Give and Take

Confession No. 3: I am not very good at asking for help.

Does anyone else ever feel this way? I have a feeling I am not alone.

In his recent book, Give and Take, bestselling author Adam Grant shares that there are three kinds of people in the world: givers, takers and matchers. We all show up in different ways in the world, falling at different points along the spectrum in different areas and at different points in our life. Our tendencies can change, but we tend to have a default setting we return to time and time again, evident in the way we approach our relationships and interactions every day.

The names for these categories are somewhat self-explanatory. Takers go through life with the goal of accumulating more than everyone else, winning at the expense of someone else. They have no issues putting their needs before someone else’s. Givers do just the opposite – they habitually put the needs of others before their own. Givers give without the expectation of getting anything in return, sometimes without a thought of their own well-being and oftentimes at their own expense.

Matchers are the most common among us, falling somewhere in between. This is the way many people go through life, simply following others’ lead. When matchers are surrounded by givers, they too will become givers. When they are surrounded by takers, they will match that level of stinginess and look out for themselves, because who else will? Matchers operate on a kind of transactional basis, looking to get out of a relationship exactly what they put in – nothing more, nothing less.

For most of my life, I have tended to lean towards the giver end of the spectrum, but like anyone else, my relationship with give and take has been a complicated one.

In elementary school, I remember cycling through a few best friends, never really secure in my social status in the hierarchy that we all know exists, even at that age. I was never like the other kids – I lived a life that was very much foreign to my peers, and they could never understand me for it. Even as a child, I lived a life of discipline. Training and spending time with my family were the most important things, and I often spent my free time writing. I was fairly gifted at a number of different things, but I also worked hard to achieve a level of skill with intention. Both creative and mathematically inclined, my education continued beyond the walls of the classroom. My dad and I would practice numbers in our basement, and I loved to do research on the topics that interested me.

My grades were always good and the teachers liked me, the quintessential “teacher’s pet.” I think this caused some jealousy and insecurity among my peers, who never seemed to stick around. One day I would look up, and the girl who I thought was my best friend had ditched me for someone else, leaving me alone once again.

There was never any explanation for this abandonment, and so I never really understood why they’d left. What had I done wrong? I thought I’d only been generous with my time and my energy and this was how they chose to respond?

As it turns out, many people don’t know what to do with this level of generosity. Receiving makes them uncomfortable when they don’t know what to give in return.

Things improved a little in high school. I still found myself in a number of friendships that didn’t work out, ones that would be there in the times that served them but chose to leave in the times that didn’t. For some friends, they found it easy to be around me when I was hurting but disappeared in the times I was going strong. Others turned to me when they needed a listening ear and left as soon as they’d figured everything out.

People will come and go as you go through life – only a few will really stick around. These are the true friends (I’m looking at you, Natasha!) who you can really count on, the ones you know have your back. But even within these friendships, I have always struggled to ask for help. I am much more comfortable being the helper than the one in need, much better at giving advice or holding space for someone to share their thoughts than I am receiving it. I don’t want to be a burden. I’ve always struggled to believe I deserve this love when in reality, we don’t have to do anything to deserve it. We all do, just the way we are.

In some ways, I find it much easier to be vulnerable with people I barely know. Once I reach a level of closeness with a person, I find it nearly impossible to keep anything from them and yet I fear what they may say when I do share my thoughts. I am terrified of what they may think of me, that they may judge me for my fears or insecurities rather than support me as I know I would them.

We are all our own worst critics. What we don’t realize is that the closer we get to another person, the more we blur the lines of seperation between how we treat them and how we treat ourselves.

Susan Piver describes the phenomenon in this podcast and in her book, The Four Nobel Truths of Love. The easiest example can be found in romantic relationships. Once we have been in a relationship for a while and have surpassed the infatuation stage, discomfort and conflict can and will arise. We grow frustrated with our partner for the little things we do, and it becomes easy to focus on every little thing that annoys us. In the moments we find ourselves angry or irritated, the natural course of action is to lash out. In reality, we should do just the opposite: take a step back and observe the problem from a distance. A relationship a mirror that reflects back to us what is going on inside. If we cannot be accepting and gracious with ourselves, how can we expect to be understanding of others?

