Out in the open
And suddenly, I’m out in the open.
Nowhere to hide.
Nothing to seek cover behind anymore.
No shelter to crawl underneath anymore.
And I have to deal with whatever life throws my way.
Every boulder in the road.
Every mountain there is to climb.
Every hailstorm coming down on me.
I have the privilege of experiencing the breathtaking views from the summit —
and also the cold, dark lows down in the valley.
And strangely enough, I’m starting to realise it isn’t as hard as I once thought it would be.
Life had been preparing me for this all along.
My trust in myself — and in something bigger than myself — slowly starts paying off.
I notice that I’m stronger than I believed I was.
More capable.
More resilient.
More adaptable.
More secure.
And somehow, that realisation brings me peace.
It gives me energy.
Motivation.
Momentum to keep going.
Because I’m beginning to understand something important:
Nothing can truly keep me down forever.
Maybe momentarily.
Maybe for a season.
Maybe long enough to make me question myself.
But not permanently.
I will always find a way back to the surface again.
And maybe that’s what strength really is.
Not never falling.
Not never struggling.
Just trusting that I’ll rise again when I do.
Sometimes, I still feel vulnerable.
Sometimes, I even feel alone.
And that’s okay.
Because I’ve started to realise that vulnerability was never the enemy. It’s actually the thing that makes life feel alive.
The thing that keeps my heart open.
The thing that allows me to grow.
To connect.
To experience life fully instead of cautiously observing it from a distance.
Vulnerability doesn’t automatically mean danger.
Sometimes, it simply means openness.
Curiosity.
Presence.
It means allowing life to touch me.
And maybe that’s what living really is.
Not protecting myself from every possible hurt — but being willing to feel things deeply anyway.
To let go of what people might think of me.
To let go of trying to control how others react to my choices.
To let go of the constant inner disturbances and still remain present in the outer world.
And the more time I spend out in the open, the more I realise that security was never something another person could permanently give me.
It had to start within me first.
Because every mountain I climb, every uncomfortable situation I survive, every setback I recover from — shows me something important:
I am a safe place for myself.
I’ve got my own back.
And that changes everything.
Not because I suddenly don’t need people anymore.
Not because I never want support or connection again.
Quite the opposite, actually.
But I realised that the approval, recognition, attention, and love I was constantly searching for in the outside world — already existed somewhere inside of me.
I just couldn’t access it while constantly hiding from life.
I had to step into the world first.
Had to experience things.
Had to move.
Had to live.
And through all of that, I slowly started building trust in myself again.
Trust that I can handle whatever life throws my way.
Trust that even when things go wrong, I’ll find a way forward.
Because real safety doesn’t come from avoiding pain.
It comes from knowing I can recover from it.
The mountains were never too high.
The valleys were never too low.
I was just afraid I wouldn’t survive them.
Afraid of what would happen afterwards.
Afraid I wouldn’t be able to handle what life asked of me next.
And yet — here I am.
Still standing.
Still breathing — even if sometimes quite heavily.
Still alive.
Still moving forward.
And I think it takes experiences like that to truly start trusting yourself. At least it did for me.
After having my intuition shaken, after doubting my self-worth and my inner voice for a long time, it took time to rebuild that trust again.
And maybe that’s important too: all of this takes time.
Some days it comes naturally.
Other days it feels heavier again.
Some days trust flows easily.
Other days fear speaks louder.
But in the end, things somehow always turn out alright.
Maybe even better than alright.
Because strength isn’t about never showing weakness. If anything, I think it’s the opposite.
Strength is allowing myself to be vulnerable while trusting that I’ll come out stronger on the other side. Understanding that a difficult moment doesn’t define me. That a setback isn’t the end of the road.
Sometimes, the road dips before it rises. Like a springboard bending downward before it launches me forward.
And maybe that’s what hard seasons are too.
Not proof that I’m failing — but preparation for how much further life is about to carry me.
Until we meet again, put your defences down. Live out in the open with me.