One Gentle Step Closer
Written by Emma McCoy
3 minute read
About three months ago, I was on the phone with my dad and we were talking about the kinds of things that concern a parent and their twenty-two year old daughter: what classes I had that day, which errands I had to do, the weather, and the horrible date I’d been on the week before. Maybe in the mix I mentioned the new shoes I wanted and how someone in my class was being mean to me.
Honestly, graduate school and kindergarten can sometimes feel like the same thing.
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“Emma,” Dad said after a while, “how’s your eating going?”
“Oh, it’s fine,” I told him. With an eating disorder, there comes a point where I’m doing really well, but I always have one foot into recovery. Saying I’m done being recovered is its own kind of defeat, so my mom and dad check in on me often.
“You know,” he continued, in a voice that told me we were about to go somewhere I didn’t necessarily want to go, “there is such a thing as hitting a vulnerability plateau.”
“What do you mean?”
“Talking about your eating disorder in the Spring Church blog was a huge step, and I’m very proud of you, so I don’t want to underscore that. But at the same time, writing to people you can’t see is different from telling the people in your life what’s actually going on with you.”
I hummed over the phone. “I think I see where you’re going with this.”
“Have you talked to your small group about it? The people at your church?”
This conversation went back and forth for a while, and ended with me agreeing with him. I did need to take the next, gentle step and be honest with my small group about the hard places in my life. It took me about three more rounds of that conversation with Dad before I actually did it, though. I needed time for it to sink in, and when it did, I was hit with the difference between writing about something hard, and actually looking my community in the face and sharing something deeply challenging and worthy of lament. Sharing was hard, and I don’t want to undermine that, but it’s something I have to do.
It’s something everyone has to do. So take a look at your communities, at the people you spend time with, and if you’re hiding from yourself or others when you’re with your small group, or circle of friends, then why? If the group is holding you back, and you’re finding yourself thinking, you know, these aren’t the sort of people I want to open up to, then do you need to leave that group and join that you will open up to?
“What do you know about balance?” Artist: Igor Shulman
And if it’s you that’s holding you back, what’s the next gentle step you can take?
Again, I’m not trying to make the case that being vulnerable is easy. That’s why it’s the next gentle step. What can be easy, though, is sitting on the sidelines and feeling okay about how things are going. As an enneagram three, I’m very good at acting vulnerable when I’m afraid of being vulnerable for real. Seriously, it’s a talent. I could spend the rest of my life hanging out in a group, giving advice, and sharing just enough about my life to where people feel like they know me, but I never have to expose myself. But that’s not a fully thriving life. When we float through, never truly emotionally engaging, we’re the reason our community is disconnected. If you’re feeling like your church is boring and not emotionally engaging and lame, then take a pause and consider if you’re part of the problem.
Even though being honest in a real way can be so hard, it’s worth the risk (especially when we’re received well, but it’s still worth the risk anyway). The conversation with my small group went great, and despite the scary and vulnerable feeling, I was met with nothing but love and support. In the months since that conversation, I’ve been shown grace, intention, and careful love that tells me I’m cared for. Whether that’s making sure dinner accommodates my allergies or friends checking up on me during meals, I know I don’t have to walk through recovery alone.
Now, in the same way that sharing lament is crucial for us to thrive, so is sharing celebration. And once again, my dad (a very persistent fellow) comes back into the story.
“Have you shared the blog with your small group?” he asked me last week. It was about the third time he’d followed up on that particular topic, and I was forced to tell him, once again, that I hadn’t.
“I forgot,” I said.
I had forgotten, in all truth, but that’s because it wasn’t a priority in my mind. The blog I write for Spring Church and my life in San Diego were (and for the most part still are) separate in my mind. But Dad was making the point that just like I need to be honest about the hard things, I also need to bring the good things too—like this blog, where I share about my life, celebrate Jesus, and try to make sense of the church’s place in the world. This blog is absolutely a celebration. Don’t tell my dad this, but he was right this time too.
Relationships are built on sharing, and taking those gentle steps closer to each other, both in hardship and celebration. We bring God our fears and our joys, and we do the same thing with our community. When was the last time you celebrated something with a friend? Or talked to a parent about what was troubling you? Or confessed to a coworker that you’re just having a hard day? These moments bring us closer to each other, and bring the light in.
Tiptoe Across the Dewey Grass - Terese Eglington
Celebration and lament doesn’t have to be a birthday party or a funeral.
It can be admitting that maybe you’re drinking too much, or telling your sister that you got the promotion you wanted. Next, gentle steps make us more honest and fully human, helping us to be the people God has designed us to be.
This Sunday, join us for our Common Table Gathering as we talk about celebration and lament and what that has to do with our daily lives. This week, consider taking that next step in honesty with your community, whatever it looks like.
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