I was struck hard this morning as we dipped our toes into new waters of vulnerability and honesty. One of the women in the group is more reserved. She's a grandmother whose children are long gone and finds herself in the place of caring for her aging and ill father. She bears weight that is heavy and yet she shows up each week and offers encouragement both in word and in deed.
She's quiet and thoughtful; kind and generous and loving. As we poured into the subject of the morning which covered 'recycling our pain by sharing our stories with others', she peeled back the protective blankets over her heart and laid bare information she had allowed to seep in deep. It was information that didn't resonate with the rest of us at all, and as she brought it out into the light, into the space of that room, she too began to see it was all lies that have kept her from truly embracing all she is created to be.
The other leader in our group is even more gregarious than I am. She is bouncy, light, fun, and energetic. She knows no strangers, and she is readily vulnerable and transparent. She is infectious in the best way and her extroversion draws people to her in droves. The more reserved woman looked at my co-leader and said wistfully "I love people. But no one knows it. They all see me as solemn, or depressing, or reserved. I pray often for more joy, but I just don't have it like you do." I waited for her to finish laying down her burden before I spoke, but my heart was about to leap from my chest as I watched her pain and disappointment over the intrinsic makeup of who she is. I started quietly and told her that I think joy doesn't always look like bouncy, laughing light. Sometimes joy is the steady calm that braces another in her circumstantial storm. Sometimes joy can look like a strong hug that gives life to another and shares in her delight. Sometimes joy is quiet and does the dishes for the fifth time in a day or hums softly while sweeping. Other times joy is the small stretch of a smile that neither laughs nor bubbles, and yet rests in the peace of shared excitement. Joy can be tired, and quiet, or light filled and bubbly, but joy as it exists is not inherently demonstrative. It is an internal culture of living and being, not always an outward expression of excitement. I looked into her and said, I see you as neither depressed or solemn. I see you as an introvert, and the women who need to hear the power of your story are the women who won't be comfortable sharing their stories in the presence of bouncy, bubbling light. Those women need steady hands and soft hearts, they need the safe space that your personality cultivates. Those women who are overwhelmed by someone like me need someone like you to give them a place to share safely. If we were all bouncing off of the walls with no one to steady us, we would be wrecked.
Her eyes grew larger and softer as the other women chimed in to affirm her steady loyalty, her response to a crisis years ago that had been gracious and love-filled, her consistent demeanor and gracious quiet. Here sat a woman now a grandmother, who had been lured to believe that due to childhood experiences she had somehow been molded and warped into something other than who she was put here to be. Those of us in the room gave her back the gift of herself. The beautiful amazing gift of individuality and the space to revel in it. To see that realization light into a woman's eyes, her skin, her soul, is a miracle to behold. And then, the finishing blow; to have another woman thank her for being so honest, so vulnerable, which allowed us to come in and speak truth over her- truth that has power to heal decades of hurt, rejection, and self-doubt. Do you see? Do you see that when she found safe space and took a risk to share her struggle, that the women in the group pulled tight into a beautifully formed net to catch her and lift her into an atmosphere she never knew she could breathe in? We brought her tired and weary soul into space that gave her breath and life and truth, and it was evident in her response that the truth was setting her free. I get giddy with the thought that I am allowed to be part of this. This healing and repairing craft of honesty and vulnerability in the safety of women. I know not everyone has this, and it tears at my heart in that knowing.
Dear ones- If you haven't found places like this where simple acts of bravery become monumental acts of change, please; do not lose heart. I'm leaning into my 40s, and am just finding this space, and part of the reality is I'm helping to create it. My risky vulnerability is helping to make room for others, just as this sweet grandmother's did today. While I would never want any of you to go pouring out your lifeblood into unsafe vessels, I do want to encourage you that with effort, work, time and prayer, groups of safe and life-giving women do exist- but they probably look nothing like you might expect. Keep your eyes and hearts open to possibility and expect that you can see and be beautiful miracles.
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