The Fear and Freedom of Vulnerability

Vulnerability has never come easy for me. From a young age my voice was silenced. I was taught girls are to be seen and not heard, so I buried so much of who I was and played the good girl .. until I didn’t. At sixteen someone I thought I could trust took advantage of me when I called myself skipping school. Crazy right! They say you can walk yourself into some bad situations, I guess that was mines. I never told anyone because fear, shame, and self-blame convinced me that it was all my fault. Had I not skipped school, none of it would’ve happened. So I kept quiet, allowing guilt and shame to consume me. That silence became a wound I carried forward. A silenced the deafened me.

Growing up I often felt like an only child. Nobody to truly open up to, nobody safe to release my heart to. On the rare occasions I did try, I was shut down. Almost like hearing the line from Paid in Full: “You tough nigga.” It broke something in me. It told me softness wasn’t allowed. That I had to swallow my pain, smile through my hurt, and wear strength like armor even while I was breaking inside.

I didn’t even confess what really happened to me until 2020. The first person I was actually able to be vulnerable with was my Bishop and spiritual counselor. Once I was able to somewhat process it with him, then I told my mother. And finally my father. By then the wound had closed up, maybe not fully healed but closed nevertheless. Saying it out loud for the first time felt like I had reopened something I had buried, yet it also made space for God to begin mending me in ways that silence never could.

In relationships I poured out endlessly, filling other people’s cups while mine stayed empty. I longed to be seen and heard, yet so often felt invisible and discarded. My needs dismissed, my voice drowned out and dismissed. Vulnerability to me was dangerous and it could be used as a powerful weapon. Every time I gave a piece of myself, I was left with less.

Even now I wrestle with being open, with letting people in. There’s still a part of me that questions if my voice truly matters. But through all of this I hold on to the truth that God sees me. Where people failed to listen, God has always heard me. Where trust was broken, His presence never wavered.

He reminds me that my worth and my voice were never an accident. Before the silence, before the pain, before the broken trust, before the heartache and headaches. He already knew me.

“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart.” – Jeremiah 1:5 (NIV)

That verse is now my anchor. It tells me that I am not invisible. I am not forgotten. Even when my voice shakes, God hears it. Even when I feel unseen, He reminds me that I have always been known.

Vulnerability is still a struggle, but I’m learning that it doesn’t mean weakness. It means trusting that my story has value and that my voice, no matter how many times it was silenced, still matters. And as I continue to grow, I know God is restoring the courage to be heard.