on vulnerability and admitting our truth

It’s a very vulnerable thing to be seen just as you are; to admit what you really want, and then carve it out of the life you have.

Looking back at the first times I came out to myself (maybe one of the more dramatic and hopefully soon unnecessary cultural practices of self-realization) first about being bi and then non-binary, I shared with strangers. Anonymity offered some sliver of safety in a terrifying process. And slowly, with each repetition of speaking my truth, it created the momentum that made authenticity and freedom more necessary than safety.

Admitting to yourself something you really want can be scary. Thrilling, definitely, but maybe in that way that tightens your chest and causes you to check over your shoulder. “Did anyone hear me say that? Did I want that out loud?” Cradling a deep dark desire in the cool safety of shadows keeps it - well - safe. A seed of potential that could, but should it? Maybe it’s better to bury it deep under infertile soil, or ignore it in your back pocket. Don’t pay attention to the lump that forces you to sit crookedly or cross your arms tightly as armor keeping it in and others out.

For many of us, admitting our truth means being forced to find new communities, or even risk physical safety to be honest with ourselves and the world.

I’m a little jealous of the boldness with which some people demand the space they deserve. Even with an undercurrent of fear, the scales tip towards bravery. I’m so thankful for these people, because for a lot of my life so far I haven’t been one of them.

My process of shedding layers to reconstruct my life has been witnessed and aided into reality not only by seeing examples through others’ lives, but also supported so crucially by mentors, friends, coaches, and therapists creating  space for me to tentatively draw and re-draw a picture that slowly came to resemble a me I now recognize in the mirror.

This, ultimately, is what has drawn me towards becoming a coach. Holding space for folks to dive deep and share their most precious dreams is one of the most sacred experiences I can imagine.  Not every conversation with clients is world altering for them, but it fertilizes the soil so that one day they might realize a dream, harvest a truth, or release an old story that no longer serves them. Every encounter is an opportunity to build trust and create space for deeper joy and fulfillment.

At some point, bravely pursuing our truth becomes less uncomfortable than hiding it from the world.