frustrations and desires.    Just do the best you can, and wait it out. 

~~~~

Last night I had a drinking dream.   I was at a wedding, and I kept sneaking off to sip red wine from a hidden bottle in the bathroom.    At the end of the night, I went into the bathroom for one final sip before I had to go home, and I looked in the mirror.   My eyes were flat, dead.   I forced a smile - to practice looking normal - and recoiled in horror:   my front teeth were missing.  

I woke up in a cold sweat, and ran to the bathroom to check my teeth, make sure it was just a dream.  

My hands were shaking as I Googled 'dreams about missing teeth'.   The answer left me cold:  Tooth loss dreams are symbolic of the deepest fears human beings have.

Yesterday's feelings of guilt, inadequacy and frustration stirred the beast that lies within me.  It didn't trigger any active cravings or thoughts of drinking, but it woke up that deep rooted, fearful part of me that feels undeserving of my kids' love.

~~~~

When I opened my eyes this morning, my first sight was Finn's sleeping profile; he had climbed into our bed at some point during the night.

I studied the curve of his cheek, his long black lashes.   I placed my hand on his chest, slowly rising and falling with his breath, and felt his strong little heartbeat.

I waited for the fear.   It didn't come.

Today is a new day.

The First Different Choice

This will be the last time I post about Operation Get Healthy.

I lost a total of 60 lbs over the course of 6 months.   I feel better, I look better, and I'm used to the new me, now.    I still go to my Jenny Craig appointment every week to talk to my consultant and get weighed in; I will do this for at least another 6 months.   Maybe longer.

I'm in maintenance mode, now.   I ended up at about 5 lbs less than the goal weight I set for myself in April - a weight that seemed like a pie-in-the-sky ideal at the time.  I laughed when we set the goal weight, because I didn't believe for one second that I could get there.  

"Forget Body Mass Index, forget what the experts say is a healthy weight - where do you want to be?" Jen asked me, six months ago.    "Don't give me a number you think you can achieve, give me a weight you dream you could be, and tell my why you think it's right for you."

I thought for a moment.   I remembered a time, back when I was 23 and working out regularly, eating healthy, with a young metabolism and all the time in the world to concentrate on myself.    One day, after a particularly good workout, I weighed myself - something I rarely did.    I gave Jen the number I saw on the scale that day, a weight I hadn't been in almost twenty years.

"But if I can get within twenty pounds of that weight," I continued, "I'll be thrilled."

"Don't sell yourself short," Jen replied.  "You're just beginning - don't think about the end game, think about now."

About a month ago I stepped on the scale at my weekly Jenny Craig appointment, and there was that magic number. 

I cried.

"See?" said Jen.  "You can do anything you set your mind to."

I wanted to correct her, but I didn't.  I didn't set my mind to achieving that goal weight; I took my mind totally out of the picture.    Getting sober I learned an important lesson:   I can't think my way out of something like this, because my thinking got me to the problem in the first place. 

Jen doesn't know it, but at my first visit with her I surrendered myself to the problem.  I turned myself over to her expertise, her care, and let go of the outcome.    I also prayed on it; along with asking for help with my sobriety, every day I would ask for help with food.   "Please, let me have the strength to do the next right thing," I prayed.   "Take my will out of the equation." 

I know how to eat well, and exercise.  I know the difference between a healthy portion and an unhealthy one.  I can count calories, look at fat content, and understand about balancing fat, fiber and total calories to eat well.

I have known these things for years, but it didn't help me lose weight.   I gained, steadily, over the years, even with all this knowledge tucked away in my brain.

I resisted asking for help with losing weight, because I believed with all my heart that I knew what I needed to know, I just had to do it. 

It's the doing it part that's hard.    I would justify myself right back into a heaping plate of pasta or an extra snack or two, thinking:  it's been a hard day, I worked out a couple of days ago, I didn't eat that much today. 

My thinking got me into trouble every time.  

Because of getting sober, this habit was familiar to me.   I can't stop drinking now, the holidays are coming up.  I'll quit in January.     Even when I knew I had a problem with alcohol, that there was no such thing as one glass of wine, that once I started I couldn't stop, I would try with all my will to alter that reality.   Tonight I'll stop at one, I know I will. 

