On Trust and Vulnerability
Life can change in an instant. One day you wake up in a cold flat in a loud street in Oakland, and the next you wake up in a cold flat in a loud street in Coimbra. One minute you are content and fulfilled and in the next utterly bereft. There was a long stretch of years when I was younger when I knew who I was—what I wanted and where I was going. This was followed by nearly five years in which I had none of that confidence. Instead I felt I was disappearing—felt I had lost all sense of direction and purpose. That I was quite literally coming apart. Early on in this period of atomization I received a card from a friend in London. The front of the card said I See You. I stood frozen, eyes burning with tears because I needed to hear that so desperately; had in fact been saying to myself for some months please, someone see me. I needed to hear that I was seen, even if it was at a distance of five-thousand miles. It is, in all likelihood, what all of us want and need: to be seen.
I am not the first person to feel they've forgotten their lines; to feel that they've lost their purpose—that they are coming apart and disappearing in a steady stream of days where the minutes are hours, and the hours bear down interminably—one long, dreaded day following another. I am not the first person to feel they have forgotten everything they know, or how and when they had learned what now seems lost. For those of us committed to living an examined life, these periods may come and go many times—and if we are lucky, we come out stronger on the other side of them. More knowledgeable about not only our own experience, but the human experience. Certainty followed by confusion; confidence followed by doubt. This is why I have to look up words that I once thought I knew. That I did, at one time, in fact know; could, in more assured states of mind, define. I have to look the words up to have something solid—some small anchor—to keep me tethered to this plane of existence. The meaning of a word can be a guidepost or an interpreter—something that leads us back to knowing, or to our purpose or sense of being human.
Those who show us they can be there for us while we are struggling often become our most trusted allies. Those who love us in our most vulnerable times demonstrate what it is we are here to do for each other. To respect someone's vulnerability, to hold it tenderly is in many respects the essence and meaning of what it is to be human. There was a winter when my life was turned upside down, and every day I would get a text message or a call from a friend asking: what are you doing? Come over. I would arrive and take a seat at the kitchen table, and for an hour my friend would cook. He gave me an hour to be. Simply to be. To be quiet. To be in my thoughts and fears—my worries—to still be in the struggle. Then we would eat; would begin to talk, and soon—to laugh. It was one of the most humanizing experiences of my life, and through it, all the trust I have was firmly realized. I could trust this friend with anything. It was a time of great uncertainty and greater risk—a time of complete vulnerability, and in that hellish crucible the deepest bonds were born—an intimacy built on trust and vulnerability.
Sometimes people try to tell us who we are; try to define our character or personal struggles. They may be doing this thinking it is helpful while being ignorant of the fact that they are violating boundaries, or they may be in full knowledge of the fact. The truth is only we as individuals can define ourselves, our struggles and shortcomings, and it is in so doing that we learn what it is to be vulnerable, and who we can trust.
I have been thinking about trust and vulnerability lately. What do these words actually mean? What role do these qualities play in our lives? There are words that on the outside I think I understand, but when I sit and contemplate their actual meaning, I find that I have to look them up. I find I am unable to come up with a simple, cogent way to explain what trust and vulnerability actually mean. This week I consulted Merriam-Webster and found the results lacking. According to Merriam-Webster, vulnerability means: capable of being physically or emotionally wounded, and open to attack or damage. As for trust: assured reliance on the character, ability, strength or truth of someone or something, and one in which confidence is placed. I do not know what definition I was expecting, but I know that it wasn't this. I then turned to American researcher Brené Brown to see what she had to say on the subject. Her definition of vulnerability is: uncertainty, risk and a possibility of emotional exposure. When it comes to the definition of trust, she and her team identified nine characteristics that came up ubiquitously in their research, and gave those nine characteristics an acronym: BRAVING.
Boundaries
Reliability
Accountability
Vault
Integrity
Non-judgment
Generosity.
(To clarify: the Vault is about confidentiality. Not only do you not divulge the confidences one has entrusted you, you do not divulge those of others. In short, are you gossiping in an effort to create closeness? Generosity in this case means to offer someone the benefit of the doubt. The rest of the terms are, for most of us, self-explanatory).
Now we are in the realm of human experience. The definitions provided by Merriam-Webster sound so sterile and clinical, lacking any sense of intimacy—and intimacy is intrinsically linked to humans, trust and vulnerability. Boundaries, reliability, accountability, integrity, etc. I understand. Violate my boundaries or refuse to take responsibility for your actions, and I won't be able to trust you. Judge me when I'm vulnerable, and I will not be able to trust you. Be there for me, respect my boundaries, allow me space to be vulnerable and you will have my trust for life. Being a safe place for someone when they are in uncertainty and risk of emotional exposure is perhaps the supreme human virtue, and the bonds built in such an exchange are unfathomably deep. This is why we are here—to hold each other gently, to be a safe harbor—to show one another what it is to be open and vulnerable. We are here to learn what it is to trust.