there is power in vulnerability: Anna Eichelberger
“We are at our most powerful moment when we no longer need to be powerful.”
– Eric Michael Leventhal
I think struggling feels a lot like being too far out in the ocean. Floating in the water, large waves approaching quickly. Initially, you dive under its surface before a wave crashes, its cool surge streaming over your body as you cling to the ocean floor. You move with the waves fluidly, finding rhythm in their embrace. With each resurface, you grow breathless, a shallow tempo within your chest. Salt finds its way in your eyes, stinging as you blink, your fingers growing pruny. If you look away for even a split second, a wave will collapse around you, your body tangled within its depth. Seashells start to cut into your feet, something unsettling brushes past your arm. You come back up, wet hair clinging to your cheeks, heart racing as you huff out of frustration. Another wave, dive again, gasp for air. Wave after wave after wave. It’s a routine as the waves grow bigger, stronger, their tide pulling you a little further out each time. Before you know it, your feet no longer trace the ocean’s floor. You begin to tread. Although your arms are sore and your legs feel tired, you continue to stay afloat.
Glancing behind, there are sunbathers on the sand. To them, it simply looks like you are swimming. You panic to see another wave coming your way. You must face it, must submerge into the water yet again. When you pop back up, all you can think about is how on earth you’re going to manage the next one.
Considering asking for help, you don’t want to bother anyone with a potential attempt to rescue you. The water’s cold and the waves are strong. Although you’re sea sick, you don’t want to pass that burden onto someone else. So, you keep diving until you’re shivering and your chest burns with each lame attempt you make to breathe.
The funny thing about mental health is that it’s invisible. You are the only person who possesses the knowledge of the inner workings of your mind. To an outsider, they have no idea what is happening within the perimeters of your brain. Those sitting on the beach notice you swimming, playing in the ocean as you dive in wave after wave. To them, it looks like you’re doing just fine, when in reality, you’re exhausted.
Asking for help invites others into your life. You offer room beside you for others to swim with you, to hold your hand, to bring you a raft. Sure, you’re still in the ocean, but the support of the raft allows you to better manage the waves, and little by little, you find a ride back to shore.
Vulnerability is scary. Its initial step feels daunting, as sharing the innermost thoughts of your being opens the door to potential opinions from others. But, it also opens the door to support, a shoulder to lean on, and people to confide in. We are not meant to walk this life alone. Connection with others provides power and offers a raft in the ocean of life. Nobody can swim forever, it’s impossible. Take refuge in the help of others, use the raft they offer you and take a break. Then with their help, swim back to shore.
