Practices in Love

Vulnerability.

I like this word partly because it can feel hard to do, difficult to be.

It’s also, impossible not to be; can truly be so easy.

As a mother, vulnerability is many things. I feel so much love I could spill over and often do. Sometimes, I’m brought to tears when I watch my son sleep or do really anything at all. How is it possible to love this much? I expand and fill space like never before, my supple form a soft pillow to the sharp edges of the world. My heart never-ending. My arms more encompassing. My capacities widening and deepening like water seeping into porous spaces.

I feel thin, fragile, like I could shatter when my toddler screeches and screams; decibels that grate through my spine. Or when he throws his body around and thwacks my head just perfectly to elicit the sharpest pain and the quickest tears. In these moments, I try to remember to breathe, to get down on his level, to become supple again for him to lean into and for myself to fill.

Fleshy, penetrable, perceiving, we can’t not feel, react, respond. Maybe sometimes it’s with more skill and composure than others, but all interaction is a series of action. The more I lean into my capability to be vulnerable, the more supple and receiving to life I feel, the more connected, thoughtfully responsive, generative and patient I can be.

My son teaches me about relationship. His requests are so clear if I slow to listen and they are always about connection. We work together to solve whatever arises. I take those moments of the simplicity of request of my toddler into my life with others, or try to. How can I be more patient, listen and really hear my partner or family or friends? I try to ask clarifying questions and repeat back what I hear, to gather information with receptive eyes, body language, and intuition, just like I would in a client session. It makes me laugh a little at the simplicity of skills in theory and the gravity of them in practice. Listening truly is a skill. I often find I have more patience for my son than I do for anyone else. So I reflect, practice, and try again.

I take these reflections into my movement practice. I slow, listen internally, listen to the space around me, watch the wind. I respond to any felt sense, follow the kinesthetic delight, wait for whatever tugs me forward. What is it to truly be somewhere, to listen with all of the body and be moved by the presence of other in the more-than-human world. Taking off the tunnel-vision visor of human to human seeing and peering beyond into the vibrant world that surrounds. The glowing coffee mug, the sparkling leaves, the angle of the light.

External stimuli can be just as informative to our state of being as the more inward check-ins of body scans and internal sensing. A magical relationship unfolds when we slow to listen and respond with care. The gentler we are with ourselves and others the more impossible it is to not feel how connected we are. Which doesn’t necessarily mean we have control over all the feelings and reactions, but it does allow us to at least name them and move through them.

Being vulnerable means being receptive, responsive, open to authenticity. We allow ourselves to be moved by the world around us and ultimately feel more at one with everything in a simple yet profound way. Offering our attention to our space, the people around us, and ourselves cultivates a sacredness even in the mundane. In the end, it’s venerable to practice vulnerability.