Ever heard of it? Yeah, me neither. But I got catastrophically mindf*cked after my last blog post, so I’m pretty sure it’s like a thing.
You may or may not have read it, but either way, let’s just say that I got pretty naked. I felt like I had been hiding for a couple of months and keeping some secrets, so I had my own little (scary as all hell) coming out party via my blog, and kinda sorta just let it all hang out. I’m not gonna say that it was pretty, but it was me. At least a part of me.
Shortly after I wrote and posted “Barenaked Jamie,” I felt this overwhelming sense of peace. The best way I can describe it is a joyful, unexpected weightlessness that came from deep down inside. It was this calm, quiet, palpable feeling of liberation. Yes, that’s it! LIBERATION. And all of the sudden, everything looked very different.
I am struggling financially. Yeah, and I also get to do work that makes my soul sing. My relationship is a little rocky. And I have grown more with this amazing human in the last three years than I have my entire life. I have put on a few pounds. Ummmm… Errrr… Can I get back to you on this one? LOL. Oh! I got it. Another excuse to wear yoga pants! WHOOP! I am struggling. Of course you are. Life is hard and everyone struggles. Welcome to the club, smart guy!
Then it hit me. Sharing about my struggles set me free from them. Like almost immediately. Vulnerability, although challenging, uncomfortable and downright terrifying sometimes, was what released the grip that fear and insecurity had on my heart. Showing the real, true, authentic me to the world (well, my little world) freed me from my own self-inflicted prison.
It’s not like I didn’t know this already; Brené Brown is one of my absolute heroes and has said this a million times. Vulnerability has the power to transform our entire lives. In fact, I even wrote my very first blog post about vulnerability and it has been a huge part of my spiritual journey.
But there was something new about this time. Being in a dark place. Feeling scared. Alone. HIDING. Keeping secrets. No answers. Just the ick. Being vulnerable then? Now that’s a whole different deal. And it was. But once I womaned up and pulled the trigger, it wasn’t so bad after all. It was actually sorta… AWESOME.
A couple of hours later, I have the most incredible evening. I take a walk to the cliffs of Dana Point and get lost in the sea of bright yellow wildflowers. I skip down to the harbor and walk as far out on the jetty as daylight will allow. I hadn’t felt that depth of connection to Spirit in a really long time. And I know exactly why. There just wasn’t enough room for it. Vulnerability is my emotional deep clean. And that night, my insides were a sparkling, squeaky clean.
Fast-forward a couple of hours and my heart was now full to the brim. My phone had been dinging throughout the day and night with emails notifying me that I had a new subscriber to my blog. “Someone’s pickin’ up what you’re puttin’ down,” MailChimp tells me. And this never happens, by the way, so I was like a giddy kid with each little “ding!” And hey—I am up to 66 subscribers now! (Thank you, new subscribers!) Does that mean I have arrived?! LOL
Like I’ve said before, I write for me. When I write, I reflect. When I reflect, I learn. And when I learn, I grow. And while this is very true, nothing makes me happier than when my experience touches the life of someone else. When my words make someone feel less alone. When my vulnerability inspires that in another. Because for me, it’s so much easier together.
After I post a blog—and this is a little embarrassing, so try not to judge me here!—I don’t check Facebook and Instagram right away. I like to wait a few hours so that I can read all the comments at once. It’s like a mini Christmas morning for my heart! Sometimes I get lots of love and shares, and other times not so much. I try to not have any expectations, but it’s super special to me nonetheless. Because even if my writing touches one single heart, I am a deeply grateful girl.
So I’m snuggled in my bed, iPhone in hand. After I open Instagram and browse the likes and beautiful little love nuggets, I move onto Facebook. And OMG, the love! The most beautiful shares, comments and messages of love, vulnerability and connection. Although social media can be enough to make me want to stab my eyes out sometimes, there is something so beautiful about watching like-hearted people come together in support of each other.
As I cry, laugh and cry-laugh my way through all the comments, I get aaaaalmost to the bottom, and there it is. (Enter: mindf*ck.) Some of you may have even seen it as I know Facebook is overly generous with notifications, but there it was staring me straight in the face. The meanest, most hurtful thing that maybe anyone has ever said to me. I’ve heard the term “trolling” before, but I have never experienced it until now. At least I think that’s what it was.
I didn’t even read the whole comment; it seemed to go on forever. I think I read the first couple of sentences and then frantically deleted it before I could even think twice. (The old Jamie would have taken a screen-shot so I could freely torture myself for weeks.) I can’t even really remember what it said (thank God), but let’s just say that something about “a wallowing pig in shit,” I believe, was his opening line.
It broke my heart. I burst out into tears. And my inner critic went WILD. What were you thinking? Why on earth would you share that with people? You are so sad and pathetic. What did he say about a pig in shit? Yup, nailed it. You should probably take that post down. Maybe even your whole blog. Aren’t you embarrassed?! You should be. Yikes. Blah blah bah *poison* blah blah…
I’m not gonna say I fell for all of that, but I cried myself to sleep that night. My heart was wide open, and he hit me in the freakin’ bullseye. I’m human. And it hurt. And I gave myself permission to feel it. So I felt it. And I cried. And I slept.
I woke up sans alarm at 5:15am. As I was lying in bed rubbing my puffy eyes awake, I remembered something I recently read in Entering the Castle. Caroline Myss, another one of my heroes, says that the spiritual path is a path of endurance—I believe that with my whole heart. And then out of nowhere, I heard—no I felt—a crystal clear voice: Challenge accepted, you mother f*cker.
So I jumped in the shower and washed off those filthy words, and I made the commitment to myself to keep being real, and to keep being ME… no matter what. If being open, vulnerable, raw and HUMAN means that I’m a wallowing pig in shit, THEN CALL ME PORKY AND SHUT THE F*CK UP, YOU FACEBOOK-TROLLING BASTARD.
Because I choose FREEDOM. And I always will.
(I may or may not have some residual anger to work through around this. LOL)