Coming Home V: Moving From Isolation to Connection

Very closely tied to my tendency toward performance is my tendency to hide.

As a kid, I was very good at it. I could find the smallest, most uncomfortable spaces and stay completely still for as long as it took to win a round of hide and seek.

I didn’t realize how much of that followed me into adulthood.

These days, I don’t hide in cabinets. I hide behind clever jokes, full calendars, task lists, and the all-too-popular, “I’m fine.”

Maybe you can relate.

Who exactly am I hiding from?

– People who might judge me if they really knew me 

– People I don’t want to burden 

– People I want to please 

– God 

– Myself

My ability to hide in plain sight was sharpened over time, especially in high school and college. When I had kids, it became more difficult to maintain. And now, as a middle-aged, perimenopausal woman raising pubescent boys, I’m slipping. And honestly, I’m so glad.

Vulnerability does not come naturally to me. For most of my life, I’ve practiced what I would call “controlled vulnerability”—sharing just enough to appear open, while still staying protected.

It’s uncomfortable to admit that. Because real vulnerability risks ALOT. Rejection, misunderstanding, offending someone… and, of course, emotions.

This has been a long and often difficult journey. One that extends far beyond the single year represented in my Coming Home Series, but is deeply woven into the spiritual formation that has been taking place in my life. All of these areas of growth are interconnected. They depend on one another.

"Coming Home V" 12 x 12, paper collage, string and oil on cradled panel

For me, learning to be vulnerable didn’t start with other people. It started with being honest with myself.

That meant slowing down long enough to ask what was actually motivating me—what was really going on beneath the surface. When I began to pay attention, I noticed patterns of negative self-talk that had become so habitual, I hardly recognized them as harmful.

So I started writing them down.

Then I would step back and look at those words as if they belonged to someone else. I would consider the person speaking them—the weight she was carrying, the assumptions she was making—and ask myself a simple question: Would I speak to her this way? Of course, not!

That small shift created space for compassion where there had only been criticism.

As I began to practice honesty with myself, it naturally led to a deeper honesty with God.

He already knows exactly who I am, but I had to learn to acknowledge that with my own mind and heart. Instead of trying to form prayers that felt polished or appropriate, I started saying what was actually true.

The hard questions.

The strong emotions.

The things I would have once filtered or withheld.

And in that honesty, something shifted.

What once felt like shame began to feel like connection. What once felt heavy began to feel life-giving.

Shame and fear lose their power in the presence of vulnerable love and intimacy.

From there, that same posture began to move outward into my relationships.

I now have friendships where I can be honest about my frustrations, my fears, my doubts—and trust that I don’t have to manage the response. That doesn’t mean these relationships are perfectly affirming. In fact, real vulnerability often includes misunderstanding, disagreement, and even tension.

But I’m no longer afraid of those things.

Because I’ve been honest with myself. 

Because I’ve been honest with God.

Because my identity is no longer anchored in the reactions of others, but held securely in His hands.

Collage background of "Coming Home V"

You can see this movement—from isolation to connection—illustrated in Coming Home V.

A figure stands just outside the scene, looking in. There’s a sense that she wants to participate, to belong, to connect.

But she hesitates.

Surrounding her are quiet invitations—symbols that suggest she is welcome, that there is space for her, that she does not have to remain on the outside.

The painting holds a question:

Will you stay where it feels safe, observing from a distance? Or will you step in—fully, honestly, vulnerably?

There is room at the table for you.

Room for your full personality, your whole story, and everything you are becoming.

You don’t have to stay hidden.

If you’d like to explore the full Coming Home Series, you can view it here.