Actual Vulnerability

It’s supposed to be scary and hard.

Here’s the thing: I’m a hypocrite. I talk a big game about vulnerability, being honest, and sharing the parts of life that are scary and hard. I know these practices to be powerful; so do a lot of other people. Vulnerability is more or less a trend now, and it’s admirable to demonstrate “being vulnerable”, usually on the internet. I like to think I’m above this; I trick myself into thinking that because I can write about having an eating disorder, and tell people that I’m neurotic and had a really bad day last Thursday, that I’ve got vulnerability down pat.

The truth is, I’m terrified of “being vulnerable”, and not very good at it: it’s cringey, awkward, and makes me want to hide. What I am learning, though, is that it’s supposed to be hard. If it doesn’t feel hard or uncomfortable, that’s just called being honest; not all honesty comes from a place of vulnerability.

Vulnerability does have the power to strengthen and transform you and your relationships—this I have experienced. But the areas I’m comfortable talking about are not where latent transformation lie: I don’t really care what anyone thinks or says about any of the stuff I’ve already processed and accepted. Very rarely do I consciously share something that makes me feel exposed or truly vulnerable: it is not a place that feels secure or nice at all.

What feels truly vulnerable to me are the scary, unexpected things that arrive in the fire of this moment, while someone else is present. This kind of vulnerability only offers itself in the moment—you don’t get time beforehand to craft a caption or curate your response. In these moments, you may not know if you’ll be able to handle what happens next; you’re putting a part of you in someone else’s hands, and you don’t know how or if they’ll be able to hold it.

These moments are where the richest form of growth and healing exist: you are afraid of what might unfold, yet still willing to open in the face of it and discover what’s on the other side. You don’t get the magic of transformation without being able to sit in the fire.

. .

It’s so much easier to rehash the past than face the void of the next moment in front of someone else. And rehashing is a good part of life, too. But actual vulnerability makes you vulnerable—it feels scary. It’s scary to share what hurts; to not turn away from what feels wobbly and embarrassing and messy.

Actual vulnerability happens, more often, in the tiny intimate moments that offer themselves when you don’t plan for it. It should make you curl inward and want to hide your face in your shirt; it should make you blush and your heart race and make you feel nervous or ashamed or shy. Actual vulnerability is supposed to be hard, and you’re not supposed to be very good at it. The growth resides in your willingness to open to these moments rather than shut them away.

So let us practice leveraging our curiosity about what is on the other side of these terrifying moments above the fear. Let us strengthen our capacity to bear the moments that feel unbearable, and when we find people who are able to hold these moments with us—let’s keep them around.

Maggie