Yes, We all have to be Vulnerable

 

 

I was given the opportunity to be introduced and watch Ted Talk videos recently--not that I have a ton of time on my hands (that's not the point though). The lessons are phenomenal and no doubt have a connection to everyone. After watching The Power of Vulnerability one distinct memory came to mind.

 

Looking back, freshman year could've been yesterday. I wonder where all the time has gone. Three years. Three years gone. And one more one the way. I cannot see myself, however, as a Senior and to those who came after me, you are all still freshman. I don't want to see you grow up. But just as it is hard for me to see you all get older, I do too. Next year I'll be gone, although, but as yesterday began one of many "last", "last" does not mean "to end"; it allows for new opportunities. Most importantly, "last" never means forgotten.

 

Memories from the freshman year are still clear as day.

 

Creative Writing had to have been one of my favorite classes. And fortunately it was 4th period, the longest class period. As the twelve weeks dwindled to two, my final portfolio had to be created. I knew it our final pieces had to be edited, not by just anyone though. My teacher was taking on one-to-one conferences to edit pieces. Small naïve me had no idea what to ask her or how to approach editing my creative writing. I just wrote. I wrote, and wrote, and wrote. In my eyes it was not something for all eyes to see.

 

But let me take this moment to be vulnerable and let you read this piece:

 

Answer Me

            Whipping against my skin, the wind agitated me.  Autumn leaves colored the bleak path ahead, dancing in the gust while carrying hints of memories I once forgot.  My bare feet seeped into the softening soil, slowly suctioning to the gooey surface. 

            Distant thuds of waves rebounded off the cliff in a reverberating echo.  Oceans mixed with a slight hint of forest pine swirled into my nose, provoking tears that became suppressed behind my mask, hidden to the world.  A tight smile, wired and jagged, pricked at my lips waiting to be shown to my world of hatred, I permanently lived in.  Emotion left my eyes long ago, turning a warm spring meadow to an unrelenting sea storm. Brewing. Just beneath the surface as if one drop of rain could unleash overpowering anger.  Enraged.

            Seizing one last full breath, I tore away from the exposed trial dragging my mud-soaked feet from the ground.  Feeling lighter than a feather, I sprinted away to the last place I’d ever see.

            Thinning from a bushel of tangled trees, I gained speed aggressively.  Increasing.  Breaths became shallow pants.  Air fleeted my lungs, coursing my throat dry.  Crimson hair caught within the mangled branches unsuccessfully blocked a road I’d already started to race through.

            From smooth to rough, slick to rugged, rocks slit my feet open.  Gravel flew in the air just as unseen words.  No solid surface to find through thick or thin.  Current physical pain slipped unnoticed as I gasped for air to inhabit my burning lungs.  

Red flashed behind my closing eyes.  Scarlet slid from open wounds plaguing my damaged figure.  A disembodied voice collapsed my world. Words began rebounding off walls, slicing each gash deeper than the last. 

Holding back whimpers another impact rattled throughout my languished body.  Rage consuming eyes connected to mine. Power enveloped his pupil’s, feeding off freshly produced pain. Wanting more; fruitlessly.  Abandoning the first body, distorted by broken bones, a humorless laugh curled from his lips.  Lifeless.  Cruel.  Inhuman. 

“M-mom?” my voice croaked from my throat.  Screams echoed silently inside my head.  Unceasingly.  Ringing pounded my ears.  Endlessly. 

Boots incased my vision, hiding my non-breathing mother.  Cocking back the heavy leather boot, it collided into me, jolting myself away from my living nightmare.  Inescapable.  The edge loomed ever closer, awaiting my fateful decision.

            Dwelling in the horizon, a half disk sunk under the ocean consuming the clear blue sky in shades of zealous pinks and passionate oranges.  Sparse clouds decorated the crumbling sky allowing rocks to perish under my weight.  Whistling wind howled against my ears.   Ripping through thin cotton clothes, the gust tainted the temperature touching my chilling skin.

            Mere seconds passed before frigid ice water cloaked my body, scattering my mind of any coherent thoughts.  Pressure enclosed above me, shoving me beneath a crystalizing surface, with help of falling momentum.

