The power of vulnerability

I don’t often reread my blogs. But I recently decided to go back and read from the beginning. It was a strange experience.

In some ways, I don’t even recognize that person. I was so unsure of myself. So scared about what I was doing. But I also was so raw and honest that now reading them and knowing how many others of you have read them makes me cringe a little bit.

I don’t regret anything I’ve written (though I still think of deleting the eating-out-of-the-trashcan entry), because I truly believe every word has gotten me to where I am today.

Still, it’s almost an out-of-body experience to read them. To see the pictures. To remember the struggles. I was determined then, but I was still so worried about disappointing people. Disappointing myself.

When new people come into my life, I have to make a decision when (or if) I tell them about my last two years. And then I have to make another decision—am I proud? Or am I embarrassed?

Depending upon the person, I sometimes hover between the two. Sure, I realize I’ve accomplished something. But I also can’t help but sometimes feel embarrassed about the fact that I had to accomplish so much. It’s a constant battle for me—shame versus pride.

And sometimes I also kind of like knowing I have this secret. If I meet someone new and don’t really care whether or not that person stays in my life? I can just be Erika as I am now. If I choose to let you in, though, and tell you about Erika as I am now, but also Erika as I was and am becoming, that means you’re special.

Though it makes me vulnerable to share my story, it also makes me a little bit powerful. Maybe one day, I’ll be comfortable being both.