The dilemma of Vulnerability

I haven't written in 5 months. Happy new years, though! My birthday is soon, very excited about that but I thought I would write a monologue. Plenty more to come!

Being vulnerable is complicated and, quite frankly, deeply inconvenient. We know—intellectually, at least—that vulnerability is important. Countless books, therapists, and pop-psychology podcasts have drummed into us that it’s the golden key to intimacy. It builds trust, reduces misunderstandings, and allows people to love us for who we truly are. Yes, it is all been heard before. But despite this rather basic fact, many of us remain utterly terrified by the prospect.

Because, if we’re honest, the real question lurking beneath the surface is not can I be vulnerable? but do I actually want to be seen? Not the curated, socially acceptable version of ourselves, but the real thing—flawed, frightened, vain, and insecure. And for many of us, the answer is an embarrassed, mumbled “not really.”

Vulnerability—in its rawest form—is not t a poetic Instagram caption or a neatly timed heart-to-heart. It’s messy. It's the awkward confession, the unfiltered emotion, the moment you admit you’re not as sorted, stable, or impressive as people think. And that, inconveniently, threatens the narrative we’ve so carefully constructed about ourselves. We are, after all, very committed to seeming competent.

We pride ourselves on our achievements, our intelligence, our ever achieving goals. We are composed in public, witty in conversation, and appropriately self-deprecating online. But in private, we are often lonely, anxious, and absurdly insecure. Tragically, we seem to forget, time and again, that this internal contradiction is not unique—it is, in fact, the human condition. Everyone else is just as terrified as we are. They’re just better at pretending than us.

The real tragedy is that our reluctance to be vulnerable is not just about hiding from others—it’s about hiding from ourselves. We don’t want to admit, even internally, that we are capable of jealousy, neediness, or emotional dependency. So we suppress, deny, and rationalize, and in doing so, make genuine connection almost impossible.

And yet, we still act surprised when our relationships begin to crack. We get frustrated at our partner's inability to "get us," as if mutual mind-reading were a reasonable expectation. But how could they possibly understand our needs, if we’ve done everything in our power to conceal them? If we are unwilling to say, plainly, “I need reassurance,” or “I’m scared you’ll leave,” then we should not be shocked when they fail to provide comfort or stability. We are disappointed—but conveniently ignore the fact that we offered them no map.

The solution, although inconvenient, is simple: say the thing. Admit the fear. Make the unsaid, said. Tell someone how much they matter to you, even if you risk sounding dramatic or clingy or, God forbid, vulnerable.

Of course, there is always the risk of rejection. That is, unfortunately, the price of intimacy. But the alternative—emotional isolation wrapped in dramatic self-sufficiency—is hardly more ideal. It’s simply lonelier.

What we rarely acknowledge is that vulnerability isn’t just an emotional risk—it’s a moral one. To withhold your inner world from someone who loves you is, in a sense, an act of deception. You deprive them of the chance to meet the real you. You also rob yourself of the chance to be loved for something other than your performance.

We all claim to want authenticity. But only a handful of us are willing to endure the necessary discomfort. We'd rather be admired than truly known—until, of course, the loneliness becomes unbearable. And only then, when we’ve exhausted every avoidant tactic available, do we consider the radical act of simply telling the truth.

So yes, vulnerability is complicated. But it is also embarrassingly essential. And, once we stop being so afraid of looking foolish, it is—like most things we avoid—far more tolerable than we imagined. And ever so rewarding after. 

Hope you have a splendid day! 

-Sahana