willingness to be vulnerable

I haven’t blogged in two months. Surely, the lack of posts can somewhat be attributed to busyness, but, quite frankly, when you want to do something, you make time for it regardless of what your schedule looks like. 

The problem with blogging is that it requires a willingness to be vulnerable for an audience that is nonexistent except when it’s absolutely not— it’s a risk with little payoff. If you sifted through my Google Docs, you’d find countless unfinished documents, each one an ugly mosaic of thoughts that couldn’t quite form themselves into the proper words. It’s a really scary thing to share a piece of yourself with the whole world. And it’s been especially different because suddenly my “whole world” is still new and unfamiliar. How do I fit into this new world, and how will the way I fit in be affected by the way other initially perceive me?

It turns out there’s a second syndrome that’s really prevalent here: Stanford duck syndrome. This “syndrome,” different from imposter syndrome, is based off the idea that the students at Stanford, and presumably most other colleges, can be compared to ducks. From above the surface of the water, all you see is a line of these aquatic birds, each one so perfect a picture of effortless calmness that you cannot help but feel envious. But what you don’t see is their legs kicking wildly beneath the water in order to keep afloat. A lot of the time, it seems like everyone around me is perfectly balancing their academic, social, and professional lives, all while staying fit, healthy, and — perhaps most importantly — happy.

In our culture, a willingness to be vulnerable is equated with not simply vulnerability itself, but weakness. It’s weak to show that you’re struggling and that you might need help. Showing that you’re imperfect exposes the fact that you are indeed imperfect.

I know this culture so well, I know how much I hate it, and I still find myself living by it.

So here’s what I’ve decided. I’m willing to be vulnerable for a moment if it means that makes even one other person feel a little bit less alone. I will tell you right now that I have a case of duck syndrome far more severe than imposter syndrome, and in this broad and vastly unfamiliar world, it strikes me as reality that not one person can or will peek beneath the water to realize I’m kicking my legs so hard that sometimes, to me, I may as well be drowning— not because they don’t care, but simply because they don’t know to. 

I want to remind you, should you be on the lookout for some kind of sign, that it is okay to not be okay. It is okay to feel lonely sometimes, and it is okay to feel lost sometimes. It is okay to feel like a failure, and it is okay to feel like you are not enough. Sometimes our minds get so busy and jumbled that it becomes hard to separate our thoughts from reality on our own. It is most of all okay to reach out for help, even if it takes that first moment of vulnerability.

I’m working on practicing what I preach, I really am, and for me that starts with sharing this with you all. Today I am looking in the mirror and acknowledging what’s beneath the surface— my surface. I am far, far from perfect, and I admit that. And I hope that, when you need it, you allow yourself to do the same. Finding the willingness to be vulnerable takes a certain kind of strength, not weakness.