Showing all posts tagged vulnerability

In Identity, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships

Learning to Receive

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

Every year, I pick 3 words to focus on. For 2024, those words are savour, intentional, and receive. When I picked these words in January, I had a sense that receive would be the hardest challenge for me. And it has been.

But I’m getting there. I’m learning, ever so slowly, that giving and receiving is a dance. For so many years, I was spinning in circles on the dance floor of my relationships, giving and giving and giving and not believing that I deserved to receive from those who loved me.

It’s different now. And better. More balanced and fair. When Jason and I were going to marriage counselling last spring for the first time in our nearly 27-year-relationship, I said to him, “I want a wife to care for me the way I look after you.”

At first, he had no idea what I was saying. It took us both a long time to figure out that I had been so skilled at nurturing him, while simultaneously blocking any attempt he made to be loving and caring back to me. I created a pattern in our marriage where I gave and he received. Over time, this centred his needs and interests over mine.

I was resentful about this. And angry. Our relationship felt lopsided and unfair, and the worst thing was that Jason couldn’t understand why I would be feeling unhappy.

So much of our lives is invisible to us, because we create habits around our patterns. Then we behave instinctively around those patterns, until the inner workings of the relationship dynamics are mysterious to us, even though we were the ones who set those patterns up in the first place.

But 27 years is a long time. He couldn’t see that he was the centre of our relationship, and I couldn’t see that I had been the one to put him there. We were both so lost in trying to reach each other during that painful and isolating time in our marriage.

Until we took a road trip last spring from BC to Alberta, and talked with no distractions for hours on end. Suddenly, we both found clarity on a few of these key issues. He began to understand what I was asking for from him, and I could finally glimpse the inner workings of my inability to receive the care and nurture he had been offering to me.

We both started to change on that trip last June. And now, it’s more than a year later, and I’ve been learning how to receive the care I’ve been longing for. From Jason, from my grown kids, from my close friends. Even from my beloved cat, Teddy. I opened the door that I had closed in order to protect myself from being hurt or let down by others. I started to trust again, and it’s been a beautiful thing.

In my monthly zoom nurture sessions for writers, I’m amazed at how often this issue of giving vs. receiving is coming up. So many women are conditioned to give and not to receive. Sometimes it’s an issue of self-worth and protection, like it was for me, and other times it’s tied to a feeling of obligation, like nurture is a debt we owe to someone else.

I know there is a lot more to discover on this topic. I’m just scratching the surface of understanding how complex and nuanced giving and receiving can be, especially between women and men. I’m so grateful that Jason and I can both see the inner workings a little bit clearer within our marriage, which means we can talk about it openly and make small changes to be sure we are both feeling loved and loving within our relationship.

It’s been a revelation to me, how much stronger and more generous I feel when I practice receiving that love and care from others.

In Culture, Identity, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships, Speaking, University

Middle Age Stress

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

Late this spring, my doctor took my blood pressure and expressed concern about how high it was. “What type of stress are you under right now?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing, really,” I replied. She prodded a little, and then I said, “I just finished grad school, and I suppose that was stressful, but it’s over now. My husband and I are going to marriage counselling for the first time, because we’re about to celebrate our 25th anniversary and we’ve been trying to make some significant changes in the way our relationship functions. And my daughter moved out last year for university and I miss her so much. My son is going into grade 12 and I’ve been seeing a counsellor to prepare for an empty nest. We’re going to Europe this July, visiting 10 countries in 3.5 weeks, and there’s been a lot of prep, but other than that, I can’t think of anything.”

My doctor stared at me for an uncomfortable amount of time, then she said in a gentle tone, “Julianne, any one of those things could cause a lot of stress. Add them all together and I can see why your blood pressure is so high.”

I burst into tears. I realised after that appointment how tempting it can be to minimise my experiences. I’ve spent a lifetime doing that, so that I’m not causing difficulties or discomfort to anyone else. I bear all of that shit myself, until it becomes so heavy that I can’t carry it any longer and the whole house of cards comes tumbling down.

That happened for me this past June. But I couldn’t begin to understand or even acknowledge it then. Even now, months later, it still feels strange to type it out here. I feel removed from the story. It’s like I’m watching it happen to someone else.

My wonderful doctor told me to look after myself more. To get more sleep, to try a variety of lifestyle changes in order to lower my blood pressure. I remember saying to her, quite indignantly, “My blood pressure has always been perfect.” She responded with, “We’re all healthy until we’re not.”

I felt mild shame about my increased blood pressure, even when my doctor assured me that it wasn’t a character flaw. But it felt like one. We went to Europe, and I struggled my way through the trip that was designed as a celebration of our quarter-century marriage, my fiftieth birthday, Ava’s belated high school graduation and my MFA grad. Each day in a new country felt overwhelming and frightening. I was lost, and couldn’t recognise myself, which frankly scared the shit out of me.

