Layers and Expressions of Vulnerability

It is a beautiful, hand-crafted journal, with hand-made paper that has flecks of rose petals throughout, not just the cover. Cream with pink petals. A delight. The first entry is from 1999. The second entry is from 2003. The rest is blank.

I thought I should start keeping a journal so that I have written notes of the issues I want to work on in my group therapy thing this summer. I can't bring myself to write in it. It feels so vulnerable to keep a journal. What if I left it at a job? What if I died and someone found it? Much too vulnerable to commit my feelings to paper.

Why does paper feel so much more vulnerable than a public blog? Such an odd paradox.

I have been more vulnerable here than anywhere else.

Several things, I feel, protect me here.

I believe it would be impossible for anyone to track me down from my blog to me. I have been very careful with the information I've released here.

And, frankly, there is safety in numbers (and boredom). With all the blogs, I doubt seriously than anyone would try to track me down for more than a few minutes. Once it wasn't easy, someone would get bored.

But why do it I do it? I suppose I yearn for the human connection. I yearn for someone to recognize me, as I am, warts and all, and say "yes. I feel that too." I fool myself into believing connection is possible.

If you went onto my computer and cracked the first password to log on, you still couldn't find this. You'd have to know exactly what you were looking for, as I only access blogger through a blackbox site so there is no search history, and the account name and password are not saved. (As a comparison, you can access my credit cards, checking account, 401(k) stock funds and paypal from my computer if you just go to my financial bookmarks. I trust my password for the computer to protect my finances.)

But why? Do I honestly think anyone would care? Chances are, my laptop is far more likely to be stolen than to fall into my parents' hands after an untimely accident. Thieves would care about transferring money via paypal far more than reading about my navel-gazing. Even if I died, my parents would probably respect my privacy and anyone else who found my laptop, objectively, nobody really cares. But I am so vulnerable through this. It has to be protected. With many layers of dissembling and diverting.

When I was a kid and my parents sent me to touchy feely summer camp (TFSC) (think EST-wanna-be for kids), I learned about faking vulnerability. You had to be really open about some insecurity. It just didn't have to be an insecurity that bothered you. Before camp, you'd pick what sort of revelation you could have, where you could share, and where you couldn't. And this was actually an important skill because teenagers and cruel and what happened at TFSC didn't always stay there. One time a TFSC counselor started talking about my weight in front of all the kids. A colleague from high school brought it up for the following 2 years as he 'borrowed' money from me nearly every day. Genuine vulnerability has its cost.

I think I overlearned that skill, however. I had a shrink I saw for years, with whom I never learned to be vulnerable. We would analyze my carefully recorded dreams for myths and archetypes. But I didn't believe in that shit, so it didn't really matter. Meanwhile, my carefully constructed persona grew stronger.

I think I could be vulnerable with John in part because our relationship happened as much (more) through writing as through in-person contact. Days of 50 exchanged e-mails delved far deeper than face to face, because I could write my revelations without him seeing my face that could betray the pain the words attempted to belie. Meanwhile, as I peeled away each layer of the onion, he peeled away a corresponding layer. Never with judgement. Always with kindness--with "yeah, we've been through hell--let's explore that journey together."

I don't trust easily. John appeared at a moment, after I'd done a year of therapy specifically to learn how to be more vulnerable and open, but I don't think I'd ever be that open again. There are healthy reasons to protect that side of myself. It is too vulnerable to be that raw. The layers of persona serve healthy purposes.

I'm actually doing a different, adult version of Touchy-Feely-Summer-Camp this summer, and I will force myself (with lots of preparation and plenty of determination) to be vulnerable, to try to work through the stuff I'm dealing with right now. But it is in Massachusetts--I'll never see any of those people again. Like the blog. As long as it is anonymous, it is safe. But there is a separate pain from not allowing anyone to get close enough to hurt.