connections and vulnerability
There is something about allowing ourselves to open up and be vulnerable to people when we're in need that often results in a deepening of the relationship. And these deeper, more intimate relationships, in turn, satisfy something within us that enables us to deal with the unbearable and discover larger and larger perspectives on our own lives.
I'm reminded of a piece I read, again in the San Francisco Chronicle, by Susan Parker, who writes a column about life since her husband, Ralph, was paralyzed in a bike accident. This particular column was about a trip she and Ralph had taken to see some old biking buddies who had moved to another state. It had been four years since they'd seen each other, but these were the people they had called right after the accident, the kind of people you want to have around when the chips are down.
Aimee and Patrick welcomed Susan and Ralph with open arms and hammers in hand. Patrick insisted on nailing the handicap ramp into their carpet. When Susan protested, Patrick responded, “We're going to replace this carpeting someday anyway.” The four proceeded to talk about what they would all do on this much-treasured visit. Among the many possibilities, Aimee mentioned giving Ralph a bath. “It will be fun,” she insisted. Aimee was a nurse and knew the difficulties Ralph faced in the hygiene department. Susan and Ralph did not have a large enough bathroom or the right equipment, and Ralph had not had a proper bath in a very long time.
Aimee knew the possible repercussions: skin breakdown and sores that can lead to serious health problems, so she arranged to use a wheelchair-accessible bathroom at a local hospital. After putting Ralph into a specialized, waterproof wheelchair, Aimee and Susan soaped him, scrubbed him, rinsed him, dried him, dressed him, and brushed his teeth. “Ralph treated the excursion as if he had won the lottery,” Parker wrote. “‘This is great,’ he shouted as we rolled him out of the hospital. ‘Wow, do I feel good.’”
Without much ado these wonderful friends had given of themselves practically, as well as nonchalantly, offering tons of love and attention, giving Ralph a special treat that would have been very difficult to do elsewhere or otherwise. Giving (and receiving) under circumstances so tender and prone to embarrassment or misunderstandings requires everyone to stand tall in the face of vulnerability and allow the interchange of intimacy and connection. It requires us to become sensitive and aware of our tender spots—it requires us to accept our humble humanity and allow our trusted circle to know us well.
It is in our closest friendships that we can fully realize who we are. Anna Quindlen, novelist, relays it thusly: “I only really understand myself, what I'm really thinking and feeling, when I've talked it over with my circle of female friends. When days go by without that connection, I feel like a radio playing in an empty room.”
As our friendships deepen, we often reveal parts of ourselves that have been tucked away or hidden, even from ourselves…and when somebody reaches out to us, we often discover that we are truly seen. In Chinese Zen, the concept of intimacy is synonymous with enlightenment or realization. Through vulnerability and intimacy, we come to know ourselves and the world. I know this from my own experience:
One day I was at a party with some women friends. I was in a playful mood and began teasing two of them about knowing something they did not know. From my peripheral vision I could see Sandy reaching across to me. Her hand was up, face level. Without any thought and in the flash of a second I reacted. Sensing danger, I pulled back, ducked, and cringed; and because I had no time to hide my vulnerability, I was suddenly exposed. Over the years I had become masterful in covering up my childhood terrors, and I am not surprised when close friends tell me they cannot see the effects of my early life. But when I saw Sandy's hand come toward me, my instinct was to recoil and protect myself.
As it turns out, of course, Sandy was only reaching out to pat my face affectionately; she was totally dismayed by my reaction. And what a shock it was for me to see my terror reflected on the other women's faces. The look of their faces remained burnt into my awareness for a long time. Suddenly my friends got a glimpse of the intimidated, frightened part of me that I had always kept so hidden.
The unexpected benefit was that I now had witnesses for my experience. People I cared for saw what had happened to me. I was no longer alone in that realm—and I was safe. Mixed in with the embarrassment was a tremendous sense of relief. By showing my vulnerability, I was unwittingly exercising my resilience muscle.
the power of support groups
We are social animals. We need each other for our very survival. Nowhere is this more evident than in concentration camps, in military compounds, in dens of slavery, in repressed regimes, where prisoners will use every ounce of their human ingenuity to get messages to each other to ease their loneliness and despair and share their suffering. Communication, their only possible form of connection, gave them the strength to survive. Stories have been told and studies generated that show our pure genius for making contact, even in the most extreme of situations. The creating of Morse codes, the banging of objects on the ground, the singing of spirituals, the call of whistles—whatever it takes to remind us that we are not alone.
Often what we need most in upsetting or threatening situations is a way to compare our emotional experiences with others. We need to hear that other people share our feelings, that our emotional reactions to terrible times and our feelings of having reached our limit are normal, not a sign that we are pathologically weak.
Of course we don't have to be political prisoners to understand this need for validation and support. A woman I work with lived with debilitating anxiety because she felt ambivalent about having children. Living in a culture that places such a high value on motherhood and maternal sacrifices, she felt sure she was a freak for not being sure if she wanted children. We were both delighted when she found a workshop for women who wanted to discuss this issue in safety and confidentiality. After attending the workshop, Roberta returned to my office visibly lighter, relaxed and smiling. The weekend was a success; she met several other women she respected and learned from, and she felt fully engaged in all the exercises. She loved the free time to talk between sessions and over lunch. She had time to think and reflect, time to tell others how she felt, and time to hear other stories. She left feeling a great relief, not because she had made up her mind about having children but because she felt peaceful about being ambivalent. She was not alone in her distress, and she could now trust herself and the process of working it out over time.
Finding group support doesn't necessarily come through organized workshops. In the middle of winter I was invited to celebrate my friend Cindy Walker's sixtieth birthday. The invitation announced that the “queens” would be arriving: dress would be evening wear (tiaras acceptable), and we were to come prepared to spend the whole evening; there would be no early leave-taking.
And so, seventy-five women from all over the United States descended on a sparkling, snow-covered Salt Lake City, Utah, ready to celebrate our friend Cindy. Here we were: friends of hers from kindergarten, her bridesmaids from umpteen years ago, a friend she had met as an exchange student in Poland, her daughters and daughters-in-law, her women doctors, her neighbors, friends from her book clubs and church groups, every woman friend with whom she has stayed in contact through countless moves around the states.
Cindy is a no-nonsense woman; one could even say she's a force to be reckoned with. She is passionate and outspoken and accomplished and considers it frivolous to be concerned with appearance. So imagine our surprise when we discovered that she had hired a woman to come to her home the day before her party to offer manicures and pedicures to her family and friends. She not only was the first to have her nails done, but she had her makeup done as well! She was turning sixty, and she decided was going to do something for herself she had never done before.
Cindy had planned a sumptuous feast and a singing revival of her favorite songs. After
