The power of vulnerability
One of my clients shared with me that he wasted six weeks by not asking for help from people who built careers doing the project he now needed to do. After realizing this, getting vulnerable, and having a quick talk with each such person, he found his project was 95% complete.
What stopped him was a thought and a feeling. The thought was I can’t let on that I don’t know what I’m doing here. The feeling was discomfort around being vulnerable and asking for help. I identified immediately. I spent large swaths of my previous job inserting myself into conversations where I had no idea how to meaningfully contribute, simply because I had to show them I deserved my title. Why do we do this, instead of admitting we don’t know, made a mistake, or need help? Being vulnerable with others is an unattractive strategy when we think it means weakness and feel like it’s too uncomfortable.
The discomfort of vulnerability is what gives it its power. No matter what form it takes, exposing a piece of yourself is at its root, colored by some amount of shame, guilt, or embarrassment. It can also be ego-deflating, coming down from the clouds to mingle with the rest of the humans. I also fuck up. I have no idea what I’m doing. I need some help. What is this really? Weakness, to some. But I think a more helpful thought is that it’s just humility, just admitting humanness. It’s not comfortable, but with practice this becomes a tool that doesn’t carry the same emotional weight it once did.
Recovery groups witness the power of vulnerability every day. These sufferers are alike in their affliction, and group meetings are dedicated to folks sharing their experiences –good, bad, and ugly. Sometimes very ugly. But in that honesty and vulnerability, lives are saved. A group member’s vulnerable account of shameful and horrid moments could be the key to a newcomer’s recovery when they realize – perhaps for the first time ever – that they’re with people who understand.
There’s a healing quality in not being unique. When we share to help someone, we also find relief. Arthur Brooks says, “Being open about your suffering in others’ service is a form of self-compassion as well. It allows you to understand your pain nonjudgmentally and treat is as part of a normal human experience.” Sharing helps get you out of yourself and the overidentification of your stories. You’re no longer the sole sufferer. The recipient of your vulnerability no longer is either.
What does being vulnerable mean and look like to you? What could it mean in a way that’s beneficial to you? Or, even better, what could it mean in a way that’s beneficial to someone else? Remember: you stand to benefit. Could you be ok not knowing all the answers? Asking for help? Trusting someone else? It’s a tall order sometimes, and I’m not suggesting you do it always and with everyone. I know, too, that choosing to be vulnerable is a privileged position; folks in some communities don’t have this option, where doing so threatens their physical safety. But, in moments when you can, in positions when you’re able, leveraging the power of vulnerability vs. viewing it as a weakness will support you as a partner, a parent, a leader at work, and an aid to so many more.
Go get ‘em this week.