I care a lot but it is not my job to save someone. Let me say that again, because maybe you need to really hear this, especially if you are coming from a place of privilege. I care a lot, but it is not my job to save someone. I can hold space for someone. I can actively listen to what they have to say. I can even be an advocate for them. Still, it is not my job to save them. This work has to be done together. Our capacity for growth is tied to one another. Our liberation is tied to one another. If we truly care about someone else, we must also address the work that needs to be done within ourselves. 

I am working on myself. The work continues. I show up for myself so that I can better show up for someone else. It’s all connected.

Again, let me say that growth can be uncomfortable. Without allowing ourselves to be uncomfortable and vulnerable, we cannot grow. True transformation takes place when we dive deep.

With that being said, as a practice of my own capacity to be vulnerable, and therefore grow, I would like to share a few things that have come up for me this week in relation to my aversion to exhibiting that I care. 

I don’t like hugs. I’ve thought about this a lot this week as the world begins to reopen. People usually think I’m joking the first time I tell them this and then immediately try to hug me. I’m not joking, it’s never been a joke, and it’s something that I am working on. The hugs I give freely are usually reserved for those I have a deep relationship with. I don’t understand those half-hearted, one-armed obligation hugs. I don’t understand casual hugs hello or goodbye with acquaintances. I didn’t like hugs pre-pandemic and I don’t like hugs now. I enjoy keeping to myself. To me, hugs are an act of vulnerability. Hugs have always made me uncomfortable.

This year I told someone “I love you” for the first time and getting those words out felt almost impossible. Those words that made me want to jump for joy and crawl under a rock simultaneously were so hard to say.  As a Sagittarius with a Scorpio Moon, I typically have no problem sharing my opinion. I’m passionate and oftentimes blunt to a fault, but I struggled to get the words out. The internal conflict I was having about speaking my truth manifested physically－I fidgeted, I covered my face with my hands, and after saying I had something to say, I think it took me about thirty minutes to actually say what I wanted to. I was uncomfortable. I had placed myself, completely bare, into the openness of vulnerability and I didn’t know if I would make it out to the other side. 

Spoiler alert: I did. 

I was not told, “I love you, too.” I loved someone who didn’t love me back. I fell deep into the depths of vulnerability and you know what? I came out better because of it.  

I have a hard time showing that I care. Somewhere along the line, the idea grew inside of me that it is better to be “strong” than to be vulnerable. I’ve recently realized that the opposite is actually true.