Vulnerability

I go to church every week.

I have responsibilities and things that I am asked to do. Occasionally, I get asked to be a substitute to teach a class. This happened a few years ago, and it was almost the worst experience of my life.

I was asked to teach the adult Sunday school class. Unbelievably, I heard myself agreeing to help out. Stop! No. What was I doing?! The person on the other end of the phone hung up, and then I cried. I cried several times leading up to the designated time. I felt overwhelmed, nervous, and totally inadequate. These emotions were normal, even expected. But as the date approached, I was filled with dread. It was thick and heavy, and if I could have run away, I would have. I was terrified of standing in front of the class and losing my mind.

Losing my mind?? Listen, I know this sounds a little bit dramatic, but my fear was not irrational. It had happened before—multiple times.

Let me explain.

When I’m asked to teach a lesson or do a presentation, I can’t remember anyone’s name. No one. Not even my own family—my husband of 24 years? Nope, not even him. I recognize everyone’s face, of course, but no one has a name. This only adds to the complete mental breakdown going on inside my brain. I know I should know these people, and I come up blank. On the outside, my face is smiling, and I appear calm and collected; meanwhile, utter chaos reigns inside. It certainly feels like I’m losing my mind.

So, this was on my mind constantly as Sunday approached. I was panicked. How could I lead a discussion when I couldn’t call on anyone by name? Could simply pointing at people be a solution? Would they realize I didn’t know their name? Would they be offended? How was I going to navigate this?

Sunday came, and I walked into the church. I felt sick.

I dragged my reluctant self into the classroom and sat down. My legs were shaking, my head was pounding. The prayer was said and I stood at the front of the room. It was happening. I quickly scanned the room and my mind was blank. I couldn’t bring to mind even ONE person’s name. I was going to throw up right here on the church carpet, in front of everyone.

And then, in a moment that still shocks me, I very honestly told the class everything. It almost was like throwing up, but it was words instead of half-digested food.

“OK, everyone. I am so nervous, and when I stand in front of people in this situation, I just can’t remember anyone’s name. It doesn’t matter if we have been friends for years, acquaintances for a bit, or even married for decades…your name is not in my brain. So for this class, please don’t be offended when I point at you instead. It’s just what happens to me.”

Whew.

I couldn’t believe it.

The class went forward, and we had a good discussion. I pointed at people when they wanted to speak, and everything was fine. Better than fine for me. Truthfully, my brain was much more relaxed and could focus on the topic instead of berating me for being so forgetful. I’m not sure, but I don’t think anyone was offended by how I conducted the class. A few people chuckled when I pointed at them. I laughed, too. It was better than crying.

Vulnerability isn’t shameful.

We aren’t meant to be perfect.

I don’t think we should use our weaknesses as excuses. I believe we can (and should!) progress and improve—at least keep trying. But as we do so, sometimes it is empowering to admit we are on the struggle bus. It’s worked for me.

After all, if there is no struggle—there is no need to improve.

And that’s just a fairytale.