V is for Vulnerability

                   

Vulnerability isn’t natural for me, it feels exposed, unfiltered, a little too close to the bone. I’d rather be steady, and capable, the one who has it handled.

This A-Z journey has asked something different of me. It’s asked me not just to write about my life, but to tell the truth about it, and the truth is rarely polished.

It includes the almost separations, the resentment I had to repent of, the prayers that sounded more like frustration than faith. The nights I questioned my strength and the days I showed up anyway.

Telling my story matters because someone else is living a version of it right now and may think they’re the only one. We scroll by highlight reels and assume everyone else’s marriage is easier, their faith is stronger, their family is simpler. But what if the most healing thing we can offer isn’t advice, but honesty.

Vulnerability says me too, this is hard, but God is still here. I used to think vulnerability was weakness, now I think it’s courage with the mask off. It’s choosing connection over image, depth over appearance  and freedom over pretending.

When I share the uncomfortable stuff, it’s not to over share or  dramatize, it’s to testify. Something shifts, shame loosens, isolation cracks a bit and grace gives room to breathe.

“Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so you may be healed.” James 5:16

There is healing in telling, not because the story is perfect but because God is present in it. Doing this A-Z series has helped me grow in my relationship with God.

My hope is that this blog becomes a place where someone exhales. Where a husband or wife living with a spouse with chronic illness feels less alone. Where a caregiver feels seen. Where a husband or wife who is wrestling with resentment feels understood instead of ashamed.

If even one person reads these words and thinks, I’m not crazy, I’m not failing or I’m not alone, then the vulnerability is worth it.

V is for Vulnerability and if my story helps steady someone else’s heart, even for a moment. Then telling it, uncomfortable and all, will always matter.