Some Thoughts on Vulnerability

In which I, much like the empty set, am both closed and open

Mornings are lovelier with mental clarity.

If it weren’t for the fact that sets can be both closed and open (clopen), I’d have a hard time proclaiming that I am simultaneously very open and incredibly closed off.

In my categorization of friendships, I noted that fairly early on in a friendship I would be more than comfortable sharing a multitude of personal details and anecdotes. In this sense I am quite open. A more general rule: I do not think there is any information about myself I am uncomfortable with people being aware of. But I think the phrasing here is important— information. The way in which I admit to feelings is very matter-of-fact: I went to class, ate lunch, cried over a sense of loneliness, finished my paper, contemplated some principles. A fairly average day.

But the way in which I tend to describe things results in a loss of feeling. As much as Show Don’t Tell is somewhat annoying writing advice, I think the distinction is exactly that. I’ll tell you anything. As it turns out, I’ll show you nothing.

This isn’t to say that narrating the contents of my life is entirely worthless. My understanding is that this is a thing people are not always comfortable doing. So, when I do this, it tends to create a sort of signal, that I am trusting you with this information. In practice I think it has made people more willing to open up about themselves. Borrowing from a friend, if people do trust me this tends to be a large contributing reason for why.

And I think that is quite nice, if a thing which comes easily to me is somehow able to put people at ease. I feel closer to people when I come to know and understand things about them, so one way or another, some greater closeness is obtained. As a note, I don’t share these details with the aim of wanting someone to counter-share. I do it because I want to. The return doesn’t really matter, even if it winds up being nice.

But I think the trouble comes with the illusion of mutual understanding and closeness. Someone has been vulnerable with me and perceives me to have done the same, only, I haven’t. As it turns out, I am rather allergic to vulnerability.

Vulnerability doesn’t take the form of information for me. I think I try and stick to the things I say; if I say something to one person then I don’t mind if they attribute it to me. But then in the exchange of information, I have not given up anything that required any trust to give up. My action is meaningless.

Instead vulnerability takes a different form in me. I have yet to determine all of the ways in which I might do so, but three areas come to mind: asking for help, expressing a want, or showing that I am capable of being hurt.

The first one is straightforward: I hate asking for help. But this will range from a hesitance to ask a clarifying question in class, to being on the edge of my sanity and refusing to ask someone for comfort. This is the most difficult thing for me to do. I hate it. I cannot stand the idea of appearing as someone who was by herself insufficient, that I could not take care of myself entirely.

All three are really quite similar in feeling. Expressing wants is difficult. Over time I’ve gotten better at lower-level wants; simple preferences, suggestions, opinions, and such. But any want that is a non-insignificant demand on someone remains difficult. It’s one thing to accept an offer— or perhaps in classic Anika fashion, failing to refuse it entirely. Going out of my way to ask seems impossible. I hate being a person who wants. I don’t want to bother people.

The last one is perhaps the most distinct in description. But really all of them come down to wanting to be perceived as strong and sufficient on my own. Nothing should be able to hurt me. It feels like I’m losing to someone, if they are capable of hurting me. I hate losing, also.

But so the result of this is that even when I feel bad, I hate to show what hurt looks like. Last night I gave a very loose description of what this looked like in a single case— I then promptly returned home and hid myself away while trying to convince myself that I had not just committed some terrible act. I have finally decided this was a good and correct action, but still. It horrifies me, a bit.

I think another issue is that the lack of vulnerability suggests that I never share anything capable of affecting me, in some way. My ability to care is hidden. There is no emotional connection.

And of course it perpetuates the issue of loneliness. If I cannot be open in this way then I shall never cross the threshold and break my loneliness. Which is quite, ah, suboptimal.

The trouble of course is that I am horrendously stubborn, and the sense of hatred I feel for being perceived as not being sufficient on my own is strong. I think this ties to actual characterizing traits of mine (discipline/dignity), which is further troublesome. I must sever the excess behavior without cutting out my own personality, I think. Everything in moderation.

As for what I plan to do: exposure therapy isn’t a bad place to start. As much as I wish to pretend otherwise I am capable of being hurt. I can express this. But I wonder if vulnerability is enough to solve the problem of loneliness, or if this is just another improvement I should make for unrelated reasons.

It is bothersome that I have taken so long to notice this issue. I suppose I thought I was just keeping my composure. And that does matter, in some way. It’s silly. I don’t sleep and if I didn’t state as much you wouldn’t notice. But also, no wonder I find that I know a shocking number of people who seem to view me positively despite me not understanding why. The dramatic phrasing is: liked by nearly everyone, loved by no one. I suppose I do not allow myself to be loved.

And yet I do know I am capable of vulnerability. I have at least once broken down these walls. Perhaps I can do so again. I think it took a great deal of trust that I wouldn’t worry people. Which is odd, in a way. I want to be cared for and yet I hate when people worry over me. This is also how I tend to care for people but I do not know how to express it and so, worry is an easy substitute. I still have many things to learn. I am slowly learning the mannerisms that allow me to most clearly be the kind of person I am. These were not intuitive.

Perhaps this is not the worst of my problems, but this is a large one, and one which has bothered me for some time. So, if nothing else, I am pleased that I can at last articulate what I mean.

There is a bit of a guide to my behavior. Matter-of-fact narration is easy. A summary of events and actions. Or even a clinical statement of the kind of person I am. I guess what gets left out is symptoms and feelings. Something like visual disarray? It’s odd— at times I would occasionally act out some stilted performance of feeling off and for some reason this did not cause that same fear of perception. I suppose it comes down to the fact that as long as I, for my actuality, am not perceived as wanting, then I do not mind. Expressing visual distress was a form of communication when I felt the other forms did not convey myself well.

At the time I thought this was because I did not feel things in that way which is detectable. I was wrong. Instead I had buried it within myself, an odd sort of double-bluff. I was hurt; I would feel it, then I would deny that I felt a thing, and would proceed to act out a feeling to express the rational thought I had that “hurt had been experienced by me”. Yet I cannot deny how I feel or act when I lock myself in my room. I am not immune.

I can’t concretely express how to spot vulnerability, though. The trouble is that I might accompany such an idea with enough defenses that it becomes matter of fact. Enough explicit commands to not worry about me, that I am fine. These have become a crutch.

I suppose I shall have to learn the language of expressing hurt, of loosening my tone and allowing my facial muscles to constrict accordingly. To learn the way in which I might express this. I do not want to mimic something that is not mine. But I also do not know how to express this because I have avoided it; I suppose I shall just try some things on until I find one which feels correct to what I am.

At least now I have an articulation. I think I can now try and fix this.