My friend of nearly 20 years died suddenly this month. She had been in poor health but, even so, no one expected this. My friend was unfailingly generous – with her time, her skills, her energy and her care. She cared deeply about people and about her community, often devoting herself to charitable causes and spending time with friends and family. She was also a mystery to me, preferring to talk about cultural references than herself. If she did talk about herself, it was only in vague terms. While I felt she kept me at arms’ length, I never pressed her on this, electing instead to meet her where she was most comfortable. Now, I’m devastated to realise, there are no more chances to get to know her better, or enjoy the parts of herself she did share with me.
What drives us to protect our most vulnerable parts? In some instances the nature of the relationship doesn’t warrant a deep connection. That’s fair enough; I have no desire for everyone I meet to know every facet of me. In other cases, it’s a lack of trust or self-preservation. For my friend though, I think she avoided sharing information which would elicit big reactions from others. She didn’t like a fuss, and perhaps to her concern felt too much like pity.
Connection researcher Brené Brown highlights the paradox of vulnerability:
Vulnerability is courage in you, but weakness in me.
It’s the first thing I look for in you, but the last thing I want to show you in me.
This rings true. I’m drawn to people who are willing to be generous with themselves. That doesn’t mean I expect my friends to bare their souls, but simply to show me who they are, without pretence. And while I try to live this way, I sometimes worry my vulnerability will be interpreted as neediness or, worse still, will be exploited. And this is how easily genuine connection can be hijacked.
Therefore, vulnerability is best practiced where both/all parties are on equal footing and feel emotionally safe. It cannot (or should not) be cajoled from others against their will, especially when there is an imbalance between the parties involved. Vulnerability is, after all, a pathway to connection, and one-directional vulnerability undermines this in a big way.
But because vulnerability is subjective, it can be found in places and ways we might not expect. While she will remain a mystery in some ways, my friend did engage without pretence. If I stop to consider this properly, I can see she revealed her true self to me in countless ways, making it easier to feel closer to her, even though she is gone.
And so the answer to the question ‘how much vulnerability is too much and how little is too little?’ is simple: it’s relative to each individual and situation. We can’t compel others to share what they aren’t able to, but we might still be able to connect with the truest parts of them all the same.
Photo credit: Melita Caulfield
For S.M. – who loved and was loved in return
This One Too 