Safe Vulnerability: An Invitation to Be Seen

“Me too.”

Two words, so simple and yet weighty with meaning. Scary to say but precious to hear, they carry the power to make us feel a little less alone and a lot more seen.

There’s this moment in university where I saw the impact of those words. A number of years ago now, I remember sitting in a cafeteria with a friend. We were avoiding some homework by complaining about other upcoming assignments. This friend went on to explain a presentation she was working on and as one thing led to another in our conversation, she opened up and shared a traumatic part of her story. When she finished, I simply said, “Me too, that happened to me too.” I can still picture her face as she processed this information, as the truth that she was not alone in her experience registered. In that moment her view of me shifted and grew; she understood my particular brand of pain, and she knew I understood hers.

Because these kinds of moments remind us that our shared pains and traumas, whatever they may be, inextricably connect us to a community of people who just get it.

I think of conversations where I’ve opened up and shared the hard parts of my own story. The first few times I was terrified. How would the other person respond? Would they see me differently? Would I be rejected because of my trauma? These fears told me that I should stay quiet and keep this part of myself hidden away. That it would be better to stay protected even if it meant being disconnected.

That’s what fear does – it strangles us, wrapping its way around our throats, closing in and squeezing till it controls where we look, how we move. Fear is an unforgiving taskmaster whose aim is to keep us isolated. Because even if we’re alone, at least we can’t get hurt again, right?

But what I’ve learned through my own journey of healing, processing, and sharing is that true safety doesn’t require withholding and withdrawing parts of myself. I’ve come to understand that it’s okay to tell my brain, “Thank you for keeping me safe in the ways you have this far, but I’m going to explore a different path now.” And I believe that safe vulnerability is a different path worth taking.

I define safe vulnerability as, making the choice to share sensitive and raw parts of myself and my story with the people I trust to hold me and my emotions with grace, care, and gentleness.

I include the word “safe” when I think about vulnerability because I’ve found that there can be a toxic sort of vulnerability. It’s in those moments where you feel pressure to open up, even if you don’t want to. Maybe because it feels like sharing is the only way to keep a relationship going. Or perhaps a group of people are oversharing and it’s implied you’ll need to do the same in order to fit in. It’s hard to say no when our sense of belonging is threatened. But I know that in those moments of opening up when it didn’t feel right, I didn’t receive the care I needed.

You don’t have to share your story with everyone. Not every relationship has the space and safety to get deep and be raw. And that’s okay. It’s okay to protect yourself and your story until you find people who are able to hear it and hold it well. Because you will find them. Perhaps they already have, and you know firsthand the power of being able to talk about all of what makes you, you.

Your story, in all its complexity, is valid and real, whether or not you choose to talk about it out loud. But I wonder if in the sharing, if in our choice to step into safe vulnerability, we learn a lesson in loving ourselves.

You see, every time I’ve opened up with my people and been honest about past or present hard things, I’ve been met with compassionate reminders that I am loved. These people speak truth and empathy, grounding me in who I am. And as they do, sometimes I see myself through their eyes – as someone who’s not damaged, but bruised; not too much, but hurting; not ugly, but real; not alone, but seen.

This is what fuels my writing – this desire to embolden and empower others to know that they, that you, are not alone. That you can feel seen. That your story is complicated and multi-dimensional and important. I write and choose safe vulnerability in my own life because my deepest pain points have also been where I can provide the most empathy and have the most understanding for others.

I choose to be open because I want to pass on the gift that others have given me – knowing that I’m not alone, and that I’ll be okay.

May we begin to breathe a little steadier, knowing that we are not alone in our experiences. May we find our safe people, our soft landing place. And as we heal, hurt, and get back up again, may we begin to look outward towards the others for whom we might become a safe haven as well.