What do vulnerability and cleaning my house have to do with each other, you might ask…
Oh man. More than you’d expect. Let me elaborate.
I have been working on stretching the limits of my comfort zone lately. It’s exhilarating but also freakin’ terrifying. Today, I marinated in the outskirts of that zone for a fair amount of time — in front of other people, even! — and I am hilariously both having an authentic reaction and observing my reactions with interest.
After my out-of-zone experience, I immediately found myself feeling vulnerable; I felt nervous that I wasn’t perfect (a statement familiar to my entire life). I could feel a voice inside beginning to tell me that I wasn’t good enough; that I don’t have what it takes. I wanted external validation. I wanted someone to reassuringly say, “Great job, Lindsay!” Because being in this raw space was downright uncomfortable. BUT, since I’m currently re-reading Brene Brown’s The Gifts of Imperfection, I realized that it’s actually beneficial to lean into discomfort. And that seeking external validation would keep me from really growing into the self-acceptance and grace that I desperately needed at that moment.
So I didn’t call anyone.
I got home and could feel the freak-out tension building in my chest and stomach. After sharing my story with my husband (not seeking approval, but just expressing my feelings), I still felt all twisted inside. Uncertain. Unsure.
That’s when I had the urge to clean.
Granted, my house is a disaster. I’m not kidding. I’m not a clean freak at all, so for me to say it’s a disaster is really saying something. I began to pick up and it suddenly dawned on me — I’m cleaning because I need to control something. I feel out of control in my internal world and it’s driving me crazy, so I’m seeking control of my external world.
Not that cleaning is a bad thing. I know it can sometimes be therapeutic. But in this case, I recognized the urge to clean as a way for me to distract myself from the vulnerability, imperfection, and ultimately the shame I was experiencing inside.
What I need is a reminder that I am not alone in my experience of imperfection; nor am I alone in my experience of shame. We all have faults and we all make mistakes. These are beautiful/uncomfortable/painful/rich opportunities to learn, adjust, and cultivate compassion for the next bloke who trips into this ditch thinking s/he is unique to the whole mess.
You see, I am learning that regardless of how many mistakes we each make, it doesn’t change the value we add to the people around us. My achievements or lack of awesomeness at certain things do not determine my worth or right to put myself out there and try.
No matter what gets done and how much is left undone, I am enough. … Yes, I am imperfect and vulnerable and sometimes afraid, but that doesn’t change the truth that I am also brave and worthy of love and belonging. (The Gifts of Imperfection, p. 1)
I still want to clean. But the claws of shame have loosened their grip on my heart. It’s a start.
Love. Always.
Linds