It was the same thing with food.  I kept telling myself:   I'm not that bad.    Instead of looking at the reality of the situation, that people who don't have a weight problem don't expend tons of mental energy to justify their eating, they don't prop rationales around food choices.  I chose to skirt around the truth.   I ignored photographic evidence that I was getting bigger.    I kept buying bigger sized clothes, thinking to myself:  I'll just get these larger jeans until I can get that extra twenty pounds off.    I did this until it wasn't twenty pounds that needed to come off, it was sixty.  

Like death from a thousand paper cuts, I just kept applying band-aids over the bleeding, thinking I was solving the problem, and ignoring the underlying issue:   I was afraid to tell myself the truth.

It's a sad reality that most of us don't make big changes in our lives until we're in so much pain we have no choice.   Until our health is failing, our family is angry and disappointed, our self-esteem is so low we can't look in the mirror.  

We cling to those things we use to numb ourselves, to fend off boredom, anger, sadness, loneliness, because we think they are working.  

Never - not once - did I finish a fistful of cookies or polish off a huge plate of food, and think:  There. That fixed everything.  Now I feel better.    As soon as I was done with the act of eating, the temporary distraction consumed and gone, all I felt was sad resignation.

Just like with drinking, I only felt temporary relief while in the act of drinking - the minute I stopped and the euphoria wore off, or I woke up feeling tired and sick, I'd think:  See?  I'm worthless and weak.   I did it again.   And I'd reach for the very thing that was causing all the trouble to numb the pain I felt from the guilt, the shame, the fear. 

Change is hard because solutions seem very far away.   It's hard to imagine our lives without these things we cling to; it's far easier to stay stuck in the pattern, stuck in the suffering, because at least it's familiar. 

And, if you're anything like me, instant gratification takes too long.   I want to be there - NOW.   

It doesn't work that way.  Change happens slowly, steadily, subtly.  It is the combination of thousands of choices and actions designed to break a lifetime of habits, thoughts and patterns.

It starts with the first time you eat a low fat yogurt instead of a cookie, or have a soothing cup of tea instead of a glass of wine.   Just that one action is the first step towards freedom.    It doesn't solve everything instantly, so it's easy to overlook how monumental that one action is:    you wanted wine, but you drank tea.   You wanted cake, but you went for a walk.     That is HUGE.

And it hurts.   If you want a relaxing glass of wine or a fistful of chips and you don't have them, you're going to feel it.   The emotions you're seeking to escape from are going to plunk down in your lap and introduce themselves:  "Nice to meet you - I'm boredom.   Have you met my friend anger?   He's here because you feel like you don't have a life of your own.   Thanks for making us feel right at home."

But little by little, next right thing by next right thing, you'll get used to the new you.   Each and every time you break the pattern of stuck, it will be a little easier.   You'll stop seeing the world as full of things you can't have, and start seeing it as a place full of opportunities you never had the ability, or the inclination, to pursue.

Over time, the culmination of all those next right choices will slowly and subtly change your life.   One day you'll realize you're just doing it.   And, oh, it feels so good.    Sure, boredom, anger and sadness still show up; they show up all the time.   But they don't own you.   You have learned to sit with them, right-size them, see them as a natural part of life.    You realize that by trying to erase them, hide from them, you were only giving them more power.

Three weeks ago I went to buy some new jeans.    On a whim, I grabbed a pair that was the same size I wore in college.   They fit.  

I expected to feel jubilant, celebratory, over-the-moon.    What I thought was, "Of course they fit.  This is my new normal."

I had reached the end goal, but the journey never ends.  I'll never be one of those people who can eat anything and not gain weight.   I'll never be someone who can have just one glass of wine.

But I finally, FINALLY, don't look at my life as full of what I can't have.    All I see, everywhere I look, are all the things that are possible.   

And it all starts with the first different choice: the first time I wanted a glass of wine and didn't have one.   The first time I ate salad for dinner instead of a heaping plate of pasta.   

It didn't feel like much at the time, but it was everything.

A Thank You - And A Way To Get Free Jewelry

For me, creating jewelry is more than a way to make a little money on the side, pay for Finn's school, or a hobby. It's a passion that sustains me; it fuels my creative and entrepreneurial spirit. Before sobriety, I never had a hobby, or a passion, and the only entrepreneurial spirit I possessed was being really good at climbing the corporate ladder.

Making jewelry is an unexpected gift, and I'm so very grateful. Creating pieces for people in recovery, or people who are going through some private struggle and need a little something to give them strength, is one way I try to spread a little light and love in the world.

Most of the business at my Etsy shop, Shining Stones, comes from referrals, either through the blog or from friends.

