Vulnerability: Why I Prefer It
Read time: Under 5 minutes
“And I didn’t care how sick and twisted someone else might have thought them to be. I held them in the basket of my compassion and blanketed them in my humble but ever powerful me too—the best thing I have to offer.” – Erica Garza
I’m sitting across from my good friend – we’ll call her Claire – at our favorite sushi restaurant in downtown Annapolis. My legs are crossed, my jeans are tight (because we’ve ordered a family-sized portion of sushi and eaten most of it), and I’m leaning over the table with wide eyes taking in every word she’s saying. I feel a sense of camaraderie as she shares with me the details of her recent struggles with anxiety. These conversations – the ones where we are real and honest about our ongoing struggles with mental illness – are always a gift.
“You’re the anxiety to my depression,” I say with a smile. “The yin to my yang.”
We laugh. It’s true.
Claire and I met years ago in a mindfulness and meditation class. She signed up hoping to ease her anxiety and I signed up because I was feeling lost in my career. More than anything, though, I was feeling depressed. This was nothing new for me but, mixed with the feeling of “I don’t know what I’m doing with my life,” it was starting to feel unbearable.
As fate would have it, Claire and I were assigned to be “accountability buddies” and, over time, our surface-level discussions about class assignments turned into deep, vulnerable conversations about our struggles. And it turned out we had a lot in common.
“I can’t get out of bed until the afternoon...”
“Everything I do feels so heavy...”
“I just started a new medication...I really hope it works.”
The funny thing about these conversations was that, while the subject matter was heavy, our spirits were not. Every struggle that we divulged was met with compassion and was often followed up with a “me too!” We could even laugh about most of it. It was cathartic. And, as time went on, I started feeling more okay about not being okay.
During that time – when my depression was at its worst – I also talked with a lot of my other friends about what I was going through. Openly, honestly, and not caring if I came across as “not okay” (I wasn’t). Ultimately, and over time, the medication helped tremendously. So did the therapy. But the truth, as they say, was what set me free.
There’s something in me that wants to tell you all my secrets. My fears, my quirks, my struggles. The things I’ve done that I regret. Mostly I want to tell you these things because I want you to love me. Or at the very least like me. I know that sounds counterintuitive, so let me explain. What I want is to be seen for who I really am – as opposed to a carefully-crafted façade – and I want you to love me in spite of that. In my wildest dreams, maybe you even love me for it.
I realize that’s asking a lot. I realize you probably don’t love me. You may not even like me. But that’s okay because, either way, I have another motivation for divulging my innermost thoughts and vulnerabilities. My hope is that in sharing what it’s like to be me, you will feel better about being you.
I want you to love you. I want to lessen your shame. And if I can help you do that by sharing my own struggles and hardships, then I’m ready and willing to go there. And, not to mention, crafting a façade is one of the most boring things you can do as a person. I’d rather be interesting than boring.
Lately I’ve been happy to discover that I’m far from the only one who feels this way. Vulnerability as both an artform and a form of self-help is becoming more and more prevalent in media. One example is the “confessional memoire” – a particular genre of nonfiction literature that has quickly become my favorite. Reading one is one of the most intimate experiences you can have with another person without actually meeting them. For the price of a book, you get a first-hand account of all the parts of a person’s life that are usually kept secret – and, if the book is any good, you get it in explicit detail.
Want to know what it’s really like to have debilitating depression and anxiety? You can read all about it in Jacqueline Novak’s memoir “How to Weep in Public” or select chapters of “Hyperbole and a Half” by Allie Brosh.
Want to immerse yourself in the life of a sex and love addict? Then absolutely read “Getting Off” by Erica Garza.
Want to take it a step further and blush over the details of one woman’s unique fetish? You can do that too in one of my favorite chapters of Melissa Broder’s memoire “So Sad Today.” (You know you want to.)
To me, there is nothing more courageous or more beautiful than sharing the realest (and sometimes also the darkest) parts of yourself. We all have these parts, but most of us keep them hidden because there’s an unwritten rule saying that if we don’t, we’ll be rejected.
In my opinion, this rule is one of the leading causes of shame in this world. And shame says horrible things to us like “it’s not okay to be you” and “no one would like you if they knew the real you.” Things that can absolutely break your spirit.
But here’s the secret no one tells us: we’re all pretty much the same on the inside. We just can’t see another person’s “inside” unless they are willing to share it with us. And most people just aren’t willing to share it with us. They’re afraid of being rejected.
We are all, to some degree, scared and insecure. We all do strange things and think weird thoughts. That’s not the problem. The problem is thinking that we’re the only ones who do so and, therefore, that we are broken.
You are not broken. Neither am I.
The world is finally coming around to the idea that it is strong, and not weak, to live openly as a real person in the world. If you’re paying attention, you can see it popping up all around you – in books, in blogs, on podcasts, in conversations amongst friends. We’re all, slowly but surely, starting to realize that the most beautiful versions of ourselves are the real ones.
What a relief. What a gift. And what a time to be alive.