In this way, the biggest thing we can do to improve how we show up in the world is improve our relationship with our self. Where do you need healing? Where do you need help? Learn to view yourself through a lens of understanding: sometimes you are strong and awesome, sometimes you are in pain or tired or weak. Sometimes you are a pain in the ass and other times you are not – this is the way it should be.

We could all learn to be a little more understanding of ourselves and the people around us, especially givers. With their willingness to put the needs of others above their own, givers often end up suffering at work and in their personal lives. They are at an increased risk of developing depression and eating disorders and even take lower salaries at work.

On the contrary, givers who can learn to fill their own cup and give from a place of plenty, these are some of the most successful people in the world. They thrive in the midst of fulfilling lives because they are willing to give so much of themselves in a way takers and matchers do not. People may feel slighted when takers succeed but they celebrate the success of givers. The attitude of abundance is contagious – and the world needs it now more than ever.

I am learning that asking for help is not a sign of weakness, but rather the acknowledgement that you can’t do everything on your own, which you can’t – trust me, I’ve tried. Being vulnerable enough to ask for help shows the people in your life you trust them. Relationships are a balance of give-and-take that, like all things, takes time to learn.

Each day when you go out into the world, you have a decision to make. You can operate from a place of scarcity – where there is never enough to go around – or you can operate from a place of abundance. What do you choose?

To fear or to trust?

Home

Time is a funny thing.

Simultaneously fluid and concrete, time is elusive, expansive and rigid. An hour can feel like an eternity, and week can pass in the blink of an eye. Time can be full or it can feel paper thin, never thick enough to hold all the activities and things want to do in a day, too little and too much existing within the same breath.

We must take great care in how we spend our time, for once it is gone, it can never be revived. It is the most precious resource in the world.

I’ve spent the last month or so packing up my life in one apartment and moving to a new one a few blocks down the road. Moving on your own for the first time is quite a daunting task, let me tell you. I am still shocked by the number of things I’ve managed to accumulate in such a short time. I have considered myself a fairly minimalistic person for a little while now; I am not overly attached to material things, but even I feel as if I am a hoarder in comparison to the true minimalists I’ve come to know in the last year.

My first week in my new place was a flurry of activity as I worked to make the place my own. I found I was unable to relax until I did. I lost whole chunks of time, hours long, as I shopped, painted the walls, constructed furniture and cleaned the rooms until my body was heavy with a different kind of fatigue than one I’d known before. As it turns out, revamping an apartment is a workout in its own right – I fell out of my normal schedule as I turned all my attention to the task at hand. My parents joined me for the last week of the month, helping me add the final touches to make my apartment truly feel like home.

Saying goodbye to my parents when I first moved a year ago was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. For me, Home has always been associated with people, and for my entire life leading up to that moment, they had been the people who had made my house a home. They were the ones I came home to at the end of the day, the ones who hugged me while I cried and laughed at my bad jokes. They had always just been there, and it took me a while to adjust to the distance.

It is so easy to take our parents for granted when we are young when we don’t necessarily realize everything they do for us. By the time we have graduated high school, it is estimated that we have spent about 80% of the time we will have with our parents over the course of our lives. If this is true, we’d better spend that remaining 20% wisely.

I am learning that when it comes to spending time with the people we love most, it is not always the quantity that counts but rather the quality.

The time we spend together is that much more memorable now for the time we spend apart. That being said, this last encounter was a much more joy-filled one than the ones that came before.

