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The Vulnerability Experiment That Face-Planted[edit]
Okay, let me be direct. Everyone talks about Brené Brown's work on vulnerability like it's a superpower you unlock. Like, suddenly poof you're sharing your deepest fears and everyone showers you with acceptance and…well, it rarely works that way. I learned this the hard way.
After my burnout – the year I spent mostly horizontal, questioning all life choices – I was determined to do things differently. I'd been the queen of be-vulnerable:The Armor We Wear, the master of "I'm fine," even when internally combusting. So I decided to practice vulnerability. Like a skill.
My first attempt? A team meeting. I was newly consulting, trying to build trust with a client. I decided to share, unprompted, about the sheer terror of starting over after leaving a stable (albeit soul-crushing) career. I framed it as "being real," as "leading with authenticity."
It. Flopped. Hard.
The room went silent. Not a supportive, empathetic silence. A concerned silence. One person actually asked if I was "sure I was up to the project." Another subtly shifted the conversation to deliverables. I'd aimed for connection and landed squarely in "unstable and potentially unreliable."
The aftermath wasn't pretty. I spent the next few hours replaying it, convinced I'd torpedoed the entire engagement. I had been vulnerable, but it felt…performative. Like I was trying to be vulnerable, rather than genuinely being it. And frankly, it was TMI. They hadn't asked for my life story; they needed a strategic plan.
Here's what no one tells you: vulnerability isn't about broadcasting your trauma. It's not a tactic. It's about allowing yourself to be seen – authentically, yes – but also appropriately. It's about responding to the moment, not forcing a narrative.
I learned that vulnerability requires discernment. It's about assessing the container – the relationship, the context – before you share. It's about trusting your gut. And sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is not share. Sometimes, holding space for your own feelings, processing them privately, is enough.
I still believe in the power of connection, but I approach it with a lot more caution. I learned this the hard way so you don't have to. It's not about ripping off the bandaid; it's about carefully, strategically, and when appropriate, letting a little light in.
— Tracy Carlson, drawing the line