Vulnerability: My Gateway Drug

Why it is always my (scary) choice.

Vulnerability Gets A Bad Rap

 

When I realised that the thing I feared most was also the key to my greatest freedom, I was in no position to negotiate—not with life, and certainly not with the people around me, many of whom I was terrified of.

On the surface, everything was bleak. I was in my mid-thirties, the mother of young children, deathly ill with cancer, and possibly dying. My options seemed nonexistent. Ill health and now cancer had drained me slowly for years; the treatment was an unrelenting assault course, breaking me over months. Saying my body had run out of steam is an absurd understatement.

Walking from the bed to the bathroom was a desert crossing. I could reach the sofa if lucky, but gravity had doubled. I was going blind and deaf, slipping further away, dissociating.

At my lowest point, I had spent a week alone in a lead-lined room after being given a radioactive isotope to hopefully kill the last of the cancer cells. Yes, I get the irony. Then, another two weeks, isolating myself in my own home lest I irradiate my family. Then, another two weeks in isolation at home, lest I irradiate my family. Dear Rosie, my loyal pup, forever a sentinel at my bedside, was sent away. I had felt grim for months, and then my blood count dropped to a level that made even the doctors nervous.

Facing what appeared to be the inevitable early conclusion of my life, I was unsure if I could keep going much longer. My body, fragile as a sandcastle, had been a battlefield for years, torn by cancer, by trauma and a lifetime of people-pleasing. Even a doctor mistook me for a grandmother. I was losing ground. Every second felt like a coin flip between staying and slipping away.

And yet, at rock bottom, a gentle calm and sharply focused clarity came over me.

It wasn’t a flash of sudden awareness, more a slide from despair and hopelessness, a razor-thin line between holding on and letting go where I found a place of no fear.

However, speaking was exhausting, so whatever I communicated had to be succinct.

I had nothing left to lose. At last, in this place of no fear, there was unencumbered space in my psyche that could speak the unspoken for the first time. An unexpected awakening.

The words that came out of my mouth shocked me because of the clarity, vulnerability, and energy that sounded as if from another being, not the old me. Truth-telling was a courageous path for someone who had spent the past thirty-six years in extreme hyper-vigilance as a winning survival strategy. I hadn’t heard myself sound like that before, but I liked what I heard.

So I spoke gently yet firmly to my then-husband. “When this is over, this is over,” I said, motioning first to my body, the battleground and then to us, the other landscape of suffering. I finally had the clarity to say I wanted out of this most unhappy marriage if I ever survived this cancer.

Whoosh! What a relief it is (always) to speak the elephant in the room. A surge of warm energy flushed my depleted body. What was this magic alchemy? It was vulnerability, raw and unfiltered. I had no words left, but I liked the instant feeling it gave me: relief from fear and concern. I felt as if I had discovered a secret.

The revelation of the whole experience hooked me. The dopamine rush was instant and addictive.

For 25 years, I practised, honed, and let it transform me until it became my skin.

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Vulnerability gets a bad rap.

It’s often mistaken for weakness, for letting your guard down, for leaving yourself exposed. And, to be fair, it is all those things—but it’s also so much more.

Vulnerability is the ultimate paradox: it feels dangerous, but it’s the most courageous thing we can do. It asks us to stand naked before life, to show up raw and real, to risk rejection in the hope of connection.

And here’s the kicker: vulnerability isn’t just emotional bravery. It’s a gateway—a transformative force that can unlock joy, love, and creativity in ways nothing else can.

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Why Vulnerability Feels Like Free-Falling

Let’s get one thing straight: vulnerability is terrifying. It triggers the same fight-or-flight response as falling from a height. Our hearts race, our palms sweat, and our minds scream, “Run!” Why? Because being vulnerable means facing the ultimate fear: the fear of being unlovable.

But here’s the twist: just like falling, vulnerability isn’t the end. It’s the beginning.

When we stop resisting the freefall, we discover something extraordinary. Vulnerability doesn’t drop us into emptiness—it lands us in the arms of connection. It shows us that we’re not alone, that we’re human, and that there’s strength in our rawness.

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The Highs of Vulnerability

• Joy: Not the surface-level, Instagram-worthy kind, but the wild, uncontainable kind that sneaks up on you in the quiet moments.
• Love: The kind that sees you in all your messy humanity and says, “You’re enough.”
• Creativity: The kind that flows when you stop trying to be perfect and let yourself play.
• Forge Genuine Connections: The best result is that by revealing our true selves, we invite others to do the same, fostering more profound relationships. More connection = more happiness.

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But What If I Fall?

Yes, you might. Vulnerability doesn’t come with guarantees. You might stumble, you might cry, and you might hear “no” when you hoped for “yes.”

But here’s the truth: falling is where you learn to fly. And every time you risk vulnerability, you become braver, stronger, and more open to the fullness of life.

“Daring greatly means the courage to be vulnerable. It means to show up and be seen. To ask for what you need. To talk about how you’re feeling. To have the hard conversations.”  – Brené Brown

I am not interested in positing a concept here without seeing you take action because change occurs in the doing. Carrying concern is a burden we all need to relieve. Numbing from pain, sadly, is a sugar hit only—it may bring temporary relief, but it often deepens the ache. I believe in this so strongly; of course, I’m not the only one.

Research by Dr. Brené Brown shows that vulnerability isn’t weakness—it’s the birthplace of courage, connection, and authenticity. Numerous psychology studies support this notion: embracing discomfort fosters resilience, and acknowledging our fears diminishes their power. Vulnerability, it turns out, is a game-changer.

So, what’s calling you to the edge today? Is it a conversation you’ve been avoiding? A dream you’ve been too scared to chase? A version of yourself you’ve been too afraid to meet?

Here’s your challenge: take one small, brave step. Write the email. Say the words. Dare to believe that you’re worth it.

Vulnerability isn’t easy, but it’s worth it. It’s the gateway to everything you’ve been longing for.

So, what are you waiting for?

The edge is calling.