For the better part of the year, I had grown somewhat distant from myself, though I couldn’t see it at the time. I was in constant disbelief at what my life had become. It was a life I had dreamed of and observed from afar for years. My intel came through social media like Instagram and Facebook, where you only ever see a small portion of the story, the part they choose to let you see. Perhaps this disbelief was something of a warning sign – maybe my new reality felt so unbelievable because I wasn’t really living a life that was my own. I was living life on someone else’s terms, and a large part of me was suffering because of it.

In order to find some sense of grounding, I tried to attach Home to the new family of friends that had built itself around me. I had known these people for less than a year, yet I began to lose myself in them like they were the answer to all my prayers. When I returned to my childhood home for the first time since I’d moved, I spend the entire time persistently unhappy, convinced I’d been uprooted solely for the purpose of this trip and unaware of the discomfort that lay beneath.

What I didn’t understand at the time is that you can feel at home in more than one place at once. Subconciously, I yearned for the comfort of familiarity, of the place from which I’d come. I was so scared I wouldn’t want to return to my new life once I’d had a taste of this comfort that I forced myself to remain miserable instead of simply appreciating the beauty of that time.

I felt like a plant that had been ripped ever so rudely from the ground without a single moment’s notice to find its roots dangling in the air, naked and exposed to the harshness of the world. I faced such daunting questions of who am I? and is this really what I want to do? that I clung to what I could to feel safe. If I let go, I didn’t know if I would survive.

You are always stronger than you think – this I have learned time and again in the last number of months. Life will take you exactly where you need to be if you only trust. Trust and take action, this is the key. During those uncomfortable months, I was a passive player in my life. We may not be able to control many things, but we do control our actions. We choose which opportunities we pursue and which ones we let go, the people we share our time with and how we spend our energy.

I have struggled for a long time with external expectations and the desires of the people around me. Comparison truly is the thief of joy. I worried that because I was not following some path outlined by others or living my friends’ dreams, I was somehow doing it wrong. I worried I would grow to have regrets or become unsatisfied with the life I chose to live.

But just because someone else would be bored living my life doesn’t mean I should change. They don’t have to live my life, I do. If I don’t like the way I am living, I can choose to change.

After months of feeling uprooted, I’ve realized I love the repetition of ritual, the familiarity of the habits I return to time and time again. It is within this routine that my creativity thrives and I can push myself to excel. Sure, I also love to travel from time to time, but I always love coming home to the familiarity that enables adventure. From my roots, I will continue to grow.

Now my apartment is all set up, my parents have returned to their lives and I am finally at home in mine. I made this place my sanctuary, and I love it. For the first time in a long time, I feel at peace. Saying goodbye to my parents this was still challenging. I think it always will be. But the sadness only lives in a small corner of my heart this time – the rest of me is bursting with excitement and gratitude for this life I get to live. I get to learn and create and connect and inspire and live and dream among friends. And that is more than enough.

***

A NOTE: To anyone who has been reading this blog regularly, I am sorry for my absence this last month. I will be getting back to writing three times per week again this month. Cheers!

On Getting Started

Just start.

I tell myself this every single day. More often than not, I find deciding what to do and then taking the first step to be the most challenging part of any process, particularly when I am doing something creative. Which is, let’s be honest, pretty much every day.

There are a million different ways to be creative – creativity is not limited to the first few vocations that come to mind when you hear that word.

People often assume if they are not a writer, designer, or artist of some kind that they are not creative. This is a false pretense that comes from a society that loves to throw everyone and everything into neatly-labelled boxes and then tosses away the key. I find this assumption highly irritating. I would challenge you to take a closer look at the things you do every day and tell me you are not being creative in some way or another, whether that is cooking dinner for your family or finding a solution to a colleague’s crisis at work. Creativity is a hallmark quality of the human species, thank you very much. We would not be here today without it.