I wanted to take a moment to thank all of you who help to spread the word about my jewelry. It's really starting to go somewhere, and I'm excited. What started as a way to keep the wolf away from the door in early sobriety has blossomed into something bigger - more substantial and meaningful - than I ever could have hoped for.

In the spirit of saying thank you, I'm running a special in October and November.

I want to offer something to those of you who will be purchasing jewelry as gifts this year (or a little treat for yourself, perhaps?).     December can get a little crazy, so I wanted to run a special in October and November to provide a little incentive to get a jump on your holiday shopping (OH how ironic this is, coming from the world's biggest procrastinator).

Starting now, and running through the end of November, if you purchase two or more items from Shining Stones, you can pick out any ring or pair of earrings for FREE. 

So if you've had your eye on something but haven't bought it yet -- and you need to be doing some holiday shopping anyway -- now is the perfect time to get that little something for yourself, too.

To redeem this offer, simply place your order like you normally would at Shining Stones - be sure to include the ring or earrings you would like as a free gift in your order - and then in the message to seller at checkout, please put the following promotional code:  BLOGSPECIAL11.   Click on "Other" as method of payment, and you will get a message saying "Contact Seller to Arrange Payment".   You can ignore this -- I will be in touch with you to direct bill you over paypal, check or money order, less the amount for your free item.       Remember - if you're ordering ring(s) to please put the size(s) you need in the message to seller as well.

If you're looking for more ways to save money, and get more free stuff, you can subscribe to my Newsletter (there is a BIG discount offered through November).   Simply add your email into the widget in the lower right-hand corner of my blog (the one that says 'Subscribe to Shining Stones' Newsletter').  I promise your email is NEVER shared with any third parties, and I only send out newsletters every 4-6 weeks, unless I have a special promotion or sale to announce.   Once you have added your email I will forward the most recent newsletter to you and you can see how to save even MORE.

And now - some NEW ITEMS!   These are just a few examples of some new pieces:

Teaberry Tree Necklace

Teaberry Earrings

Teaberry Bracelet

Infinity Necklace

Buttercrunch Bracelet

Cappuccino Bracelet

Thank you again to all you faithful readers, customers and friends who add so much to my life.   

I treasure all of you.  Truly.

Special Day

Two mornings a week I drop Finn off at a half-day preschool.   As we walk up the stairs to the front door, I always look to my left, and I see the same sight every time:  an elderly couple, sitting in their sun splashed screened porch, reading the paper.   Their two fluffy white heads are pressed close together as they snuggle against each other on the couch.   Sometimes they are still there, doing the exact same thing, at noon when I pick Finn up.

One morning I sat in my car in the school's parking lot and watched them, my head swimming with all the details of my day.   There they sat, silently taking turns flipping the pages of the newspaper, occasionally sipping coffee or moving their lips in conversation.

I wondered what it would be like to be at that stage in life, all the hectic demands of work and children behind them (in my fantasy for them they have four children, all grown now, and living far away).    Are they restless?  Bored?  Serene?  Free?

A couple of weeks ago my husband and I were having a date night - dinner without the kids - at one of those cheesy chain restaurants.   The kind of restaurant where every inch of each wall is covered in sports memorabilia, old Coca-Cola signs, pop art and framed prints of front page newspapers.

On the wall next to our booth was a framed front page article  about the Red Sox winning some big game (forgive me, sports fans, for I know not what it was) back in the 1930s.   There was a black and white picture Ted Williams and Tom Yawkey (then President of the Red Sox) in their glory days.

There they were - on top of the world for that moment in time.   Almost eighty years ago.   I bet when that flashbulb flashed, captured their triumphant smiles, they felt like that moment would never end.   Now they are both gone, although their legacies (for better and for worse) live on in lore, nailed to the walls of cheesy restaurant chains.

The thing is?  It goes fast.   I want to pull up a chair next to the old couple reading their newspaper and pepper them with questions:  tell me about your greatest moment?  Is there one greatest moment, or does it all just blend together in one indecipherable blur?  How fast did it go, really?   Does it feel over?  Does each day feel ripe with possibility, or just something to be endured?   Do your memories make you wistful?  Sustain you?   What do you look forward to every day?

I'm sitting here typing this blog today because I have too much to do.   I'm frozen with the sheer number of little details, deadlines and obligations that are tugging at me from all directions.   It feels, on some days, insurmountable... but then I remember how last Tuesday felt insurmountable, too, and now I can't even remember why.   

