When I first joined our boys’ school community, it felt like a place marked by intention: teachers and families who cared deeply, children who were thriving, and a shared commitment to faith woven into everyday life. From the outside, and even from the inside at first, it seemed like everyone had it together. Kids were well-acclimated. Parents appeared confident. Life looked ordered and well-managed all around us. It was impressive. (Honestly, mostly because our life did not feel that ordered and well-managed, but we sure aspired to that!)

It did not take too long for me to find myself quietly unsettled. I felt a bit like an outsider for the first time in a long time. It felt like everyone had it “together,” and we did not. Comparisonitis was getting the best of me. I had a demanding job and was not able to join the moms who chatted after carpool.  My son was not invited to playdates and was struggling to fit in with this new group of students. From the outside looking in, everyone seemed to be secure in community with one another, and their kids were all doing amazingly well. Now my logical brain knew that this was not necessarily the case, but I was slowly letting my heart dip deeper into loneliness (which, if you know me, is very uncharacteristic of me!). Thankfully, it did not take me too long to realize that everything felt just a bit too polished. Children aren’t perfect, and families aren’t immune to struggle. And yet, I felt there was an unspoken expectation to show up composed and in control, and to present a version of ourselves that felt safe, respectable, and intact. Until that actually felt very unsafe to me. I knew I couldn’t be the only one feeling this way. And I decided to tread into new waters to set a new “standard”.

At times, I felt like a bit of a wrecking ball stepping into conversations with other moms. They would ask how we were doing, and whether they wanted the “real” answer or not, I was “real” with them. I shared our struggles with parenting, work, schedules, etc. I did this because I believed that connection was not going to grow from perfection. It grows from honesty. Façades do not draw people closer.

Scripture affirms this in powerful ways. In Psalm 51:6, David writes, “Behold, you delight in truth in the inward being.” God’s concern isn’t with outward presentation or polished appearance, but with what is happening beneath the surface. And that is where relationships truly begin.

Years before joining this community, I was part of a women’s accountability group made up of some close friends from church. The purpose of that group was simple but deeply intentional: to create a space where we could be honest about our lives, our faith, and our struggles. It wasn’t about fixing one another or offering perfectly packaged advice; rather, it was about telling the truth and trusting that it would be met with grace, understanding, and perhaps even more truth (in love).

Over time, I came to understand how formative that kind of space is. Vulnerability wasn’t dramatic and was not defined as us oversharing. It was something that we regularly practiced to grow closer in community and more importantly, closer to God. We learned how to speak honestly with one another. We also learned how to listen without rushing to respond or “fix”. And in doing so, intimacy formed through the practice of being vulnerable, and thus, known by one another.

That experience reshaped the way I entered every community afterward. I became more aware of how easy it is to belong without being known, and how tempting it is to protect ourselves with polish. I also became convinced that no kind of growth happens in isolation. It happens in community – in spaces where we stop editing ourselves and allow others to see what is real, so perhaps they too can start to remove walls and be real.

Paul speaks directly to this in 2 Corinthians 12:9: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Our weakness is not something to manage or conceal. It is not a liability either. Rather, it is often the very place where God’s grace becomes most visible and most transformative, and where people can most easily connect with us.

As I spent more time in this school community, I began to notice both a deep desire for connection and a hesitation to risk it. Many women were showing up faithfully, generously, and consistently to all the things. Presence matters, but vulnerability requires courage. It requires someone to say, “This is what’s actually happening…” even when it feels uncomfortable. That tension stayed with me for years, and I just accepted that was how our school community was. Until it hit me that every other community I was a part of had connection, vulnerability, and intimacy, except for the one where I spent the most time (by this time, both of my kids not only attended the school, but I was working there).

That’s when I knew I needed to bring the women’s community group I was a part of in a neighboring community over to our school community. And God paved the way for that to happen swiftly. Within a couple of months, we created a space where women could grow their faith and relationships with one another, and practice the same kind of honesty and vulnerability I had first experienced years earlier. A place where faith, parenting, identity, and struggle are shared without fear of judgment or comparison, and where vulnerability is not looked upon as weakness, but as a shared value. Intimacy grows when we allow ourselves to be seen without the façade, and when we resist the urge to manage others’ perceptions and instead choose vulnerability and truth.

Scripture consistently invites us into this kind of shared life. We are told to “bear one another’s burdens” (Galatians 6:2), to “consider how to stir up one another to love and good works… encouraging one another” (Hebrews 10:24–25), and to “rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep” (Romans12:15). This is the rhythm of a life lived in the light together. As 1 John 1:7 reminds us, “If we walk in the light… we have fellowship with one another.”

What I’ve come to appreciate most about trying to build this kind of community is the way conversations have deepened over time. The way women lean in rather than hold back. The growing understanding that faith is not about appearing strong, but about trusting God enough to be honest. It took over a decade to get here, but when I think about my experience first coming in, compared to my experience now, I praise God for His goodness.

Vulnerability is a practice. One we learn, one we carry, and one we can offer again and again, wherever God places us. And when we do, we often discover that we are not met with judgment, but with grace. And that is where we are reminded we were never meant to carry life alone.

Dear Heavenly Father, I am so grateful for the communities You have placed me in that have encouraged me to grow closer to You through vulnerability and truth. You created us for community, and I pray for this kind of connection for all who feel unseen, disconnected, and lonely. Lord, please help me to be an encourager of truth and a safe space for friends to be vulnerable and share struggles. Please give me the right words to encourage and spur them on. Thank You for Your work in my life and in the lives of those You have surrounded me with. All glory and praise to You. In Jesus’ name I pray, Amen.