Maybe I am a little bit biased on this topic, but I don’t think that’s the case. I would consider myself a highly creative person in the more traditional sense of the word. I am an artist. I always have been, from the time I was very young. I loved making cards and drawings for the people in my life, for special occasions or just because I felt inspired to do so. In second grade, I was thrilled by a class we had called “Writer’s Workshop,” in which we would go from the idea phase of a story to producing an actual physical book. When I was ten, my Opa taught me how to sew, and I started my first company, Heart Balloon Ink. It was then that I learned my first lessons in branding and product design, and I would give all my friends handmade Pillows with a Purpose. (It was one way of marketing my creations, you know.)

Even as I spent hours with my mother, stitching together tiny felted creatures or crafting necklaces of hemp cord, holey seashells and beautiful beads, I grew to appreciate math and science all the same. I have a soft spot for solving formulas, and I loved my high school physics class. This analytical side of my brain goes directly against the philosophy that you can be skilled with a paintbrush or good with numbers, but never both.

I’ve always had the tendency to be a little rebellious, but not in the way you would think. I have never fit the mould of what is considered “normal.” Both an artist and a nerd, I am neither left brain nor right brain dominant, but instead, I like to sit somewhere in between. Making things is intrinsically satisfying for me, and my life is incomplete without it.

Maybe my love of creating comes from some genetic coding written into my DNA. Maybe it’s been passed down through my blood from the generations before me, from a time before computers and iPhones and TV.

I grew up in a close-knit family, the only kid among adults who loved to exercise their creativity in unconventional ways. My Opa was a bricklayer who then founded a construction company and built his own house. My Opa and Oma then established a world-class artistic gymnastics centre in the prairies so my mother could achieve her goal of reaching the Olympics, all without moving away from home.

After a successful career as an artistic gymnast and a stint of a few years where she coached in Guatemala, my mother went on to build her own space. What began as a dance studio has evolved into a vibrant training centre for the circus arts, none of which would have been possible without the help of my father. Dad is a creative engineer who did his masters in Robotics. He now spends his free time doing the rigging for the studio, designing and building original apparatus’ to compliment my mother’s wildest visions. They are a dream team come true.

In my family, if you want to do something, you find a way to make it happen.

This mentality was installed in me at such a young age that I never considered my entrepreneurial tendencies to be bold or rebellious at all. It was just the way things were done. Everyone in the inner circle of my family has lived many lives and is good at many things. I was taught that if you put in the time and worked hard enough, you could accomplish anything you set your mind to. Simple as that, right?

Except, sometimes it’s not so simple. When you’re young, you only see how brave or smart the adults in your life are, you don’t see everything they’ve struggled through in order to get to where they are. You don’t see their doubts and fears and the times they fought hard to make ends meet while working away at their dreams. You can’t understand why they encourage you down the “safer” of the paths laid out before you, why they say you should pursue the more logical of your aspirations when it’s because they don’t want you to have to struggle as they have. You can’t understand it, because you haven’t experienced it for yourself, and there are some things only living can teach us.

Creating things is extremely rewarding, but I will acknowledge there are days when it is also extremely hard. An idea can be so perfectly packaged in your head that you’re scared to take it out into the real world for fear that it may not live up to your lofty expectations. You can sit for hours with a blank canvas before you and a hand that refuses to move across the page, or fingers that refuse to type.

I find the first sentence is often the hardest for me to get right – I can most often fight my way through the middle of a piece, and there’s a burst of energy when you know you’re approaching the end. But without those first few words, I’m at a loss. I may have a vague idea where I’m going, but I haven’t found the right mode of transportation to get me there and I’m stranded until I do.

So some days, I tell myself, just start. Put something down on paper. It doesn’t have to be good. If it’s no good, no one ever has to see it. But you can’t edit what you can’t see, and I know there’s something in there just waiting to come out. C’mon, work with me.

Inspiration shows up every day you show up to work – some days it may just look a little different than others. Sometimes he’s wearing a suit, top hat and tie, and sometimes she shows up in baggy sweats and her ex-boyfriend’s t-shirt. And some days, the best days, Inspiration bursts into the room wearing hiking boots and a fully stocked backpack and announces the two of you are going on an adventure without further ado, are you ready yet? She’s been waiting all night and can’t wait to get on the road.

