Growing Open

I had a conversation recently that hit a little deeper than I expected. It was about vulnerability and how I’m not always the best at it. Honestly, most people who know me would probably nod their head at that. I’ve always been the type to keep it together, stay positive, and keep moving forward. That’s been my go-to way of handling stress for as long as I can remember.

That habit goes way back. Growing up, I was surrounded by people I loved who were hurting. My mom battled depression. My best friend did too. When you’re young and watching people you care about slip into dark places, you learn to stay steady. You learn to be the strong one because someone has to be. Nobody ever sat me down and told me that was my job, but it became the role I stepped into.

Losing my mom to suicide changed me in ways I didn’t understand until much later. Somewhere along the way, I started to believe God gave me the ability to hold things together in moments where others have told me they might fall apart. Not because I’m better or stronger than anyone else, but because for whatever reason, that was the way I learned to work through it. It felt like a gift at the time. Still does... it was the only way I knew how to keep going.

I’ve never had trouble talking about what I’ve been through. I can sit with a friend or even a total stranger and tell them the hardest parts of my story without thinking twice. It’s always been my version of therapy. I've been told through the years that I should try talking with a therapist about some of it, and maybe they’re right. Maybe there’s stuff under the surface I haven’t seen yet. But as far as facing the tough chapters of my past, I’ve never really shied away from that. Sharing it out loud has always been the easy part.

Where things get tricky is vulnerability in the moment. As an adult, that same strength that helped me survive doesn’t always translate the way I want it to. My wife is walking through breast cancer right now. She has every reason to feel scared, overwhelmed, and worn down. And she needs me to be emotionally present with her. Not just steady. Not just positive. She wants to feel my heart, not just hear the encouraging version of me that I default to. And that is where I tend to struggle.

It has been strange realizing that the thing that protected me as a kid can actually hold me back in my marriage if I’m not careful. My first instinct is to reach for a hopeful comeback instead of honest vulnerability. Most days, that feels like a strength. But with her, sometimes it comes across as distance.

I’m learning, slowly, that vulnerability is not weakness. It is letting someone see the part of you that doesn’t have the answers. It is letting them know you feel the weight too. It is letting your heart show instead of your armor.

I’m not perfect at it. Honestly, I’m not even good at it yet. But I’m trying. And I think there is value in just admitting that. Some of us grew up in survival mode. Shifting gears later in life takes time.

If you’re wired like me, just know you’re not the only one. It’s perfectly fine to be strong. It’s also perfectly fine to let somebody in. I’m working on it. Maybe you are too.

Marriage has a way of teaching you things you didn’t even know you needed to learn. You spend years figuring out each other’s rhythms and communication styles. It’s a slow, steady commitment to grow together and keep choosing each other. And part of that for me is learning to open up in hard times, even when it feels a little unnatural.

"Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ."

Galatians 6:2