Vulnerability as a doorway to deeper connection
Do you crave DMCs (Deep Meaningful Conversations)? Do you often feel alone, isolated, and slightly disappointed with the platonic relationships you have? If you don’t, this post might be a challenge to read or it might validate how far you have come already. However, I still encourage you to do so and to notice whatever comes up for you.
Many of us have spent years building lives that look strong on the outside while quietly managing exhaustion, self-doubt, or loneliness on the inside. Yet beneath those protective layers, something powerful waits to be seen. When met with safety, vulnerability can become the doorway to connection, healing, and forward momentum in many aspects of our lives. It can be the permission to finally live the life you secretly want — one you might not be pursuing right now because of fear or uncertainty.
Somewhere between my internal felt experience and the people around me, I used to build walls to avoid being judged, rejected, or abandoned. Shame used to run the show an the feeling of being “too much” came up, and so I kept my most vulnerable parts in exile. I did not dare allow what makes me most human to surface in relationships. Yet I still to wondered, why are we not having the real conversations I crave? I never allowed myself (the messy parts) to be seen first. Sadly, this also left me feeling disconnected from myself.
It is often in the small moments that vulnerability emerges. It could show up as a deep, authentic sigh. Sometimes it’s a client telling me, “I don’t usually talk about this”. When you feel safe enough to let your guard drop just slightly, that is when truth starts to find its way into words, and you begin to transform. Sometimes people need the safe container of a professional therapeutic or coaching relationship to model this type of safety, helping them build the courage and trust to allow this to trickle through into their friendships and intimate relationships.
Giving a voice to your internal experience
Many clients first arrive with a feeling of being “stuck”. They are unsure what they want, but certain they’re exhausted from holding everything together as it stands today.
When I invite them to pause and notice what’s happening in their body, they often find this very challenging, as they have been in their heads for too long, by rationalising their experience and cutting off from the painful signals in their bodies. Coming back to the body is a slow journey of checking in on and naming emotions and the felt bodily sensations, while clients share their cognitive experiences.
Feeling vulnerable, although it might sometimes bring a sense of relief, is very uncomfortable, and there is no guarantee that this will lead to deep connection or a sense of true belonging.
“Belonging so fully to yourself that you’re willing to stand alone is a wilderness — an untamed, unpredictable place of solitude and searching. It is a place as dangerous as it is breathtaking, a place as sought after as it is feared.”
— Brené Brown, Braving the Wilderness
I once had a client who, after being made redundant at work and experiencing a traumatic heartbreak, said they were not used to sharing feelings — they were used to processing them in solitude. They would only share with friends after they had processed everything and neatly put it in a box, being able to share it from a cognitive perspective rather than connecting to their emotions.
As they began to speak about their sadness and grief in sessions, they allowed themselves to process this through tears and, after a few sessions, they started looking lighter. Simply naming what had been silent for so long gave them relief and understanding. It also increased their courage to start talking about these feelings with others, and their friends noticed that they were becoming more “open”.
Another client who was taking a break from work, and felt guilty for resting, discovered that her perfectionism at work was rooted in fear: the fear of not being enough unless she was performing. As she explored this, she realised the company she worked for didn’t support her health or values. For her it was too unstructured and chaotic for her preference.
Being able to voice this experience vulnerably gave her back her agency. She began planning a graceful exit, following her values, what felt true to her, and what would allow her to bring her full self to work. This meant looking into roles and companies that could offer her the structure she needed, rather than just “jumping ship” to escape her current situation without understanding what she really needed.
A (human) bridge to others
“Connection is why we’re here; it is what gives purpose and meaning to our lives. The power that connection holds in our lives was confirmed when the main concern about connection emerged as the fear of disconnection; the fear that something we’ve done or failed to do, something about who we are or where we come from, has made us unlovable and unworthy of connection.”
— Brené Brown, Daring Greatly
Vulnerability doesn’t only change how we relate to ourselves; it can also transform how we connect with others.
Not so long ago, last year, to be exact, I was still in constant competition with (female) friends, never letting my guard down or showing my vulnerable parts. My fear of being rejected or judged was in overdrive. I was also struggling to rest — think “survival of the fittest”. I would rather leave myself and let go of my needs than risk rejection by sharing them.
When reflecting on this, I would sometimes test the waters, and I’d feel alone, isolated, and shameful when that test failed and the people on the other side didn’t see my plea or meet me with the compassion I expected.
At work, I would push really hard to deserve to need breaks or to feel depressed or unhappy. I needed to prove my worth, hoping someone might recognise that I was struggling inside and give me a break. I learned the hard way that “playing games” does not get you what you need, especially if that need is deep connection or boundaries that protect your wellbeing.
“What if depression is, in fact, a form of grief — for our own lives not being as they should? What if it is a form of grief for the connections we have lost, yet still need?”
— Johann Hari, Lost Connections
I had to learn to be more connected to myself first, to hold difficult feelings with more compassion, and to find the right friends in the right places, who allowed me to bring my full, messy self to the table. The intimacy and creativity that have blossomed from this have been transcendent, and I feel more connected than ever.
