Struggle with Vulnerability
I’ve always had a strange admiration for the bad guys in movies. The heroes? They felt too predictable, too… human. Their weaknesses almost always revolved around emotions: their love for the princess, their loyalty to their kids, their need to save someone. To me, emotions felt like a liability. But the villains? They were strong, independent, focused. They didn’t need anyone, and they certainly didn’t let their feelings get in the way. I’m not saying I condoned their actions, but there was something about their detachment that felt relatable—almost aspirational.
Growing up, I didn’t see much value in emotions. My parents were high performers. They built the life they dreamed of through hard work, discipline, and focus. Love and warmth were there, but they were expressed in practical ways, like providing a stable home and ensuring we never went without. Emotions? They didn’t seem to play a role in success.
My mum would often describe herself as someone who lacked empathy. Not that she was unkind, but she’d openly admit that emotionally connecting with others, outside of her immediate family, didn’t come naturally to her. I think that shaped me more than I realized. If she could admit to not being emotionally driven and still be a wonderful parent and partner, why should emotions be important?
When I was very young, I was the opposite of what you might imagine someone with avoidant tendencies to be. As a toddler, I was insolent, always testing boundaries, seeking attention—even negative attention. But something shifted around the age of seven. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment, but unconsciously, I must have realized that attention-seeking wasn’t working. Instead of pushing, I started pulling away. Laying low became my strategy. The less exposed, the better. Vulnerability felt like a risk I didn’t want to take.
This mindset served me well—until I started dating. I’ve always been a good listener, and I genuinely enjoy solving problems. Those traits made it easy for me to connect with women on a surface level.
But deep down, I often thought, Why are they so emotional? What’s the point of all this? Emotions felt like unnecessary noise—something to be managed, not shared.
Things began to shift when I started studying psychology. Learning about the science of emotions, their role in human connection, and their evolutionary purpose forced me to confront my biases. The breakthrough came one day when my wife opened up about her childhood. She shared something deeply personal, a memory that had shaped her insecurities. In the past, I might have dismissed it as her being “too emotional.” But this time, my perspective was different.
I realized that what she was doing—sharing her vulnerability—wasn’t a weakness. It was courage. She was letting me into a part of her world that she didn’t share with everyone. It wasn’t just about her past; it was about trust. By being vulnerable, she wasn’t asking for pity or fixing. She was asking for connection.
That moment flipped a switch for me. Vulnerability wasn’t just healthy—it was the only path to true intimacy. It was the key to understanding her inner world, to building a bond that went beyond surface-level problem-solving. I had spent so much of my life avoiding vulnerability, thinking it made me strong. But real strength, I realized, was in being open.
Now, I see vulnerability not as a liability but as a bridge. It’s not easy. Even now, my instinct is often to withdraw or intellectualize my feelings. But when I lean into those moments of discomfort, I’ve found that the rewards—connection, understanding, love—are worth it.
Reflection Questions:
- When you think about vulnerability, do you see it as a strength or a weakness? Why?
- Can you think of a time when someone shared something vulnerable with you? How did it change the way you saw them?
- What steps could you take to practice being more open in your relationships, even when it feels uncomfortable?
Embracing vulnerability isn’t easy, especially for those of us who have spent years avoiding it. But perhaps the first step is simply recognizing that we don’t have to have it all together. Sometimes, the greatest connection comes from admitting that we don’t.