            Time wouldn’t heal scars covering my suffering body, for it didn’t exist anymore.  Icing water numbed my skin.  A cold fire ignited within me alighting dusted memories to ashes. Vanishing along with the rest of me, I was nothing more than a hallucination.

            A wish granted.  A life taken.  For once death listened to my silent cries of despair.

That's the exact advice my teacher gave  me. Be vulnerable. For writing, it builds characterization and connections. And same for people. It opens up for all other emotions. But to numb vulnerability, numbs all emotions. Vulnerability is not something we like, and it's most definitely not something we want to give into. But if we want to live wholesomely with love and belonging there will always be sacrifice.

This vulnerability applies to every aspect in life, no matter if we want to believe it or not. Knowing when to allow ourselves to be vulnerable is the key.

Brave

“Among 12- to 17-year-olds, 47 percent of girls and 34 percent of boys report having been bullied either face-to-face or online, according to a survey by Mintel, a market research firm,” the New York time states in a recent article.

And it’s true. I know it. You know it. But what do we do about bullying? Most of us are bystanders watching the events unfold, if that is to mean watching statuses posted on line, verbal or physical.

But bullying is not just relevant in a middle school or high school setting. Become aware that bullying happens in every school, at every age. The idea is not to brush off the situation. Now after being the victim, perspective  change.

Two years. Two consecutive years.  By two different people.

At the naïve age of 8, I didn’t know. I didn’t push away the fact that I was being threatened, but I evaded questioning why it was happening.

I avoided him. Yet it was constant. I couldn’t get away. The words were thrown at me in our small groups. But I didn’t want to tattle. I didn’t want to find trouble, if that meant I dealt with the threats of being killed, then so be it.

It was in the corner of the classroom that I remember him stating, “I’m going to kill you. I’ll take a knife and slit your throat.” Or another common one; “I have a gun. I’m going to find you and shoot you.”

As an eight-year-old I didn’t know how to react. I knew it wasn’t normal. Kids in my small group just watched. Their mouths silence. And I was alone. Not a word was ever spoken about the reoccurring event.

With the third-grade rolling around the following year, to say the least, I was relived. Until I was targeted again.

Another student decided it was ok to, again, verbally abuse. Yet this time instead of just in the classroom, it was at recess too. I couldn’t escape. I tried to continue playing with my friends, but it wouldn’t always work like that. He began to snag my friends form underneath me, promising them that he was better, saying that I didn’t need friends. And that they were not allowed to talk to me anymore.

The two years were rough. But looking back these events created who I am. I’ve become more aware of the circumstances around me. And with October here, it’s time to advocate for Anti-Bully Awareness Month.

It is never ok to sit back and watch the bullying happen. That makes a situation ten times worse. It makes you feel like you are stuck in the same position. There are programs dedicated toward the prevention of bullies. And even in music you can find liberating messages.

For Sara Bareilles, her song “Brave” is leaving in its wake a message to take a stand and be who you are.

“It’s acknowledging our own internal silence,” Bareilles said, “What are we not speaking out loud because we are afraid of what that might expose us to, if that is judgment, criticism or vulnerability?”

This song is for encouragement and motivation to stand up for ourselves, mostly, but for others as well. Because you are recognizing that something is wrong, or you’re not acting yourself, it gives you power to change. Rise above the chamber that’s confining you, and breaking the chains that bind you in darkness.

“Letting the light in is a metaphor to the truth,” Bareilles said. “It is such a beautiful, broad concept.”

 

You don’t have to look far for comfort. Standing up is a way to grow into your own skin. It teaches fearlessness and courageousness.

If a friend is not someone you can lean on, there are people who have been in your shoes. No matter what you believe. Someone is experiencing pain, just as you are.

 

And I find it easiest to find meaning within lyrics, if that maybe on the radio, on the internet, or elsewhere. You can always find lyrics that are connectable to describe you situation. Always.

 

To read Anti-Bullying from The New York Times:

http://www.nytimes.com/2013/10/01/business/media/the-fight-against-bullying-in-schools-expands-to-store-shelves.html

To listen to Sara Bareilles “Track-by-Track” Commentary of Brave:

http://www.vh1.com/video/interview/sara-bareilles/937407/brave-track-by-track.jhtml