I don’t think I will ever fully understand how the human brain works. We are all wired so differently, and it is important to take the time necessary to figure out what makes each of us tick. For a long time, I struggled with the fact that I am passionate about so many things. I desperately wanted to narrow it down to just one or two, because somewhere along the line it got drilled into me that this was the only way to truly become world class at anything. The hunter who chases two rabbits catches neither. Or at least, so they say.

The problem was, whenever I would try to jettison my many passions in favour of just one, I would end up restless and deeply unhappy.

I saw this as an affliction or some vital flaw in my wiring, and so I fought it – hard. In the last number of months, however, I’ve come to realize that maybe I’ve been looking at the “problem” all wrong. Maybe my love of many things is not my weakest point, but my greatest strength.

I am learning to be okay with the fact that my life may work in cycles. There are periods when I find I am drawing from an ever-flowing spring of words. Other times, my creativity is purely visual – I am all photography and illustration and graphic design. And then there are days beyond that where my mind is not working at all. I crave working with my hands or being in my body, knitting or dancing or sitting still. All are equally valuable acts of creation as I am working on the greatest piece of art my life will produce: the person I want to become.

But in order to get where I am going, I must take the first step. I must make a decision, any decision. Then I must begin.

On Punctuating Unfinished Sentences

I have a confession to make: I am not very good at sitting in in-between spaces. I would much rather things just be simple for once, thank you very much, but alas, I now know this is not the way life works.

Life is messy, much messier than I would like sometimes.

My dad always likes to remind me that as a kid, I was quite the perfectionist. I mean, I still am now, to some extent. But this was to the extreme. When I was learning to read, my nightly ritual would go something like this. I would pick out a storybook with the goal being to read it aloud to my mother when she came home from teaching dance. First, I would read the book by myself in my room once or twice to get a feel for the cadence of the sentences and the way they felt in my mouth. Then, I would read it to my dad, so he could correct any mistakes I might be making. Finally, I would read it to my mother who would hopefully be very impressed by my grasp of the English language and I could go to sleep knowing I’d done something well that day.

The thing is, most of the rest of life is not like this.

You do not get several chances to provide the right answers for your final exam in high school or that interview for a job you really want to get. Sometimes people are forgiving – they will give you a second chance, or a third if you’re really lucky, but we do not live in a world of unlimited do-overs. At some point, you have to wake up to the mistakes you’ve made and will continue to make throughout your life so that you can learn to do things differently and make new mistakes next time. You can’t normally anticipate a mistake before you make it, either. And sometimes a mistake isn’t really a mistake, it’s just a detour on to a different path than you were planning. That’s why they say vision in hindsight is 20/20.

This all makes the perfectionist in me deeply uncomfortable and a little restless. “I can’t predict the future?” she likes to ask. Again. And again. And again. “Really? Are you sure?”

To which my response will always be no. You can’t. You just have to deal with life as it comes. In one of my favourite quotes by Maya Angelou, she says, “I’ve learned that you shouldn’t go through life with a catcher’s mitt on both hands; you need to be able to throw something back.” This is resilience. This is accepting the messiness of life and continuing on anyways, even when the going gets tough. Angelou knew a thing or two about this: she was faced with challenges, yet she managed to rise each time, like a phoenix from the ashes, stronger than when she’d gotten knocked down. What an inspiration.

Life has given me a fair bit of practice in throwing curveballs of late. In just a few short weeks, I will be packing up my life and moving to a new apartment a few blocks from where I am living now. This move may not be far, but it is happening much earlier than I anticipated it would. Finding the place was an adventure in itself, both mentally and physically. I searched streets and the interwebs for what felt like forever. It was a stressful, emotional rollercoaster, but I survived the trauma, and I’m excited now. I’m also a little envious of all my things that can be so neatly categorized and organized into boxes.

