Rising Strong: The Reckoning. The Rumble. The Revolution.

by Brené Brown

But heartbreak knocks the wind out of you, and the feelings of loss and longing can make getting out of bed a monumental task. Learning to trust and lean in to love again can feel impossible.

But in those moments when disappointment is washing over us and we’re desperately trying to get our heads and hearts around what is or is not going to be, the death of our expectations can be painful beyond measure.

Therefore, we need to be selective about the feedback we let into our lives.

During the process of rising, we sometimes find ourselves homesick for a place that no longer exists.

We want to go back to that moment before we walked into the arena, but there’s nowhere to go back to. What makes this more difficult is that now we have a new level of awareness about what it means to be brave.

We do this because we feel the most alive when we’re connecting with others and being brave with our stories—it’s in our biology.

Neuroeconomist Paul Zak has found that hearing a story—a narrative with a beginning, middle, and end—causes our brains to release cortisol and oxytocin. These chemicals trigger the uniquely human abilities to connect, empathize, and make meaning. Story is literally in our DNA.

“Knowledge is only a rumor until it lives in the muscle.”

It means that we stop loving people for who they could be and start loving them for who they are.

It means that sometimes when we’re beating ourselves up, we need to stop and say to that harassing voice inside, “Man, I’m doing the very best I can right now.”

Disappointment is unmet expectations, and the more significant the expectations, the more significant the disappointment.

“Should we reality-check expectations for the week?”

To love is to know the loss of love. Heartbreak is unavoidable unless we choose not to love at all. A lot of people do just that. The message in Joe’s beautiful letter is the

Loss—While death and separation are tangible losses associated with grief, some of the participants described losses that are more difficult to identify or describe. These included the loss of normality, the loss of what could be, the loss of what we thought we knew or understood about something or someone.

I once heard a friend say that grief is like surfing. Sometimes you feel steady and you’re able to ride the waves, and other times the surf comes crashing down on you, pushing you so far underwater that you’re sure you’ll drown. Those moments of longing can have the same effect as upwellings of grief—they come out of nowhere and can be triggered by something you didn’t even know mattered.

The more difficult it is for us to articulate our experiences of loss, longing, and feeling lost to the people around us, the more disconnected and alone we feel.

“In order for forgiveness to happen, something has to die. If you make a choice to forgive, you have to face into the pain. You simply have to hurt.”

“Whatever it is, it all has to go. It isn’t good enough to box it up and set it aside. It has to die. It has to be grieved. That is a high price indeed. Sometimes, it’s just too much.”

The book outlines a forgiveness practice that includes telling the story, naming the hurt,

granting forgiveness, and renewing or releasing the relationship.

To forgive is not just to be altruistic. It is the best form of self-interest. It is also a process that does not exclude hatred and anger. These emotions are all part of being human. You should never hate yourself for hating others who do terrible things: The depth of your love is shown by the extent of your anger. However, when I talk of forgiveness, I mean the belief that you can come out the other side a better person. A better person than the one being consumed by anger and hatred. Remaining in that state locks you in a state of victimhood, making you almost dependent on the perpetrator. If you can find it in yourself to forgive, then you are no longer chained to the perpetrator. You can move on, and you can even help the perpetrator to become a better person, too.

What has to end or die so we can experience a rebirth in our relationships?

Struggle happens. We give our children a gift when we teach them that falls are inevitable and allow them to participate in a loving, supported rising strong process.

I’m someone who chronically and compulsively rehearses tragedy, assuming that I then will be prepared when it comes. Or that it might never come because I’m ready for it. After all, I did my part: I sacrificed joy in the moment of feeling it to forestall future pain. Now I want what I’m owed: less hurt, less fear, less panic. But trading joy for less vulnerability is a deal with the devil. And the devil never pays up.

This is my role. Co-parent. While I’m in it, I am fierce. I am the protector. And, unfortunately, I am the worst damn over-functioner you’ve ever seen.

Dependence starts when we’re born and lasts until we die. We accept our dependence as babies, and ultimately, with varying levels of resistance, we accept help as we get to the end of our lives. But in the middle of our lives, we mistakenly fall prey to the myth that successful people are those who help rather than need, and broken people need rather than help.

It’s always helpful to remember that when perfectionism is driving, shame is riding shotgun.

