Becoming Stronger by Being Vulnerable

As I have written this blog for the past three years, I have tried to be as vulnerable and transparent as possible. A retired friend (also a former counselor) told me in 2019, that writing about my experience was one of the best ways to work through the process of loss and grief, but most men do not do it. I think it is safe to write that most men do not enjoy talking about or describing their feelings. It is extremely uncomfortable for most, and at times I have not been completely comfortable opening up and posting my thoughts and feelings. I think many will agree that it is largely due to the way that boys are raised. 

Boys are taught to be rough and tough, and not to cry. Many believe that showing or expressing emotions as a man, demonstrates weakness. There is the thought that someone has to be strong to lead through a crisis, and emotions cloud judgement. And while there is certainly a time and situation to be composed in order to stay mentally clear, there is also a time to walk with a person through a painful journey and show emotion and vulnerability.

Studies have shown that men are just as emotional as women, but that most men suppress it by asserting toughness. The emotion is there, but it is pushed way down, and hidden. I have heard it said countless times that, “men are better in dealing with stressful situations, because they are less emotional than a woman.”  So, in essence, the logic by some is that men are stronger, and women are not equal in dealing with stressful or life-threatening situations, because men can be calmer in the eye of a storm. This is a demeaning thought of a woman’s strength in my opinion. It certainly would be with Lyn. 

The idea that because someone cries or becomes emotional, that they are in fact, not in control, or weak, is misguided. Or to think that by hiding my fears and emotions, somehow makes me stronger, is simply not accurate. Lyn taught me to be stronger through her faith, strength, and being willing to be vulnerable.

As Lyn arrived home from the hospital (after diagnosis and awaiting treatment) I was an internal mess of stress and emotions. Lyn lost the ability to write, talk and communicate. We started speech therapy immediately with a speech pathologist. We also purchased specialized speech therapy programs for her iPad. We read street names, and numbers on mailboxes as we walked. I taught her the sounds of the alphabet as she looked at the letter. If you want to truly wonder who the stronger person was, it was undoubtedly, Lyn. 

Think for a moment and try to imagine how it would feel if everything was normal on Saturday night as you went to bed, and then five hours later be awoken out of a deep sleep, and unable to breathe through your nose, unable to speak, unable to swallow, and unable to write? Can you imagine the fear? Can you imagine the confusion of what was happening, but could not even communicate with the doctor? I was there, and I still cannot fully grasp what those first moments were like, or the days following for Lyn.

Lyn didn’t need me to be strong and in control. She needed a partner that she could rely upon to assist her in getting better and being her advocate, since she could not speak or write. Lyn was the calm one. At first, I thought her calmness was an act. I soon found out that she was at total peace. When we were on our way to the first oncology appointment, we needed to fill out a questionnaire about pain and stress she may have been encountering. When I got to the question on stress and anxiety, I asked her to point to the number that represented her stress and anxiety. She pointed to the number three. It was a survey with numbers from one to ten (ten being high stress). She was a three. I was honestly a ten, but concealed this out of fear of showing weakness. Again, I thought I had to show strength, and this came through being calm.

Lyn taught me in that moment what true faith looked like in the midst of two life-threatening issues: brain bleeding that caused the stroke, and also being in stage four of one of the deadliest cancers. I was almost embarrassed how utterly calm and strong she was, and what a mess I was. 

I was the weaker one but masked my fear by acting composed and calm. Once I realized how strong she was, and at total peace, I was able to better support her as we moved forward in this journey.

Arriving at this point in my life was actually freeing. It simply allowed me to cease caring about appearances. I became comfortable in my own skin, and the façade could come down. What an awesome feeling! Being strong does not mean having it all together and composed in every minute of the day. Being strong might entail being composed and calculated as the doctor is telling you bad news. But being strong is also being strong enough to breakdown in tears with your spouse, as she is dealing with the facts of losing her hair from brain radiation. 

Seeing anyone suffer in pain should impact us and create emotion. That’s being human. In my thinking, it shows strength, and it creates a bond with the person going through the depths of physical and emotional pain. It is one thing to tell a person you care, and another to be moved to the point of heartache and tears.

As stated earlier, I have not always been comfortable with showing emotion. When watching a sad movie, I could simply stay stoic, composed, and turn off the emotion. Why? Because of fear. Because of being emotionally immature. I might have been torn up inside, but no way was that emotion coming out! 

I used to be much more guarded with showing and sharing emotion, but a number of things changed in my life, such as having children, growing older, being comfortable in my skin, and watching someone I loved struggle, allowed me to show open emotion. After Lyn had her stroke and cancer diagnosis, I quickly recognized that I needed to be honest in my communication with my wife, her doctors, our children, and our friends. Lyn desired to have as much support as possible, and to invite everyone into her journey. If I wanted to be a part of that with her, I needed to come to terms with my fears, desires, and emotions.

Please, do not get me wrong. I like to be composed, because there is no doubt that I operate more clearly when I do. I also like to have others see me as composed, competent, and a clear thinker. I like to have things go perfectly. I like order, and to be in control of situations. I do not like to be controlled by people, or by a disease like cancer. However, as I have written numerous times in the previous 39 articles, I had to lose this idea of control and complete composure because I found it was an artificial emotion. Those that know me well understand that I try and be an authentic person that they can read and trust.

Once Lyn started her battle with her horrible disease, I tossed aside the idea of trying to hold it all together as a means of showing strength for Lyn. Lyn didn’t need strength—she needed a partner that could understand a bit of what she was dealing with and feeling. She wanted someone that could assure her that things would be okay, without promising that she would be healed. Lyn was strong enough for straight honest talk. She appreciated that I said, “Lyn, I can’t tell you that you will beat this cancer. This melanoma is a beast. We are not in control.” That honesty provided peace for the both of us, and our family. 

Lyn had all the strength she needed with her relationship with God. I just needed to be Jeff—partner of Lyn, and her support in all things, and in all times.

When we decided to start writing the blog, one of the things that was truly important to her was to highlight, that although she was battling a horrible disease, she was okay with not being in control. She wanted her faith to shine through. In Lyn’s thinking, faith and control are diametrically opposed to one another. She wanted to let people know that while she did not want this terrible disease, she was just fine. That is why she wanted to carry on life as normal as she could, by getting together with family and friends, go to church, watch movies, eat, travel, work, hike, garden, and laugh. Lyn did this and did it very well to the very end. 

Over the past three years in writing this blog, I have had dozens of people contact me, and tell me how much they have appreciated my honesty. They have appreciated my being vulnerable. They have appreciated the details of heartache. All the posts have a once over review from my daughter, the editor. There have been items where she has suggested changes, rewording, or to simply leave something out that was too personal.

Lyn wanted her journey to assist others, even if she would not be healed on this side of sunshine. So, for me to be less than honest in my emotions, grief, heartache, and experience, would not honor Lyn or her desired contents for a blog. She desired to have people learn and grow through her faith, experience, and journey. Furthermore, I would not be staying true to what is going on in my life, thoughts, and emotions if I was not transparent. I am strengthened by being vulnerable, sharing truthfully, and admitting weakness. It is only through honest sharing that this can happen, and I can continue to grow, and hopefully assist someone in their life journey. Blessings on whatever journey you are on.