I know last Friday at this time I was arriving in Ojai, California - embarking on what would become a life-changing weekend for me.    It feels like all I did was blink my eyes and it's seven days later.   I'm tempted to wallow, to moan about how un-special today is, how I wish it was last Friday, instead.

But this Friday is special, too, because I can't ever live it over again.  

This morning I gently rubbed Finn's back and whispered to him that it was time to wake up.  He stretched, rolled over, and his little round belly peeked out of his Spongebob Squarepants jammies.    He blinked twice, rubbed his eyes, and said sleepily, "Oh, good.  It's you.  I love you.   Can we have waffles?"

Yes, it's a special day indeed.

Escape from Wallow-Land

My name is Ellie, and I am vulnerable.

I've been thinking a lot about vulnerability, and how it gets a bad rap.   In our society we're programmed to admire achievement, determination, drive.  We like to believe we're impenetrable.   At least I did, for a long time.

It takes a lot of guts to admit you're vulnerable, that you have weaknesses, soft spots, chinks in your armor.  

It takes even more guts to ask for help.

Think about it - when was the last time you asked for help?   Especially with big fears and insecurities that you can barely admit to yourself, let alone to someone else.

I think women, in particular, internalize suffering.   When we're feeling inadequate we eat, we drink, we starve, we run faster, we work harder, we buy more.   We stuff.    We pour our energy into keeping up appearances - arranging our emotions like movie props - fearful that if we don't look the part, act the part, that we'll fall away from the pack.

When hit with hardship - loss, divorce, addiction, depression, anxiety - we tend to burrow inward, searching for answers from our own depths:  What am I doing wrong?   Why does it look so easy for her?   Why can't I stop eating/drinking/shopping/starving?  Why am I so sad/bored/lonely/angry?   All too often, the most important mission becomes making sure nobody knows how badly we're feeling inside.  

For years I spent so much mental energy mulling over my inadequacies, wallowing in my shortcomings, it was mind-blowing.    It was just so comfortable there, in wallow-land.   I was used to this version of me-as-not-measuring-up.     Like a ratty old pair of sweatpants that I couldn't bring myself to throw away because they felt like an extension of me, I shuffled around in my shortcomings wondering how it is that everyone else seemed so, well, happy. 

When I hit rock bottom all my movie props came crashing down, and the dark underpinnings of my world were exposed for all to see.

I could no longer pretend that the outside version of me matched the inside version of me; my fall was spectacular.   People couldn't pretend to look away any more than I could pretend that I had it all together.

I braced myself for my worst fears to come true:  now that people know the truth, that I'm weak, I'm scared, I'm lost, that all the put-togetherness I've been projecting is one giant ruse, they will all go away. 

That didn't happen.   Not even close.   I wasn't mocked, or shunned, or ridiculed.   The opposite, in fact - because my vulnerabilities were so visible, so obvious, so out there - people felt more comfortable letting me inside, sharing some of their private fears.  

People in all areas of my life, not just in my recovery circle, started opening up more, letting down their guard just a bit.   Not because I had all the answers, but because I didn't, and I could no longer pretend differently.   I no longer wanted to pretend differently.  

By asking for help I learned I wasn't the only mother who felt trapped, inadequate, disorganized, exhausted and scared out of her mind much of the time.  I surrounded myself with other mothers who fought back the fear, doubt and insecurity with laughter, a sympathetic ear, and the ability to give loving advice without judging.

By asking for help I discovered a network of people who had been through the darkness of addiction, come out the other side, and who could shine a light on the path for me, too.   

I still relapse with this stuff all the time.  I'll start feeling inadequate, insecure, and the wallowing and self-selecting out of the club will begin:    I don't know what I'm doing with the blog, the jewelry business, the writing.  This person or that person does it better than I ever could.  I can't, I won't, blah blah blah.  I'll tunnel inward, deeper into my fears, and wonder why I'm so miserable.   Eventually shouldering the pain alone becomes too great, and I'll think:  oh yeah, ask for help.

If I see someone who seems to have it together, who is achieving things that I have only dreamed about, I try not to view them as superior, or a threat, or competition -- that's just the ratty old sweatpants talking. 

I can ask them for help.   I used to feel it made me weak, less-than, to admit there are things I can't do well, things I don't know.  Because I used to think vulnerability was a dirty word.

Now I know it takes true courage to be vulnerable.  

Vulnerability, like shame, can be a great teacher.   

We can't heal what we can't face.