This fall, my doctor suggested hormone therapy as we began to realise that so many of my symptoms were tied to perimenopause. I started on estrogen, and after a few weeks I stopped crying all the time for no discernible reason and a host of other symptoms started to abate. But my blood pressure remained high, so I just started on a low dose of medicine to try to bring that down.

It’s lovely to feel supported and cared for in my doctor’s office. It’s one of the first times in my life I’ve had this level of kindness from a medical professional. I’m going to turn 51 in just over a month, and my 50th year has been incredibly challenging on a number of fronts. But progress is being made, and that’s worth celebrating. My new counsellor has me saying, “I’m learning how to do things differently” while writing down the words DO LESS and looking at them every day. She has me trying to care for myself the way I’ve long cared for others, and learning how to receive nurture and love which I’m not good at doing.

It’s a strange experience to speak and teach on topics of wellness and mental health, while struggling day by day on a practical level with it myself. I told the teachers I worked with at a conference in October that I’m working on allowing myself to be sad, and scared, and giving myself permission to not have all the answers. It was truly beautiful how many teachers told me after my sessions how much my vulnerability had meant to them. In theory, I knew that vulnerable sharing is the key to true connection with others, but to understand this by experiencing it was next-level stuff.

I know from talking to several friends that this perimenopause/menopause journey (that’s an overly generous word for it; the first one I typed was ‘nightmare’) can last five or more years. Some who are on the other side of it told me to use these uncomfortable symptoms as an invitation to slow down, and take better care of myself. My counsellor says this stage is about getting comfortable with grieving for the end of childbearing and bringing up children. It’s painful to finish one chapter and move into another one, but that process happens so many times in our lives. Grief feels like a spot-on word.

So we carry on. I’m trying to be gentler, and move a little slower, and stay present. It’s helpful to know that others have gone through this and survived (even eventually thrived). I’d love to hear from you if you have any words of wisdom or encouragement for me in these new and weird perimenopause days. It feels so big and scary in the middle of it, but I also know it’s natural and an important life transition. Most of all, it’s great to know we are not alone.

In Culture, Nurture, Personal Growth, University

Learning French

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on
Learning French

This spring, I’m learning to trust the process in my beginner French class. Like the Anthropology class I took last semester, I dreaded having to enrol in a language class. Flailing around and feeling out of my depth is not my strong suit.

Learning a language requires incredible vulnerability. Every class for the first two weeks was like drinking from a fire hydrant. New verbs to conjugate in six different ways. Masculine or feminine nouns. Prepositions that shift and change when you least expect them to. And either a verbal or a written test every week.

My oh my, did I struggle. I know a lot of self-soothing techniques, so I tried saying, “It’s okay, Julianne. You don’t have to get an A+ in every class. You can’t graduate without 2 intro language classes, so all you have to do is get through it.” None of this lovely wisdom sunk in.

Until the third week of my condensed French class (I’m attending 2 classes per week for a total of 6 hours, plus 90 minutes of language lab where we practice conversing in a smaller group). I felt my usual anxiety spike in the lecture when the new words and grammar rules came at me like a slingshot, but suddenly I realized that in a few days it would settle in and I would be fine.

I’d like to get a t-shirt printed with this slogan on it: In a few days this will settle in and you will be fine. I’ve become fooled by the digital immediacy of modern life, where I hit a button and I get an instant result. Our human process does not work like this and will never work like this. When my brain is overwhelmed in French class, it begins to shut down, but a few days later, the information is not so impossible to understand.

There has to be a lesson here for all of us. We must stop confusing real life with digital life. As human beings, we will forever lurch along like cave people when we learn new skills. I’m endlessly working on accepting this. It’s not as pretty or organized as I’d like, but when I’m brave enough to be vulnerable in my mistakes, I actually learn.

I’m astonished at the amount of French I’ve learned in five weeks. But the bigger take-away is improved patience with myself. Trusting the process means that we might not get it NOW, but we will eventually get it. Most days, that’s the best we can hope for. Gentleness and grace works more miracles than stress and blunt force.

One week to go and then I’ve got the summer off from school for the first time in two years! I can hardly wait.

In Identity, Personal Growth, University, Writing

Accomplishments

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on
Accomplishments

It can be tempting to downplay our accomplishments, particularly for women. No one wants to be a blowhard, as we’ve all met our share of those insufferable types who crow on about every little thing. The older I get, the more I appreciate quiet humility and privacy.

Having said all that, these last few weeks have brought several awards in my academic journey, and I’m reminded of how satisfying it feels to achieve a desired goal. Years ago I would’ve brushed aside my own achievements, believing that no one else would be interested in them (although I suspect the issue was mostly a lack of confidence in myself).

Over time, I’ve come to understand that part of self-care is owning my own accomplishments. Not to brag about them or hold them over anyone else, but simply to celebrate the sheer joy of hard work being recognized and honoured by someone else. When you are a writer, and the bulk of what you face is rejection, the successful moments are like stars in a cloudy sky.

