Love and Vulnerability

Dear Laila Rae,

I love you. I have decided to start all my letters to you with a simple, “I love you.” Last year I explained how you are the first person I have ever loved with my entire heart. You are still the only person I love with my entire heart. You are my favorite little human.

Today is your fourth birthday. I tried writing this letter several times over the past few weeks and felt a bit overwhelmed and unsure of what I want to say to you today. This past year was full of changes for you and I am so proud of you and all you have accomplished. For me, this past year has been tough. I could give you a very long list of all the things that made the year tough, but thing that was personally hardest was learning to open myself up to vulnerability.

The word vulnerability fills me with dread. The type of dread that sits in the bottom of your stomach and is nauseating. A few years ago I listened to a podcast on vulnerability. I loved it and I hated it. I loved it because I wanted to be a person that embraced vulnerability and grew within that space. I hated because I was not sure I could ever be that person. I have always believed we grow in uncomfortable spaces and have never been afraid of discomfort. My best growing and learning experiences were in uncomfortable spaces but, I never really allowed myself to be truly vulnerable.

I find it easier to keep people at a distance with only a few, close friends. Even with those close friends I put up barriers. I’ve heard people attribute a fear of vulnerability to shame, or fear of not being good enough, or worthy enough. That explanation does not feel true to my experiences. I have a healthy dose of self-confidence and am proud of the person I am, and constantly strive to become. I think my reluctance resides in the fear that people won’t recognize or appreciate what I love about myself. I am hesitant to allow people to see my imperfect and broken parts. If they don’t ever see me, they can’t disappoint me. I have trouble doing things where there are no guarantees, or the potential for extreme disappointment.

This past year I decided I was going to try and open myself up to vulnerability. I believe that vulnerability allows us to form deeper connections. It creates a space where we can begin to love with our whole hearts. I tried to stop worrying about if people would be able to see my attributes in the midst of my flaws. I wanted to be kinder to myself so I could be kinder to others. I wanted to be less quick to judge. I wanted to be quicker to forgive and create space for second chances.  I wanted to form new relationships and stronger connections. My year was not a beautiful adventure in self-discovery and meaningful relationships. I experienced a lot of disappointment and hated every second of it. Opening myself up to vulnerability made me feel weak, and then I felt disappointed in myself. I was kinder to others but not kinder to myself. Laila, I want you to be kind and patient with people, but being kind and patient does not mean you can’t vocalize when something is wrong. Being quicker to forgive and creating spaces for second chances does not mean you don’t stand up for yourself. I want you to have a forgiving soul, but sometimes you can forgive someone and still need to cut them out of your life. Your experiences learning to navigate this will be much different than mine. But even when you feel weak, or disappointed, please be kind and patient with yourself. Allow space for imperfections and vulnerability.

While I still hate vulnerability, there were several moments when, because of my vulnerability, I strengthened relationships. I allowed people to see my imperfections and broken parts and they loved me in my brokenness. And I have been able to love them with a bigger heart. I discovered new strengths and weaknesses about myself. I am learning how to love myself more. Vulnerability not kill me, nor did it break me. I still have trouble loving others with my whole heart, but my overall capacity to love myself and others is greater. I don’t want you to be scared of vulnerability like I am. I don’t want you to ever feel like you are not enough. I don’t want you to worry about what others may or may not see in you.  You will be imperfect. I probably won’t tell you that often because you are my favorite little human, but we are all imperfect. You will face many struggles and they will be your own. People will often hurt and disappoint you.  But I want you to remember you are worthy of love and belonging. I will always love you with my whole heart, especially in your imperfections and brokenness. I want you to love yourself, others, and the world with your whole heart - even though there are no guarantees.

Someday, I hope to be able to do the same. I promise you that I will continue to try.

Love,

Aunt Whitney Rae

The Murky Gray of Sexual Consent

Over the past few days I have been quietly following the conversations around Aziz Ansari and the gray areas of sexual consent. I feel compelled to share my thoughts, which echo many of the voices I have read, because this is a topic that constantly sits on my heart and is one I have never felt comfortable speaking about because so often the conversations I hear around consent and sexual assault are black and white. When it is black and white we can walk away feeling secure in our own actions and behaviors. We are not “those people.” We can tell ourselves I would never be a victim because of x,y, and z, or I would never be a predator because of x,y, and z. This leaves no room to talk about the uncomfortable gray areas that have probably affected all of us, even if it is something we do not want to admit. It does not allow us the space to be messy humans that make messy mistakes. I want to be clear that I am writing this from the perspective of a white, cisgender, heteronormative female.

 I have felt frustrated at the criticisms against “Grace.” It is not always as easy as just saying no. I know this from experience. Many times women feel uncomfortable saying no because of the threat of escalated violence. That is always a real possibility. But sometimes the reasons we don’t say no are grayer than that, messier than that. So much of this gray, murky area is symptoms of our toxic culture of masculinity, that even male allies don’t realize they perpetuate. I don’t directly blame anyone for this - but is something we have to wrestle with and allow ourselves to realize we just might be wrong in some of our long held beliefs.

 I have had more “gray” sexual encounters than I, the staunch feminist, care to admit. Even though, for most of my life, I have surrounded myself with strong females, I have still been susceptible to the influence of toxic masculinity. I am a messy and imperfect person who can only try to be a little better every day. Society has told me that I need to patient and generous. I need to be nice. Compliant. Pleasing. I genuinely want to be some of those traits, and others I would like to shed. I fully recognize the fact that I am able to say “no” at any point, but I’ve also been told to be all these other things that don’t allow me to always say “no.” I often joke with my co-workers that “no” is my favorite word. This is far from the truth. I rarely say no to anyone. I strive to please people, to care for people, to make those around me happy. I’m independent, self-confident, and strong-willed but I deeply care about the feelings of those around me. Part of that is my personality, part of that is being subtly, and not so subtly told, as a female, I should be a certain type of person.

Sex is messy. People have different expectations. It means different things for different people at different times. But we are still expected to respect the rules of sexual etiquette. There have been times I have found myself in situations where the expectation of sex was implied from the beginning. Whether that is going to a male’s home later at night, or scheduling a “hang” after intense flirting. Many times I have clearly said no even if the expectation for sex was clear. Sometimes I did not. Sometimes my body language said no and it was ignored. I don’t blame the men in those situations, I don’t think they are dangerous predators, I don’t even think they are bad guys. But I do think they are victims of our toxic culture of masculinity. They either did not recognize by reluctance, or they chose to ignore it. I genuinely think most of them did not recognize my reluctance because they have been taught a sense of entitlement when it comes to sex. I understood the expectation. I would leave or say no if I wanted. They can’t begin to understand that as a female I am told be contradictory things at the same time. Sex is not just any other social interaction. You can’t simply tell people to avoid dangerous or potentially uncomfortable situations. Sometimes it is not as simple and just saying “no” and leaving. It is intimate and personal. There is a greater capacity for harm. I don’t think it is unreasonable to expect that all parties engage with a greater sense of conscientiousness and empathy for others. Sexual consent is not black and white. It is gray and uncomfortable and messy. And it is something we have to talk about without victim blaming.