Did my pretend/please/perfect/perform/prove house of cards come tumbling down?

Another one of shame’s sidekicks is comparison.

1. Talk to ourselves in the same way we’d talk to someone we love. Yes, you made a mistake. You’re human. You don’t have to do it like anyone else does. Fixing it and making amends will help. Self-loathing will not.

2. Reach out to someone we trust—a person who has earned the right to hear our story and who has the capacity to respond with empathy.

“When we’re in shame, we’re not fit for human consumption. And we’re especially dangerous around people over whom we have some power.”

In fact, for most of us who rely on blaming and finding fault, the need for control is so strong that we’d rather have something be our fault than succumb to the bumper-sticker wisdom of “shit happens.” If stuff just happens, how do I control that? Fault-finding fools us into believing that someone is always to blame, hence, controlling the outcome is possible. But blame is as corrosive as it is unproductive.

Accountability is a prerequisite for strong relationships and cultures. It requires authenticity, action, and the courage to apologize and make amends.

Trust—in ourselves and in others—is often the first casualty in a fall, and stories of shattered trust can render us speechless with hurt or send us into a defensive silence. Maybe someone betrayed us or let us down, or our own judgment led us astray. How could I have been so stupid and naïve? Did I miss the warning signs?

Boundaries—You respect my boundaries, and when you’re not clear about what’s okay and not okay, you ask. You’re willing to say no. Reliability—You do what you say you’ll do. At work, this means staying aware of your competencies and limitations so you don’t overpromise and are able to deliver on commitments and balance competing priorities. Accountability—You own your mistakes, apologize, and make amends. Vault—You don’t share information or experiences that are not yours to share. I need to know that my confidences are kept, and that you’re not sharing with me any information about other people that should be confidential.

Integrity—You choose courage over comfort. You choose what is right over what is fun, fast, or easy. And you choose to practice your values rather than simply professing them. Nonjudgment—I can ask for what I need, and you can ask for what you need. We can talk about how we feel without judgment. Generosity—You extend the most generous interpretation possible to the intentions, words, and actions of others.

We can’t be brave in the big world without at least one small safe space to work through our fears and falls.

This is the moment. Don’t do anything. Don’t say anything. Just breathe and feel your way through it. Don’t hide out. Don’t suck up. Don’t fight back. Don’t talk, type, or make contact with anyone until you get back on your emotional feet. You’ll be okay.

In addition to perfecting and performing, I am an expert pollster. When in doubt, survey!

My work with her was about letting all of the hard-fought knowledge that I kept stored in my head seep down into my very protected heart.

To embrace and love who we are, we have to reclaim and reconnect with the parts of ourselves we’ve orphaned over the years.

Nostalgia sounds relatively harmless, even like something to indulge in with a modicum of comfort, until we examine the two Greek root words that form nostalgia: nostos, meaning “returning home,” and algos, meaning “pain.” Romanticizing our history to relieve pain is seductive. But it’s also dangerous.

Of all the things trauma takes away from us, the worst is our willingness, or even our ability, to be vulnerable. There’s a reclaiming that has to happen.

“Definitions belong to the definers, not the defined,” and I learned that I must redefine what I believe is valuable and make sure I’m included within that definition.

I’m slowly learning how to straddle the tension that comes with understanding that I am tough and tender, brave and afraid, strong and struggling—all of these things, all of the time. I’m working on letting go of having to be one or the other and embracing the wholeness of wholeheartedness.

We can’t be “all in” if only parts of us show up. If we’re not living, loving, parenting, or leading with our whole, integrated hearts, we’re doing it halfheartedly.

On the importance of understanding ourselves, Carl Jung wrote, “Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes.”

I don’t use the term revolution lightly. I’ve learned a lot about the difference between incremental, evolutionary change and thundering, revolutionary upheaval from community and organization leaders who often differentiate between these two types of change.

Revolution might sound a little dramatic, but in this world, choosing authenticity and worthiness is an absolute act of resistance. Choosing to live and love with our whole hearts is an act of defiance. You’re going to confuse, piss off, and terrify lots of people—including yourself. One minute you’ll pray that the transformation stops, and the next minute you’ll pray that it never ends. You’ll also wonder how you can feel so brave and so afraid at the same time. At least that’s how I feel most of the time…brave, afraid, and very, very alive.