I started writing to deal with things I was uncomfortable consciously thinking, saying aloud, or sharing with others. By downloading all my secrets and perceived weaknesses onto paper, I felt I could live without their impact in the real world. Pen and paper served as (what I thought was) impenetrable armor.
Boy, was I wrong.
To this day, I’m one of the least armored people I know. (Don’t believe me? Ask my family or friends.)  I am an open book, but that doesn’t mean I’m particularly trusting…it really probably just means I’m dumb and can’t learn my lesson.  I may do a [kind of] decent job of retaining control, or pretending to be unaffected, but below the surface, it’s all one big mushy gob of emotion.
At first I hated it. Being so affected by others made me feel weak and inferior. As a woman, I thought that it meant I was soft and sensitive; too feminine. The bad kind of emotional. For men, it’s the same.
But the reality is that there are plenty of rough, unavailable, and detached people out there. They’re everywhere. We pass them every single day and don’t give a second thought to them unless they bring some kind of extraordinary story or talent to the table.
But when you pass someone warm, you remember them; those people leave an impact on you, even if they did nothing more than flash you a genuine smile. Being tender and open makes you extraordinary by default.
There’s a word for this warmth and openness: vulnerability. It’s gotten a bad rep over the years as people naturally started associating the act of being vulnerable with the experience of being hurt.
I know I used to be absolutely terrified of being hurt. Worse, I wasn’t terrified of the emotional pain; I was haunted by the thought of feeling embarrassed. Or stupid. Or silly. Or used. Or anything that implied I was anything other than perfectly invincible and detached. The solution? To just…not be hurt, not feel stupid, not get embarrassed, by not putting myself in a position to be any of those things.
I soon realized that was a half-assed and unfulfilling experience. It’s not the way life should be lived, and although it feels easier and safer (and maybe it is), it causes more damage in the end.
Healthy people are elastic. We are meant to be hurt and bounce back; we are supposed to learn experientially. There is little to be said about a person who only experiences what they can prepare for or choose; the only way to really grow as a person is to be affected and push onward.
Life is about letting in and giving back; reciprocity, if you will. One-sided anythings don’t typically last long, because they are unfulfilling, unsatisfying, and often, frustrating. While there are plenty of times that we give without expectation of anything specific in return, the reality is that everything we give has an expectation of getting something back. And sometimes we end up trapped in a corner because we’re too scared that that something will be the wrong thing, or a hurtful thing.
I think men are particularly likely to view vulnerability as something they should run away from, likely because they think women don’t want to see it because it makes them look like a “beta male.” Maybe I’m the odd woman out, but I find a vulnerable man to be incredibly attractive. I’m unimpressed by a man who portrays himself as invincible and unaffected, because he seems cold and closed off. More importantly, I think it’s unhealthy and a fairly good predictor of an inability to effectively communicate. I don’t mean that all men should mope and moan about their problems and act like sissies (biologically, women don’t want sissies); rather, men should be willing to admit their actual weaknesses and problems, discuss them when they want or need to, and then push on. An emotionally and mentally strong man, which most women intuitively seek out, shouldn’t be dominated by his issues and scars, but accept that they’re a part of him. Having weaknesses isn’t being weak; pretending they don’t exist or ignoring them when they flare up is.
I’ll say it one last time for good measure: vulnerability is not a weakness.
It’s saying, “here, you can hurt me if you want, but I’ll be okay. I value this experience. I am okay with feeling these emotions and I will accept my baggage, because everyone has some. Even if I have to take a few steps backwards first, I am confident that I’ll end up six steps forward eventually – wiser and more capable — because I made an effort to become comfortable with vulnerability.â€