I think I’ve always liked the idea of boxes more than I actually liked fitting inside those boxes myself. Until I was six or seven years old, I couldn’t comprehend the meaning of the sentence, please put things back where they came from. My room looked like a tornado had come and we had never cleaned up the debris. There were clothes and books and toys everywhere, so much so you couldn’t see the floor. I thought it was weird to be able to see the floor. It unnerved me.

Clearly, I was just a creative mess of a small human being. I used to love making my own drawings and cards for people I loved – forget colouring books, that was boring. I would create and play in my imaginary worlds all the time. Then came time for elementary school. I’m not sure what happened around the time I started first grade, but it was like a flip switched overnight. I cleaned my room, started making my bed and didn’t look back. No, it wasn’t perfect, but it was a start. I loved to collect things; I didn’t yet understand that there was no way I would ever use all these things but found some satisfaction in their acquisition. At least you could see the floor, and each thing I owned had a home in which it lived.

I began colouring in colouring books and on assigned sheets of paper at school, always trying my best to stay inside the lines. Maybe I became aware of the very real risk of failure and the consequences of making mistakes. Maybe I’d spent too much time around scared adults who already existed in that world where you simply couldn’t afford to make mistakes. But alas, this was the time the perfectionist in me truly came out for the first time in my life. She had no qualms taking control of my actions for several years, sponsoring Doubt and Fear so they might back up her message. “Don’t try new things,” she whispered persistently. “You might embarrass yourself if you do, and that would be the end of you.” She always has been a bit of a drama queen.

Eventually, I was forced to confront the fact that life is not printed in black and white the way I’d once believed.

Sometimes things happen that don’t make sense. Bad things can happen to good people. Good things happen to people who haven’t put in the work. People who do bad things are not evil – even they have some shred of goodness left in them, however deep it may be buried. I learned people often act out of fear or anger. Or sometimes they are just very, very confused. The world does not function in black and white, but rather an infinite number of shades of grey. Just when you think you have the spectrum all mapped out, you notice a new tone you’ve never seen before, and you find yourself back at square one.

I’ve learned that never and forever are two of the most dangerous and misleading words in the English language. Or any language, for that matter. They are absolutes, and they trick us into thinking some things in life are permanent and we have been able to distinguish which ones those are. For the longest time, I was convinced I would never live on my own. Look at me now.

Right now, my life is all about sitting in those uncomfortable, in between spaces. I do not know what comes next. But I do know what is important to me, and I do know what I want to build my life around. I am learning to let go of the idea that I have to have the step-by-step process figured out. It is okay to admit there are things I don’t know.

When you admit there is something you don’t know, you are opening yourself up to the answer. It is the key that enables you to grow. It is important not to set up too many constraints or blockades for yourself unless you know it goes directly against your values, or what you want most in life. If it is a bridge you used to get away from something deeply unhealthy, please do go ahead and burn that bridge. And there are a few doors truly are better left untouched. But often there are many more ways to go about life than the ones we limit ourselves to, we could see if we weren’t so tethered to being right.

I am not a huge fan run on sentences or paragraphs that last forever. I am a punctuation junkie – I love to use commas and periods and semi-colons, sometimes in places where it is not necessary. Sometimes I put too many commas in a sentence that should be two shorter ones, or I’ll put a period where there need not be one at all. Learning to write is like learning to live – it is a process of trying things and editing and finding your style. It is a journey I embark on every day.

The grammar rules in life are not so simple, however. In fact, I’m not sure there is even a guidebook to describe all the nuances out there. Sometimes what looks like a period is really a comma in disguise. Or we’ve thrown out the comma all together in favour of an ellipsis, a pause prescribed to last an indefinite amount of time…

To Be Vulnerable

People. It always comes back to the people.

