Brave & Scared at the Same Time

I really enjoy having this blog. I like that people can click the link in my Instagram bio (a platform that is incredibly curated and no more authentic than anyone else’s despite how eccentric mine may seem) and quite easily come to know parts of my soul through my writing. I like that whether I know it or not, there are people who know me better than I think they do because they’ve read some of my pieces. I like that I’m able to share my heart with the world, unafraid of the inevitable judgements people will have. I often think: how cool is it that people have an invitation into my life and my heart without having to be in my physical presence? Without even having to “know” me? I offer a lens into my innermost being every time I share new pages of my story, and I consider it to be one of my greatest superpowers that I feel comfortable doing so.

Although, I write a lot about myself, which I don’t love. I don’t think I do it in an ego-centric way, but more-so in an anecdotal way. It’s natural to want to write about our own experiences, because it’s what we know best, but after a while it becomes aspirational more than inspirational. I could tell you that I feel grateful and loved all of the time, but what would that do for someone struggling with their life? I’d guess it would probably feel like a huge slap in the face. I imagine my readers thinking: Cailin, we understand you think vulnerability is awesome, you’re chronically positive, and you’re super passionate about not judging people — how do we get there without some epiphanic moment? 

Because I am a human and my being is fraught with wonderful flaws and lessons that I need to learn, I know that things like vulnerability, positivity, and non-judgement don’t come easily to everyone. I know full-well they didn’t come easily to me, even if they might seem like they do now. But that’s the beauty of life — we get to fumble with all of it. It’s how we learn and how we grow. We make mistakes and say things we wish we didn’t — things that keep us up at night and make us blush upon a mere thought months later. We regret things we never said. We forgive people who hurt us, and then get hurt again. We fall in love too hard and fall out of love too easily. We get shamed for trying too hard on things, but regret when we don’t give something our all. It’s like we can never do anything perfectly. Nothing ever really feels safe, and we never really feel ready to take on life — largely because it is damn confusing; flustering even, being a human.

Now, I’m probably not much further along in life than whoever is reading this, so I don’t actually know if this is true, but I’m pretty sure that there’s never going to come a point when we decide we’re ready to start living life fully. We’re never going to wake up one morning and think: wow, I’m ready to do it. Off I go! I’m ready to put my fears behind me and start living. If only that were the case. Instead, we have to make that decision ourselves.  Our fears of failing, of being embarrassed, of regret are awfully sticky. It takes intentionality and a shit-ton of courage to start shamelessly fumbling with life in the name of wholehearted living.

When I think about this, a favorite Becky Vollmer quote comes to mind: 

“You can be brave and scared at the same time. It's the very definition of courage. And you have more of it than you think. Beautiful, messy, raw, imperfect courage. Just like you.” 

My life changed ten-fold when I came to understand that a fully-lived life is not one that is free of fear; it is one in which love is chosen over fear at every junction. Our fears aren’t just “I’m afraid of death” or “I’m scared of appearing imperfect.” Our fears are the tiniest anxieties. Like, answering someone too quickly on snapchat because it seems eager. Or walking into a party alone. It’s why we pretend not to see people instead of saying hi and risking an awkward interaction, or why we worry that our lives will legitimately be changed by a bad picture of us being posted on social media. They’re all just tiny anxieties pointing towards our biggest fears: fears of never being loved, fears of being judged, fears of not meeting people’s expectations. 

I experience all of these things — all of these seemingly trivial anxieties — on the day to day. I’m by no means immune to them, and I can’t confidently tell you that there’s anyone who is. But my life became a lot more fun, a lot more fulfilling, and a lot easier when I started acknowledging these anxieties and realizing that they were holding me back from what really makes my life so meaningful: love and connection. 

I still have that thought in my head that says: what if this is painfully awkward? In anticipation of hanging out with a new person or people that I’m not super comfortable with yet. I still experience the overthinking that comes when you like someone, the kind of spiraling thoughts that make me wonder if I should squash this whole vulnerability practice altogether because being open isn’t always easy. I still walk away from interactions and wonder what the person I talked to thought of me. 

But in employing what I call my courage-practice, I started seeing small improvements. I started following my heart a little bit more, and each time I leaned further into the things that make me happy and fulfilled, I found that I started instinctively doing things that align with my mission to spread love. I began saying kind things to people without wondering what they’d make of my kindness. I stopped getting embarrassed when I’d wave at people and they wouldn’t wave back, because it was the thought that counted. I started asking people to hangout when I wanted to see them instead of nervously wondering if they wanted to see me too, waiting for them to ask. I started telling more people I love that I love them.

And the only way I can really describe the way this lifestyle has made me feel — a lifestyle of being both brave and scared at the same time — is whole. I feel imperfect in a way that takes the pressure off of my being. I feel known by the people who love me, and loved for who I am. All because I decided that if I were to die tomorrow and the only thing that was said about me is that I made other people feel loved, seen, and heard — then that’s good enough for me. 

I know it’s not easy — none of it is. I know it’s hard to navigate the world, to fumble with friendship and love and goals and dreams. But my point in writing this — in telling you all of this, is to remind you that you’re not alone in your fumbling. You’re not alone in the tiny anxieties or the overthinking. You’re just a human — a human living in a world that has told us to be perfect and strong and to make it look easy. Of course we’re going to struggle when we’re trying to live such an unattainable model of being.

So, incase any of you reading this need it, here are some reminders that help me:  

It is not weak to be vulnerable. 

It is not embarrassing to love fully. 

It is not shameful to be human. 

There is no such thing as perfection. 

We are all still learning.

Put some more love into the world today; it’ll always find its way back to you.