It’s not the emotional discomfort, though that’s certainly unpleasant. It’s not the messy, out-of-control thoughts running wild when you wish you could stay composed and demure.
It’s in your body.
You think vulnerability lives in the mind—your desire to overcome, your willingness to open up, and perhaps, your expensive talks with your therapist ($200 per hour). But the truth is, vulnerability starts in the body.
Take a woman I worked with. She struggles with one specific vulnerable topic: money. Talking about finances with her boyfriend has become a recurring source of anxiety and shame. It’s not that she doesn’t want to have the conversation. It’s not even that she doesn’t know what to say—we’ve written out talking points, rehearsed the scenario, and even role-played their conversations. Worst case, she can just read from her notes.
But when the time comes, when she’s sitting across from him at the table and he leans in, genuinely wanting to help, her body freezes and her mind spaces out.
Her heart races. Her breath shortens. Her shoulders tighten like they’re holding up the ceiling. And her mind? Completely Blank.
To her, it’s just a conversation. But to her body, it’s a threat. Vulnerability doesn’t feel safe—it feels like danger.
Or consider a friend of mine, who for years avoided what she called the “big monster emotions.” Shame, love, anger—those feelings that leave her raw and open. Wide open. Instead of channeling them, she perfected the art of suppression. She made jokes. She played aloof. She excused herself from the scene or avoided it altogether.
This worked for a while. Suppression kept her safe. But it also kept her from connecting with the people she cared about. Over time, those buried emotions found other ways to surface. She’d feel frustration when she was actually angry, or inadequacy when she was ashamed. When she got close to someone she liked, she’d act distant and cool. When she went through a heartbreak, she couldn’t cry, but she got physically sick after several months.
Here’s the risk of unacknowledged vulnerability: when emotions get misplaced or misdirected, we (or they) act out in ways that don’t reflect what we truly want. We send the wrong signals. We push people away.
A lot of people—including myself—have told me that I understand my fear so well, but just somehow I can’t walk the first step — too scary.
And the thing is, between knowing and changing, there’s a crucial step that often gets overlooked: actually experiencing it firsthand, especially when you aren’t fully ready.
It’s quite chicken-and-egg, isn’t it? How can we know that being vulnerable will feel safe and liberating without taking the risk? And how can we dare to take that risk without some kind of safety guarantee? (I am not gonna jump off the cliff without a damn good parachute!)
This is actually the defining factor of good therapy—it’s not just about making people feel understood and heard. It’s about fostering meaningful behavioral/ pattern change, with the right timing and pacing. Because so often, our feelings catch up later, forming new and positive experiences along the way.
To some degree, talking to your therapist is the easy part (even though not that easy), but the real challenge is putting it into practice. It’s in the messy, imperfect trying. It’s in the falling and the getting back up.
So, how do you start?
In my own experience, beginning with my inner circle and talking to close friends I genuinely trust has provided me with a sense of safety and acceptance. Asking them for a bit of encouragement has made all the difference.
For instance, show up at events that usually make you feel uneasy, even if it’s just for ten minutes. Send a sincere apology without expecting too much in return. Look into your friend’s eyes while sharing, even if only for ten seconds. Take a deep breath when you run into your ex-partner—or several deep breaths, if needed. Share with your close friend how awkward you feel, and remind yourself that it’s okay to be awkward. Stay silent when you want to joke away the discomfort. Choose a face-to-face conversation instead of texting, and if it doesn’t go well, reschedule for another time. Don't blow it.
It’s still really, really hard for me. My body still wants to shut down in vulnerable moments. But what I’ve learned—both from my own life and from working with others—is that with the right company, a little encouragement, and some faith, vulnerability becomes a little less intimidating each time we practice it.
We will feel afraid, but do it anyway.