that the barbs and slights from her husband didn't bother her. She could easily grin and bear it, especially understanding his warped “sense of humor.” Her avoidance of the pain his remarks instilled in her left her open to being treated the same way by her children.
During my own childhood I perfected the defense of denial. It took me years and years of concentrated effort and analysis to free the pain and thaw the icicles that kept me frozen within myself and unable to love or be loved. It took devotion to rediscover my vulnerability, and it takes faith and trust to remain in touch with it on an everyday basis.
A woman I worked with had, in childhood, developed a habit of using garbled talk so her father would not hit her for back-talking. This was a creative response to a threatening environment, possibly the only way she could find to maintain herself in the face of worrying she would lose her father's love and incite his anger. As an adult, however, this garbled talk kept her from being understood and seen, kept her at a distance from others when she desired to be close. What ultimately helped this woman was not just changing the behavior, but understanding it as a creative response to an outdated situation. She now has a better chance of becoming free to relate intimately because she allowed herself to be vulnerable to the old feeling of needing her father's love, of wanting to be seen and not hurt. She allowed herself to fall apart a little in order to emerge stronger.
taking the inner journey
Like so many of you I grew up with the myth of the hero and was told that conquering ourselves and the world was our most important challenge. That holds for some times in life, but once you experience loss, sorrow, or significant change, you recognize that there is another journey to make: a descent into the soul to understand the flow of feeling, emotion, and lost parts of ourselves. A journey to discover the threads that bind us to each other and to all aspects of the living world.
Myths of descent usually begin with an unexpected twist of fate or a deliberate dive into the underworld—the unknown path that lies ahead when we experience loss, tragedy, or serious disappointment—and the road not taken that calls to us when we enter a new passage. These myths give us a framework for overcoming adversity and enlightening the process of redemption, showing the heroes and heroines figuring out their own way and righting their course as a result of a great fall.
One such legend comes to us from ancient Sumeria: the tale of Inanna. In his book From the Poetry of Sumer, Samuel Noah Kramer tells of the power and influence Inanna's journey held for the people of that time: “The goddess who outweighed, overshadowed, and outlasted them all was a deity known to the Sumerians by the name of Inanna, ‘Queen of Heaven.’” Inanna is the tale of a woman's journey from her early days of being courted, admired, and enriched to her descent to the underworld in her middle years. It is about sacrifices she must make to achieve wisdom and affirm her purpose of life.
Inanna was much loved and revered, yet she voluntarily abandoned her office of holy princess of heaven and earth to descend into the underworld. This was a descent of uncertainty and danger, a descent to journey within the depths of the psyche. Before her departure she spoke to her faithful friend, Ninshubur, leaving elaborate instructions. If Inanna did not return, her friend must go to the gods and ask them all to save her, not leaving to chance that she might not be able to recover.
Inanna departs to the underworld to see her older sister, Ereshkigal, raw, bitter, and entangled, the Queen of the Underworld. But this place of grief and sorrow is not one we enter lightly. Inanna passes through seven gates, and at each one she is required to surrender a talisman or article of clothing, leaving her bowed and naked upon her entrance to the throne room. Her journey is stark and perhaps surprising, given that she has volunteered to go deep within herself. She is willing to unburden herself from all she has held dear, and yet when at each surrender she asks for the meaning of this stripping she is told that the ways of the underworld are perfect and may not be questioned.
Then Ereshkigal fastened on Inanna the eye of death.
She spoke against her the word of wrath.
She uttered against her the cry of guilt.
She struck her.
Inanna was turned into a corpse,
A piece of rotting meat,
And was hung from a hook on the wall.
This is what a transformation—or the conscious reflection on a lifetime loss or change—can feel like. We descend to the underworld, leave behind all earthly attachments and accomplishments, and don't know what will happen next. It is a time of facing ourselves, looking squarely at the demons and feeling like we are a piece of flesh hanging from a hook on the wall, being seasoned and matured! This is a chilling image of vulnerability, a raw look at surrender. Why would Inanna leave her secure world and walk into the void voluntarily?
Because we cannot live a conscious life without facing the terrors of uncertainty and the unknown. Always staying within the safe zone simply doesn't work. No, our task is to open ourselves to the darkness—the realm of emotion, feeling, the unknown—and experience the anguish of sorrow, uncertainty, confusion, and powerlessness. We must be willing, mentally and emotionally, to be confused, to be wrong, to take a risk, fall down, skin our knees, be wrong again, be confused again, feel the pain and sorrow. Because until we are ready to let go—of what is no longer working, of people who stand in our way, of our familiar defenses—we will never grow.
In a society that believes we must be strong and positive, where we shun our negative and vulnerable feelings, carrying our burden of self-doubt with dignity is a socially significant statement. In our world, where we find it hard to experience pain or to realize that we feel small in certain ways, we can set a rare example by continuing to walk erect and by carrying our woundedness with consciousness and dignity.
Collectively it is time to validate, honor, respect, and make room for falling apart, admitting vulnerability. It is time to bring reasonable and appropriate falling apart into fashion. It is a long process, and we can find and learn our own rhythms, our own ebbs and flows as we have patience and compassion with ourselves. To be a student of life is to be vulnerable—open to life, to learning, to experiences, to you, to emotions—and willing to accept things as they are.
Everyday life is full of struggles, and we have daily opportunities for descent: experiencing arguments and conflicts, admitting discomforts, anger, and fear. Sometimes we are faced with major problems and challenges, and many times we are just faced with bad traffic, holes in our pantyhose, and not being able to get adequate attention at the bank, store, gas station, fill-in-the-blank. In fact, as we often hear, it can be easier to deal with the really big stuff; it is the everyday annoyances and irritants that begin to wear and can cause an emotional meltdown.
We often thirst for intimacy and spend much of our time running at top speed. We go on a job interview; we need to learn a new job, task, or challenge. We lose money on bad investments. We meet and lose friends and partners. We desire to start our own company and risk failure. We have more than enough chance to feel vulnerable and out of sorts on an everyday basis. Here, too, it is important to recognize and admit our vulnerability so that we might deal with it in a straightforward manner.
Being successful at facing our vulnerabilities—our failures, our missteps, our lack of control over events and other people—is an art form. It is an art form to apologize, to let go of what is not working, and to face change with an open heart and mind. It takes courage and dedication to face ourselves and seek out deeper truths about ourselves.
What do you imagine when you hear the word vulnerability? The soft spot on a newborn's head, the fuzz on a peach, the sensitive and tender skin of the genitals, the underbelly of a newborn kitten or puppy? The scariness of being unguarded? The unpleasant feeling of weakness? How often have you had a dream of being naked in a public place? Of being ashamed of the most delicate parts of your personality?
When you hear yourself bitterly referring to the unfair difference between your lot in life and your friends' or that of other members of society, try to hear the deeper truth of jealousy or sadness or disillusionment. When you find yourself