no pictures, please

I'm vulnerable and crazy (in a good way).

When you turn the corner

And you run into yourself

Then you know that you have turned

All the corners that are left.

~Langston Hughes

At the dog park: Me desperately trying to take a selfie with Delilah (could not be less interested) when a mysterious friend forced herself between us. 10/10.

I’m feeling vulnerable.

I’m walking around with my heart in my hand. It’s terrifying and thrilling.

I’ve arrived home and I greet myself at the door with elation and a smile.

For the first time in my life, I see my worth, I accept my imperfections, and I love myself unconditionally.

Inward and then out.

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I spent an embarrassing amount of my life thinking that I was crazy. Really and truly crazy. Like everyone else was working off the same map and I was a tiny ant without purpose, forced into a death spiral - walking on autopilot and nearing exhaustion. I’d watch One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and think “Yes! These are my people.” And if you’ve watched Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? and felt connected to either Baby Jane or Blanche (or both), things are not going well in your head. (👋)

The overwhelming majority of the time, I was called crazy by people who either wanted to control what I said or did or to undermine my feelings.

It took years and a therapist to rewrite the “Caroline is comprehensively crazy” narrative.

I know a lot of people, especially women, can relate. How many times have you said something calmly, only to have the other person lash out with how sensitive, illogical, and emotional you are? Have you ever tried to set a boundary and were met with personal attacks? I suspect most of us have.

Here’s what I’ve learned:

• I was never crazy, I was sick.

• I was never crazy, I was grieving.

• I’m not crazy, I’m just not like you.

• Different ≠ crazy.

• Emotional ≠ crazy.

But the malicious voice in my head persists: “Don’t be controversial. Don’t be unique. Don’t do anything ‘wild’ or ‘stupid’ or ‘selfish.’ Sacrifice yourself.” Sounds safe and mind-numbingly boring. So, I’ve cut the cord to her mic, knowing full well that I will offend some people. Will turn others off. And am bound to lose some along the way. I’m becoming the kind of woman who firmly declines when asked to be a martyr. Even when I’m encouraged to reconsider. Female martyrdom may run in my family, but it’s stopping with me.

Instead, I choose vulnerability - the path to true human connection.

I’m attracted to others with rough edges. Show me yours and I’ll show you mine. Maybe we’re made of the same glass? Maybe we’ve taken the same wrong turns?

I’ll stop trying to be perfect. Expose my authentic self and share without inhibition. Take the rejections and lumps and move on because I’m bigger and stronger than I imagined.

So, when someone asked to take my picture this week, I said yes, despite my inner Greta Garbo screaming “No pictures, please.” Let me shrink away and hide. You’ll regret this…seeing yourself. And when the pictures hit my inbox, I broke out in a cold sweat. But after a pregnant pause, I dove in head first and combed through the dozen. They are perfect, even though I’m not. I look happy and light.

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I’m vulnerable because I want to leave this world with a heart that is worn out. If I donate my body to science, I want a group of medical students to slice me open, cut my breastbone, open my rib cage, and see decades of loving and hurting and caring and living etched into my heart.

I want to leave this world knowing that I poured warmth into everything I did. That I crashed my soul into others. That I tried and risked.

As for crazy, I’m taking back the night. If it’s crazy to take up space, to show my emotions, to enjoy being different…then call me crazy. It’s the compliment I didn’t know I needed.

I’m feasting on life. Join me.

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When you click that ❤️, my heart explodes with joy.

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