Power of Vulnerability

Written by Colter Bloxom

It’s hard to write about vulnerability without thinking about Brené Brown. She has made a career out of exploring what it means to live with open hands and an open heart. And while her words have become nearly synonymous with the topic, vulnerability isn’t hers. It’s ours. It’s part of being human.

Let me start with this: vulnerability isn’t weakness. It’s risk. It’s uncertainty. It’s emotional exposure. And as uncomfortable as that might be, it’s also the birthplace of connection, intimacy, creativity, courage, and growth. Vulnerability is where all the good stuff starts.

For many of us, vulnerability is something we’ve learned to avoid. Maybe your early life taught you that it wasn’t safe to show emotion. Maybe you’ve been burned by someone you trusted. Maybe you pride yourself on being strong and “unshakable.” That story makes sense. Most people don’t wake up excited to be exposed.

But here’s the paradox: the very thing we try to avoid is what makes meaningful relationships possible. Vulnerability is the doorway to being seen.

When you share something honest—a fear, a hurt, a hope—you’re allowing someone else to meet you in that space. And yes, it can go poorly. But more often than not, something beautiful happens. You feel less alone. You feel more understood. You feel connected.

In my own life, I’ve seen the power of this again and again. A conversation with a friend where I said, “I’m not doing great” instead of pretending. A moment in my marriage where I said, “I’m afraid I’m not enough.” A note to a client that said, “Thanks for trusting me today. That took courage.”

None of those moments were easy. All of them were vulnerable. And all of them led to deeper trust and connection.

There’s a story Brené tells in one of her talks about asking a group of military service members to describe a time when they saw real courage that didn’t require vulnerability. The room went silent. You can’t separate courage from vulnerability. They are two sides of the same coin.

We like to think vulnerability is a one-way street—that it’s something we have to do for others. But let me flip that on you for a second. How do you feel when someone is vulnerable with you? When a friend tells you they’re hurting, or your partner shares a childhood wound, or your coworker admits they’re overwhelmed? Most of the time, it doesn’t make us judge them. It draws us in. It makes us want to help, to comfort, to support.

So what makes us think our own vulnerability would be treated any differently?

One reason vulnerability is so difficult is because we live in a culture that idolizes self-sufficiency. We’re taught that needing others is weakness, that asking for help is a last resort, and that the strongest people are the ones who feel the least. But that model of strength is bankrupt. It leaves people isolated, lonely, and emotionally malnourished.

Real strength is being able to say, “I need you.”

If you want stronger relationships, more meaningful work, deeper connection, you’re going to have to risk being vulnerable. That might mean telling someone how much they mean to you without knowing if they feel the same. It might mean setting a boundary and risking someone’s disappointment. It might mean showing up to therapy and saying, “I don’t even know where to start.”

Here’s something I often tell clients: vulnerability doesn’t mean telling everyone everything. It means being honest with the people who have earned the right to hear your story. You don’t need to broadcast your pain on social media to prove you’re authentic. You just need to stop pretending that you’re always fine.

This week, I want to invite you to try something: pick one area of your life where you could practice a little vulnerability. Maybe it’s with your spouse or partner, a close friend, a therapist, a trusted coworker. Choose one moment where you tell the truth about what you’re really feeling. Don’t overthink it. Don’t dress it up. Just be honest.

If that still feels too hard, then start with yourself. Take 10 minutes and write about what you’re carrying. Let it be messy. Let it be real. No one else has to see it. But you do.

The power of vulnerability is that it reminds us we don’t have to do this life alone. That we are worthy of love and belonging not because we are perfect, but because we are real. That our mess doesn’t make us unlovable. It makes us human.

So go ahead. Crack open a little. There might be some light on the other side.