The Truth of Vulnerability

In my life, I have made many decisions not based on genuine needs, but driven by fear — fear of being vulnerable, fear of feeling vulnerable.

I entered relationships because I was afraid of being alone. I studied and accumulated qualifications because I believed I was not good enough. I worked hard to please others and became a people pleaser because, deep down, I didn’t believe people would value or love me for who I am.

Over time, a pattern revealed itself. I was too afraid to truly feel my own vulnerability, especially in moments when it seemed the world was rejecting me.

From Brené Brown’s famous TED Talk on vulnerability, I learned that vulnerability is more than simply acknowledging it. The real challenge is allowing ourselves to feel it — without running away, without numbing it, without substituting it with career success, substances, relationships, or constant distraction. In today’s world, especially with social media, it has become easier than ever to avoid sitting with our own vulnerability.

Despite what society has taught us, I’ve come to understand something that feels deeply true for me: truly sitting with vulnerability is one of the greatest challenges of modern life. Instead of looking inward and acknowledging the struggles and emotions that sometimes overwhelm us, we search outward for escape. Yet the only way out is in — learning to sit with vulnerability without running away.

So I ask:
Are you seeking a relationship out of fear of loneliness, or because you truly embrace yourself as a whole person?

Are you working hard to silence the quiet voice inside, or is your passion igniting a fire you want to share with the world?

Are you constantly on the move because of a loneliness you refuse to see?

Are you using substances to cope with an inner fear that vulnerability will never go away?

As for me — I have done it all. By refusing, or simply not knowing how, to sit with vulnerability, I kept accumulating “otherness,” believing that one day I would finally arrive somewhere whole. Instead, the emptiness grew, and the feeling of vulnerability only multiplied.

By not honouring my own vulnerability, I now see how I hurt many of those I care deeply about — from my husband, with whom I am now in the process of separating, to my family back home, who struggled to understand my decisions. Most importantly, I was hurting myself by not allowing myself to be vulnerable.

At the age of fifty-three, I finally saw what I had been doing — how much I had resisted being with my own vulnerability, afraid that I would drown in my emotions because I feel so deeply. And now, what remains is not the career, not the relationships, not the substitutions I once relied on. What remains is my vulnerability.

It has been with me all these years, labelled as depression, anxiety, and ADHD. What I have now is the rawness of that feeling — one that has been quietly telling me all along: this is who you are. This is why you feel deeply, love unconditionally, and care so intensely. I am a part of you that never abandoned you.

And the paradox of this lesson is still unfolding.

So I leave you with this question:
How comfortable are you with sitting in your own discomfort?