I Wear My Heart on My Forehead

…and other thoughts on being vulnerable

When I was a little girl, I had a birthmark that came down from my hairline to the middle of my forehead in a bright red splotch. As I got older, it began to fade away but would intensify and make itself known whenever I was angry or upset or if I cried.

I used to get frustrated because it was like Rudolph's red nose — I couldn’t control it and it made me feel vulnerable and embarrassed at the intensity of my emotions.

I guess you could say I wore my heart on my forehead instead of my sleeve.

That birthmark has faded and disappeared over time and I no longer display my emotions like a calling card on my forehead, but I still wear my emotions outside my body. At times this has felt like a weakness and a liability. I’ve accepted that I can’t change who I am and that trying to suppress my emotions has led to dis-ease in my body and my soul.

I say this quite often to people, What you see is what you get.

I’m not a two-faced person. Authenticity, integrity, and honesty are important to me. Do I always achieve these lofty moral standards? No, but I do know that when I try to be someone I am not I cause myself grief, so it’s better to accept my proclivity to emotional reactions and let the tears flow or the birthmarks blaze if they need to.

Let go of who you think you’re supposed to be; embrace who you are. — Brene Brown

Shame is the most powerful, master emotion — Brene Brown

One can experience a lot of shaming that accompanies being an emotionally sensitive person. I recall being made fun of when my birthmark started glowing. I suppose that was when I first tried to hide who I was. Better to be invisible than be ridiculed for something I couldn’t control.

This tendency to burst forth in emotion shows up in all sorts of strange ways and places. Sometimes I am embarrassed by it and other times it feels like healing.

I have burst into tears at family picnics, in the middle of dinner with a dozen or so colleagues, in recovery rooms at the hospital, and plenty of times in churches to the point of outright sobbing.

This vulnerability, unstaged and unplanned, makes many uncomfortable. I can almost hear them thinking, Really? Do you have to?

Like the time I burst into tears at seeing my healthy, pink niece next to my jaundiced, skinny baby as he was recovering from surgery and fighting liver disease. It was a tad uncomfortable that we were at a Memorial Day picnic and everyone was trying to not make a big deal out of how different they looked.

I just wanted a healthy baby too and so I cried.

You’ve got to take the bad with the good when it comes to sensitivity and vulnerability

My husband thinks it’s sweet, this tendency to cry when least expected, and has nicknamed me Honey, based on the old single by Bobby Goldsboro. The song is about a husband who lost his young wife and he recalls how she did sweet and funny things, like the time he caught her brushing away the snow from a newly planted tree so it wouldn’t die, or how embarrassed she'd be when he’d catch her crying over some “sad and silly late, late show.”

Don't get me wrong, I don’t run around crying and bursting forth with uncontrolled emotion around every corner. For the most part, I look put together and rather stoic, or as my son’s gastroenterologist said after observing me caring for my chronically ill son for several months, “You and your husband are handling this well beyond your years.”

But there are times when the intensity of grief or stress or shame are too much to keep under wraps. That’s when I leak.

I didn't grow up in an emotionally healthy family

We didn't talk about our feelings so emotions were scary things for me. We didn’t comfort each other well, either. I only recall seeing my mom cry once and that was the day she got a call that my cousin had died in a car accident. I remember feeling surprised and uncomfortable when I looked up from playing and saw her hang up the phone and start to cry.

Given this type of childhood, I didn’t know how to process all that my sensitive heart was feeling so sometimes (ok, usually) my emotions manifested in unhealthy ways; as a child, anger or tantrums were the safer ways to express sorrow or shame or feelings of neglect.

But there are times when emotions are normal and healthy and, in fact, we worry about those who don’t show them at the ‘appropriate’ times. Yet many are still uncomfortable when we do.

Tears can mean a lot of things so use them when words won’t come

My seven-week-old son had just come out of a seven-hour surgery and I was finally allowed to see him. It had been a grueling early-morning day waiting for news that he had made it through surgery, not to mention the seven stress-filled weeks leading up this.

Seeing his tiny, too thin, seven-pound body hooked up to tubes and monitors and IVs was both heart-wrenching and, at the same time, such a relief. He was alive! I had been a good girl and held myself together throughout much of this period and nobody in the waiting room had seen me cry, but now I could not hold back.

I sobbed from both fear and relief. Then the recovery nurse said to me, “You don’t seem to be handling this well, perhaps I should call someone to talk to you.”

I am sure she saw my birthmark light up like a railroad crossing sign when I looked her in the eye and retorted, “Is there a proper way to handle such a thing? Don’t you think if I wasn’t crying you should worry about me?”

She shut up and backed off. I felt like she was shaming me for crying over my sick baby, post-surgery.

No one should be shamed for shedding tears — ever!

Where’s the rulebook about appropriate feelings?

As I’ve gotten older and softer, I’ve stopped trying to hide my feelings or worrying if they are appropriate.

Love me or hate me but there’s no Mary in the middle. I won’t water myself down anymore.

• I cry watching Band of Brothers, not sobbing, just leaky eyes that won’t stop, tears of admiration mingled with gratitude for the greatest generation.
• I cry when I teach a child to read. Such joy and pride for them!
• I cried when I saw the Rocky Mountains for the first time — awe will do that to me too.
• I cried every time the pastor’s wife led worship at our last church. Every time.
• I cried writing this post, recalling that harrowing day at the hospital.
• I cried when I handed my son over to the team of nurses and doctors, but not until I saw my sister, and then I hurled myself into her arms and said, “They took my baby.”

The challenge to be vulnerable and authentic

This morning my writing coach, Nikki Tate, gave us the challenge to write about a time we acted as our authentic selves, a moment when our actions matched who we were on the inside. I had already started this article when that challenge came through and I suppose in some ways I’ve written about it here.

When I wear my emotions outside my body I’m living as authentically as I know to live. Shades off, barriers down, heart exposed. What’s more vulnerable than admitting your fears, anger, relief, or frustration with tears?

It’s really the only way to live — especially if you want to live a life worth living.