Until this year, I never realized how important people are to me. How I care so much that sometimes it feels like too much, how I love to do little things for the people in my life and I’m fascinated with their stories.

Before she passed away when I was five years old, my grandma Betty wrote me a letter that I was to read when I’d grown up some and reached my late teens. That letter sat in boxes, on shelves and in hidden safe places for years, until I turned sixteen and my mother passed the letter on to me. Grandma Betty was such a strong, caring and patient woman. She knew how to stay calm – that woman had a zero tolerance policy for nonsense. She did raise four boys out in the country after all. I’m sure my dad and his brothers were quite the hand full.

I have one very vivid memory of staying with Grandma up at our family’s cabin for a week in the summer when I was three. It was just the two of us. I don’t remember everything we did during that week, but I do remember how grounding it was to spend that time with her. One day, when we were coming back from the market, we drove into the little gravel driveway in front of our humble cabin, and Grandma’s face went very still. She stayed perfectly calm, telling me how we were, “just going to stay in the car for a little while.” A huge, brown mama bear came lumbering down the road with her fuzzy cub not far behind. I remember watching curiously as the bears moseyed on up the road, minding their own business. Grandma explained to me, the bears weren’t looking to cause any trouble, but if mama bear felt anyone was endangering the safety of her cub, she wouldn’t hesitate to attack. I think the same can be said for most humans – I know in myself, if I see someone mess with a person I care about, mama bear will come out and I will stand up for what I believe in.

Many of the things that define who we are at the core of our being are defined before our fifth birthday. Grandma Betty didn’t know me very long, but in her letter she nailed so many essential aspects of who I am that are true to this day. I share my my grandma’s belief that people matter – they are important and their opinions count. The first time I read some of the things she hoped I would do and become, I remember being overwhelmed by the sensation of being so well understood. Grandma did love to people watch.

“I know you will grow up to be a thoughtful and caring young woman who values her own strengths. I know how hard it is going to be for you to be a young woman who cares for others but still recognizes the importance of yourself.” This is a tightrope I know I have always struggled to walk.

Being in close relationships of any kind is one of the most challenging things in the world, because you can’t control what other people do or say. But it also one of the most rewarding.

When I care for others, I love with my whole being. I dive in and entrust them with pieces of my heart, pieces of who I am. The minute I want to really get to know a person, I walk into those relationships with my palms facing the sky, open and honest because I don’t know how to be anything else, because that’s who I am.

The willingness to be vulnerable can be seen as a weakness, or it can be seen as a great strength. But know that it does not make anyone fearless. Vulnerability is terrifying. It is living with your beating, bleeding heart on your sleeve. It is trusting that others will not take advantage of your willingness to do and be and care with every fibre of your being. And that trust can be oh, so hard.

Sometimes vulnerability hurts. I have cuts, minor burns, and a few jagged scars criss crossing the surface of my heart. We all do. You can choose to let that pain make you bitter and cynical and closed off from the world. Or you can choose to accept it, to let it make you stronger and let those be lessons learned, to let yourself be healed by the love of those around you.

Because vulnerability can be painful, but it can also be so deeply fulfilling to let others into your corner of the world.

I walk into the world with open palms because for me, there is no other way. The alternative is far more painful than anything I’ve known and oh, so lonely. In order to be honest with others, I’ve first had to learn to be honest with myself. Now I know that in order to truly love others in the way they deserve to be loved, I must first learn to love myself for who I am. I have to define who I am and what I believe, because you attract what you are, not what you want. People in life are a mirror, and the ones closest to you are a reflection of what’s going on inside.

For a long time, I’ve been frustrated – I feel like I never quite fit in anywhere, that I never had one person or one clique or one group that was my own. I’ve always felt loved by many but I was never the first person they’d call. Maybe one day I’ll find that. Maybe not. Maybe it’s easy to see all the spaces I don’t fit because instead, I’m meant to spill into all the cracks that others can’t fill. And maybe that’s okay.