Vulnerability and Acts of Service

I am a woman who is blessed in love. I am grateful every day for the person who chooses to share his life with me and, even when he drives me insane, I am content in the partnership we have built. I trust him. I admire his loyalty and his often aggressive honesty. I like that I know where he stands on any issue and that there is never ambiguity.  We work hard to meld our different approaches and often disparate opinions. We laugh that we are the least compatible enneagrams and Myers-Briggs types. Still, there are moments when love for this man simply overwhelms me. In consideration of St. Valentine’s Day, I would like to share one of these times.

Vulnerability, according to Brene Brown, is the wobbly feeling when one is uncertain, at risk, or emotionally exposed. She speaks to this in her book, Daring Greatly, and I highly recommend reading it. She suggests that in vulnerability we find opportunities to exhibit courage and abandon the illusion of perfection.

In a potent moment of vulnerability, I felt a connection to my husband that still elicits tears. This January, I was unexpectedly  admitted to the hospital. My heartburn, it seemed, was not heartburn. Over the course of four days and three nights, my gallbladder exploded during surgery. Acute Necrotizing Cholecystitis.

Oww.

Along the way, an unknown hernia was discovered and addressed. A second surgery placed a stint in my common bile duct. I managed to scratch both my corneas coming out surgery with the pulse oxygen meter.

Oww again

far worse than either of my surgeries. 

I could not have cared less about the four wounds from the gallbladder surgery or the stitches in my abdomen. In a detached way I thought it was interesting. I had a plastic ball attached to a bendy stray inserted into my body as a surgical drain that swung and smacked me in the hip every time I stood up. I sent pictures of it to friends. However, for all intents I was blind and that was terrifying. My eyes were dry and agonizing. I was holding on to my panic by gritted teeth.

I desperately wanted a shower. I wanted the warm water to run over my face and to soothe my eyes. But I couldn’t see and I was too dehydrated to cry. The lights were too bright and every movement behind my eyelids felt like a new scratch. 

My brash husband did not take charge and expressed no opinions. Instead, he silently walked beside me as I made my way with grasping fingers to the bathroom. He stood by as I made my way into the small shower stall. He helped without taking over. He must have adjusted the shower temperature 12 times for me without complaint. He quietly handed me what I needed. He listened to me ramble my way back to calm, and he showed me how much he respected my need to feel in control.

When I returned to my hospital bed, the lights were lowered. Settled with a warm compress over my eyes, He turned my phone to a five and a half hour guided meditation. “So it will still be playing when you wake up,” he explained.  He kissed me and left me to rest. 

It was the kindest thing I have experienced in a long time. Every action he took was in consideration of MY needs and what I NEEDED to be calm in that moment. He helped me to find my way back to myself without inserting his needs or fears into the situation. He showed me, in his actions, that he knew me and respected my autonomy. He was selfless and generous when I had never felt more vulnerable. 

How could I not love this man?

How do you show love? What is your love language?