Quick caveat — this does not mean I feel happier than ever. Being whole has become the goal and this means feeling and allowing all of my parts into the world. This can sometimes feel like drinking from the emotional firehose.
Being vulnerable is still hard. The shame still creates a small mountain I need to climb when sharing. However, being met with compassion rather than “fix it” behaviours allows my body to feel safe — and it allows for deeper connection.
It is like a muscle and so the more you do it, the more familiar it becomes and the “easier” it gets (although never truly easy).
If this is shared in a two-way manner, the potential benefits are exponential. If done in a safe, boundaried way, you and your friends can offer each other mutual regulation through authentic connection. Sharing vulnerability with trusted people, support groups, or community functions could act as a form of everyday, informal therapy (CPTSD: From Surviving to Thriving, Pete Walker).
One client shared how she finally had an honest conversation with her ex-partner about past pain they could never speak about. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real. She said afterwards that she felt “lighter”, not because the other person changed, but because she’d stopped hiding her truth.
Vulnerability is not for the weak or faint of heart. It can be harder than putting yourself under extreme physical pressure, such as running marathons. Once you train yourself to do this, though, it becomes something you might miss when it’s not there — that is, giving oxygen to your vulnerabilities. Giving them space to be witnessed and seen by someone safe has the potential to reduce the tension you feel in your body. Co-regulation with (safe) others can be a deeply connecting experience.
When vulnerability leads to action
Vulnerability isn’t just emotional expression. It could also mean unapologetic clarity. That moment we recognise what’s no longer serving us and choose to act differently because of that.
Violet* discovered that her struggle with boundaries at work came from an old belief that her worth depended on being indispensable. Once she could name that, she stopped over-giving and started creating structure. She proposed clearer delegation and took ownership of projects she actually loved. Vulnerability turned into leadership and taking control of her career satisfaction, while also protecting her energy and wellbeing.
*Name changed for privacy
Sometimes, vulnerability awakens something fiercer, healthy anger. It’s the recognition that this isn’t right anymore. For one client, allowing anger to surface helped her see she’d been tolerating a situation that didn’t honour her values. That spark of anger wasn’t destructive, in this case it was protective. When met with compassion, anger can become a guide that points us back to our integrity.
What does vulnerability feel like (to me)?
When I sense vulnerability rising within me, either in a session or in life, it often starts with anxiety and fear (of not being seen, being judged, or rejected). When I am met in a safe, non-judgemental space, it transforms into a softening: my shoulders drop, my breath slows, there’s a warmth in my chest, and sometimes a lump in my throat.
My instinct, at times, is to move away from it by filling the silence or tidying the emotion. But when I stay with it, something sacred happens: connection deepens and my whole body starts to relax as I truly feel seen and held in that moment.
There have been moments in coaching where I have experienced a client’s pain physically in my body, for example a tight chest, shallow breath, a dull ache in my abdomen. My impulse is to fix, to help them to “safety”. But by simply just being, I allow them to connect with the feeling, which holds the potential for deeper healing than saving them.
There was a moment in our first coaching class where I over-resonated with a client who was working hard for affection and experiencing burnout because of it. I chose not to rush in with words. To be honest, I was at a loss for words, feeling the urge to fix, however, I knew this was not what was needed in that moment.
I simply stayed with what was unfolding, although this was extremely difficult for me and I was feeling overwhelmed. Later, the client said it was the first time someone had truly listened without trying to make it better. That silence, though uncomfortable, became the bridge. Imperfect experiences like this, that create real connection, build confidence in me to try again — to sit with uncomfortable feelings, and to help the client connect with their inner experience to support their healing.
My invitation to you
There are moments in session when I sense both myself and the other person playing that edge between retreat and openness. Shame often hides in that space. It whispers that if we’re too much, or too emotional, or too uncertain, we’ll lose connection.
And yet, it’s in these moments when I (we) stay present, breathe through my own discomfort, and meet what’s really here, that something real emerges.
Sometimes it’s seeing each other deeply, and sometimes it’s the beauty of rupture and repair, which teach us valuable lessons about the lived human experience — that it’s normal to lose connection now and then and to show up imperfectly, but it’s what happens in spite of that which creates the container to help heal deep attachment wounds we carry from our childhoods.
My question to you is:What might shift for you if you allowed yourself to be just 10% more honest about how you’re really feeling this week? Start by not just saying “good” on autopilot when someone asks how you are.
You don’t need to share it widely. Maybe it’s just tuning in and noticing when your voice trembles, when your shoulders tighten, when your truth wants to surface. That moment when you want to withdraw and change the subject to the weather or weekend plans, stay. Stay in that moment for a few seconds longer and experience what happens next.
I am still learning every day that I don’t need to “fix” a client who feels stuck or helpless. My role is to help them stay with what’s real long enough for truth to emerge. And once it does, authentic change follows naturally.
This piece is my take, based on anecdotes from my lived experience, coaching training, client experiences, and books I have read on these topics. Please feel free to engage in the comments section by adding your perspective or take on this topic.
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