one helluva hangover.

Brene Brown describes a vulnerability hangover as  “the feeling that sweeps over us after we feel the need to connect… and we share something deeply meaningful. Minutes, hours, or days later, we begin to feel regret sweep over us like a warm wave of nausea.”

Yeah, that. 

I went to the Desire Map book club last night, and the conversation quickly turned to parenting (as it often does, b/c it's what we know, and it's feels all-consuming most of the time). At one point, I shared (side note: I cringe at the term "shared" in this context b/c it sounds all therapy-ish like "our couple" or "what I need from you") that I allow my teens (I'm counting Hope for this example) to swear as long as it's a) used in the appropriate context and b) not directed at a person (namely…me). The reality? Teens swear. It happens, and I try really hard to make our home a safe space. If "bullshit" is the word that you really need to describe your pre-calc homework? Go for it. I'm a firm believer that words have the power that we give to them, and that making more words acceptable takes away some of the shock-value power. 

Now, what I didn't take the time to explain (b/c I was already in a shame spiral) is that my children don't swear like sailors, or throw around curse words for the sheer fun of it. I was trying to share (ugh. again.) thoughts on honoring emotion in the moment, and naming it…even if that name happens to be a swear word. 

Before I even stopped speaking, I felt the disapproval wash over me. And I couldn't shake it for the rest of the get-together. I stared at my coffee cup a few minutes longer than necessary, and then silently told myself that I was committed to moving forward. I needed to own my story (in the example above, my parenting story). I got back in the (conversation) game, and tried to embrace the kind words and helpful advice, and discard the comments that didn't serve me. But. The feeling of vulnerability – and shame (You think that I'm an awful parent. I'm doing this all wrong.) was pretty overwhelming. At one point, I actually thought "I need to leave here RIGHT NOW"…but I happened to be seated in the middle of a booth, so I couldn't exit w/o anyone noticing. 

On the drive home, the hangover set in – and persisted throughout the day today. It seems that I lack the switch that allows some people to "not care what anyone thinks." I felt drained. I had shared (that word. again. ugh.) only snippets, but I felt as though I had shared too much. As I write this, thereby re-living it one more time, the RSD (nerve disorder) in my foot is acting up, paralyzing, and then sending daggers through, my toes. Such a powerful physical response. 

It might be easy to just decide to not return to this book club. It might be easier to stop sharing. It might be easier to not put myself in a situation where I may feel vulnerable. I'm not sure yet. More wise words from Brene…

“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.”