I used to think that vulnerability…

…. should be banned from my life. Doors and windows closed. After all, who needs an expression of what I saw as weakness in my early days?

I turned the corner on that later on, after my life showed me the vulnerability mirror over and over, and over again. It is always important to do all possible in any crisis, but perfectionism and me have two different names today. And if I do not “deliver” in one or other situation, so be it. Very few moments like that have power to impact me forever.
No moment of life lets us sneak undetected past the chances to grow stronger, confronting us with our own imperfections, “weaknesses”. It is up to us to recognize them for what they are, signs of being alive and in the process of learning to become our best selves.


Being vulnerable is no less being alive than being happy, when kissed for the first time under autumn trees, with rustling gold above our heads – or being heartbroken after losing someone irreplaceable in our lives. Vulnerability is where our souls stop for a moment, sigh, sit down around the fireplace and reflect. Everything around them seems dark – but they stop long enough to notice the light of hope at the very end of the very dark night.

Vulnerability is never banned from my heart anymore, but welcomed as a friend. My vulnerability is a woman with kind eyes. She drops in for coffee every now and then and stares with me through the window, past the webs of raindrops falling onto the glass, creating tiny rivers in their travel downwards. She listens and smiles gently, taking my hand into her hands, comforting me that everything will be just fine. She showes me that at the bottom of my heart there is ALWAYS hope. And in my moment of worry I can always trust these two things: hope and my heart.



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