For the last six months, I’ve been assembling a large portfolio for Prior Learning Assessment Recognition (PLAR). My Arts advisor identified me as a potential candidate to earn university credits for my career up to this point. PLAR involved a mountain of work, writing about learning in a variety of core competency areas plus amassing nine folders full of evidence to support that learning.

The process concluded with an hour-long phone interview with PLAR assessors right before we went on a ten-day vacation to San Jose del Cabo in Mexico for spring break. I haven’t been on a formal job interview since 1999, but I could measure how far my confidence has come in this phone call. It’s a beautiful experience to live as your authentic self all the time. I feel so certain in myself and my answers now compared to when I was younger, not because I have everything figured out but because I’m not hampered by so many disguises. I know now that vulnerability is a strength and not a weakness. To be real is my biggest goal, and it makes life so much better.

I asked for 48 credits in total toward my BA in Creative Writing and the PLAR committee awarded me 45. This significantly reduces the years I will be in university in order to complete my degree. I began in the fall of 2017, going part-time, and with this award it’s conceivable I’ll be able to graduate in the next two to three years. I find this mind-blowing, as I assumed I’d be attending for a decade.

Then this week I heard I was shortlisted as a finalist for a Creative Writing Scholarship at KPU. I applied for writing scholarships last year and didn’t place at all. This year, I applied again for three different awards and I knew my writing was stronger but I’ve also met many other writers in my program so I knew there would be stiff competition.

At the awards ceremony this week, I was astonished to hear my name read as the winner for the Creative Writing Scholarship (and later on as a finalist for an award designated for students over the age of 30). The scholarship is $1,000 in tuition but even more than that it’s a large step forward for the quality of the work I’m able to produce at this stage of my life and career. Going back to school has helped my confidence and my craft in more ways than I can even count.

And THAT is worth celebrating.

In Books, Culture, Identity, Nurture, Personal Growth, Relationships, Speaking

The Gentleness Cure

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on
The Gentleness Cure

I had the privilege of presenting 3 sessions to BC Drama Teachers in Vancouver last week for their annual conference. We talked about building a moral conscience, what we can learn from risk and failure, and developing emotional resilience. These teachers inspired me. Every one of them was willing to dive in with both feet and whole hearts, offering up valuable insights and demonstrating what true courage looks like by being vulnerable.

The world is a dark place in the late stages of 2018, but this simply means our individual lights must burn brighter. When we make it a little farther down the path of growth and development, it’s on us to turn around and shine our flashlight so the next person knows where to step.

I’m working on something new in my own heart. It’s called gentleness. I’m intentionally trying to soften up my hard edges toward people I don’t understand and don’t like. In my conference sessions I talk a lot about holding the dignity of every person as a top priority in every interaction. I say, “Every person is worthy of love and has someone who loves them.” When a person drives me bananas, I work on seeing them as a vulnerable and defenceless child, trying to reach a toy on their tiptoes and accepting help from a caring adult.

In theory, this gentle approach works to dampen down my frustration and round out my harsh, judgemental edges. In reality, I often fail at this. I am meaner than I would like to be. We live in a polarized culture, where people take a position and hammer one another over the heads with it. I long to opt out of this cycle, but far too often I get on Twitter or Facebook and my heart begins to harden instead of soften.

Those teachers inspired me because they are in the trenches every day with students and parents. They walk a fine line of trying to mentor the students in a healthy manner while recognizing that their own lives and schedules need fine tuning. We are all struggling, in one way or another, and kindness is a better balm than criticism.

Perhaps it comes down to the oxygen mask philosophy (yet again). If I don’t look after myself, I cannot help you, because I’m passed out on the floor while the plane loses altitude. It feels a bit like our collective societal decency plane is rapidly descending to the ground, but the answer is not found in despair. It’s found when we commit to the tools we need to help ourselves, and then others, rise up.

I wish there was an easy way to manage this, but of course there isn’t. Easy doesn’t produce long-term, real results. Only struggle does that. Our fast-paced, wait-for-nothing modern existence has truly failed us when it comes to personal development and maturity. These things need time, failure, heartbreak, support and frustration. We have to change our expectations for immediate results in these areas. We need to wait, and hurt a bit, and these things are incredibly healthy for us.

I love speaking at conferences because it forces me to put my own fancy words into practice. Instruction is meaningless unless it is backed up with action. If I’m not living what I’m advising, no one should listen or care. But when we honestly live out our struggles, naming them to one another in a safe space, our authentic experiences provide a strong foundation to live from.

Gentleness, friends. To ourselves first, and then to others. Make sure you have enough oxygen. Rest this weekend. Read a good book (I recommend Dare to Lead by Brene Brown and Almost Everything: Notes on Hope by Anne Lamott). Turn off social media with all of its hand-wringing and doomsday predictions. Eat some Halloween candy. Hold the dignity of every person you interact with as a holy sacrament. Practice the courage of vulnerability and authenticity. Find a cure in being gentle.