So. I am an open person. We all know this. But I am also a protective person. Beautiful, bright, love-filled, and damaged. Curious, inquisitive, responsive, and secretive. I open my arms to the world in order to fold into myself. I love fiercely, widely, in order to buffer and prevent rejection. So. I produce and perform an openness that seems to be deep because for so many others it is. The openness on my outer skin matches the inner vaults of some people's hearts, lungs, circulatory systems. I breathe reflections and musings that fuel me and my fortress, rather than expose me and my fragility. So. I am fragile and strong. I am gendered and I am womanly. I am refined and raw. So. A close friend called me in tears, drunk, three years ago, opened by alcohol and emotion. "People think I'm strong because I'm stoic. They think you're weak because you're soft. But you're a rock. You hold it down. You hold me. You're my rock." Maybe my softness is harder than even I realized. Maybe in a worse way. I always knew that my soft was strong, but hard? I am soft in order to avoid becoming the type of hard that scares me. Maybe because I am soft, I haven't given myself the opportunity to know love. Sunshine so bright and constant it dries up all the rain. The beautiful rain that sometimes causes floods and disasters and is the necessary ingredient in growth. So. I am afraid because I have lived with this flesh-adhered openness for so long, seen so many other souls uncurl and smile at my touch, and never pushed myself to open further. You asked me to teach you vulnerability, told me I'm an expert, and yet I don't know how. I can show you how to live and love like me, which may be radically vulnerable for you, but for me.... So. I am on a journey. I am afraid and I am hesitant. I am ready and it is crucial. Here I go. Ready, set, grow.
