Why I Started Writing This Blog--And Why I'm Going to Stop. (For Now.)

Back in college, a close friend of mine had gone to see Good Will Hunting and came back with a simple review: “Chrissie,” he said, “this movie changed my life.”

I teased him about his exuberance. C'mon, it’s just a movie. I mean, yeah, it’s a really great movie, but seriously? It changed your life?

Then, about a year ago, I read a book that changed my life.

For some of you, this is not the first time I’m preaching the praises of Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent and Lead or its author, Brené Brown. I know the title sounds like it’s typical self-help babble. And that me telling you I heard about it via Oprah doesn’t help my case.

But I guess this book and concept just hit me at the time I needed it most. I read it about a year ago, when I was still grappling with my transition away from my job, coming to terms with my mom’s deteriorating health, growing more isolated from my former coworkers and friends, and generally feeling a little lost about my place in the world. I thought I was a good person–what had I done to deserve all this?

In short, I felt unworthy. I had convinced myself my loneliness and dissatisfaction were the result of a lack of success. If I could just find a job or get accepted into that writing program or even just post a really funny Facebook update, then people will care about me. Then I’ll matter. Then I’ll be happy.

Then I heard Brené Brown talk about worthiness. And how you don’t need to achieve something to have self-worth. That the people who have true happiness in their lives are those who simply believe they deserve it.

Daring Greatly focuses most of its attention on vulnerability as a means to find happiness. Brown’s core argument is that most of us have an innate sense of shame about who we really are, about the fact that we’re not perfect and have real fears and insecurities. Because everyone else puts their best face forward, we assume we’re the only ones who feel this way, so we put up armor to keep people from truly getting to know us. We do everything we can to avoid being vulnerable.

But, she argues, it’s only in allowing ourselves to be vulnerable that we find our true strength. The title Daring Greatly comes from a quotation by Theodore Roosevelt:

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

In other words, Yoda was right: Do or do not. There is no try. Because the trying is the doing.

As Brown herself says:

We must walk into the arena, whatever it may be–a new relationship, an important meeting, our creative process, or a difficult family conversation–with courage and the willingness to engage. Rather than sitting on the sidelines and hurling judgment and advice, we must dare to show up and let ourselves be seen. This is vulnerability. This is daring greatly.

And this is why I started this blog. To try and stop hiding behind funny punchlines and brave faces and futile efforts to pretend everything was just fine. When I finished the book last year, I had the epiphany that my isolation and distance from people came not from their rejection of me, but from my unwillingness to be honest with them–and with myself.

I decided to try talking more about how I was really feeling, about the difficult experiences that had been defining me. With each post, I was filled with doubt: Am I revealing too much? Does this make it seem like I think my problems are more important than everyone else’s? Is it totally presumptuous of me to assume anybody cares?

But as I’ve mentioned before, the response has been overwhelming and heartwarming. People have reached out with words of support, gratitude and encouragement that continue to inspire me every day. Clearly there is a thirst for authenticity, for sincerity, for vulnerability. Over and over, I’ve been reassured I’m not the only one who’s been through these feelings, and that people appreciate knowing they’re not, either.

On a personal level, I’ve found peace and healing through the process of writing about the events of the past two years. But most importantly, this blog has allowed me to connect with people like I never have before. I’m back in touch with old friends in stronger ways, and I’ve welcomed many new friends into my life with whom I feel an instant bond.

And because I’ve put all my cards on the table, I know their feelings are genuine. These friendships are not based on prerequisites. I don’t have to pretend, don’t have to spend energy remembering what image I’m supposed to maintain with which person. What’s that old saying? “A friend is someone who knows everything about you–but still loves you anyway.” Why waste time with people who expect you to keep up certain appearances? Aside from being healthier, this whole honesty thing is also a handy (and time-saving) way to filter down to the friends who are the real deal. And I’m lucky to have so many real-deal people in my life right now.

Which is why I’d like to turn my focus inward for a while. As positive an experience as this blog has been so far, I worry I’m starting to fall victim to stand-up comic syndrome: that it can be far easier to talk to 100 people than it is to just one. That even in opening up about my personal issues, I’m somehow still playing to the crowd. That I’m approaching my own emotions through the lens of how I’m going to write about them, and how people will respond. And I’m kinda not comfortable with that.

I’m now about two weeks away from becoming a mother, an experience I know will bring with it a whole new set of emotions. And I’ll be honest about them–but in real life. Aside from the sheer lack of time I’ll have to even think about blogging, I want to focus my mind on the energy of each moment. I want to be present in my feelings, not catalog them for future use. For my new family and me, I want this time to be just ours.

The irony is I wouldn’t have gotten to this mindset if it weren’t for starting this blog in the first place and seeing how it’s resonated with so many of you. You’ve given me the confidence to believe I’m worthy of happiness on my own, and I cannot thank you enough for that. This is not me trying to close myself off again or putting up new armor to hide my vulnerabilities. It’s about making sure I’m present in my own reality, that I’m fostering strong connections with the people I love, and that I’m the best self I can be for the little guy who’s about to change my life.