The Magic of Vulnerability

Getting Naked 98 Times — Not what I expected!

In May 2016, I started the following self-experiment: To have one hundred conversations purely aimed at exposing my soft underbelly. Metaphorically speaking and, in actual terms, make myself vulnerable. Why? Because I wasn’t good at it. One hundred conversations with people, including friends, acquaintances, ex-lovers, partners, strangers and family members.

It is October 2018 and with 98 Intimate Moment (IM) conversations behind me, one of the many surprising takeaways is that practice does not make perfect. I am no better at “vulnerability” than I was when I started two and a half years ago. 
It is true that I have perfected the process of conducting an Intimate Momentand even initiated teaching workshops on emotional intimacy. I have developed skills at providing a safe space, adhering to boundaries and guiding an initial meditation. It is also true that I have improved at not avoiding emotional intimacy and spotting whether a feeling of closeness is actually present or not. Yet, it is equally true that perfection is exactly what vulnerability is not.

A concern expressed repeatedly by participants is the following: “But you are an expert at this and therefore at an advantage. You already had x number of conversations. I hope I will be good at this.” It’s precisely not about “being good at this” and my response remains the same: “No, I won’t be at an advantage. I’ve never had an Intimate Moment conversation with you. I’m just as afraid and uncomfortable as you are.”
The thing is in order for an IM to be an IM, I need to continuously stretch myself. What was a vulnerable share with number 50 is not anymore with number 53 and hence, I have to deepen it, raise the stakes.

I go into conversations unprepared. Vulnerability is not learnable and despite IM conversations having a certain structure (a set time, confidentiality, me going first, being sober and paying it forward) what happens in the actual exchange is impossible to determine in advance.
An Intimate Moment is clumsy, messy, shy, insecure, anxious, intense, hot, blushing, edginess, nervous laughter, looking away, freezing, tensing up, falling in love, crying, laughing, longing, loud, contemplative, silent or verbose; the latter usually a sign of having left the realm of intimacy to venture off into an intellectual exchange. Calling that out usually means an abrupt landing, right back into the “land of vulnerability”.

No Intimate Moment is comparable; no two are the same and no amount of preparation will factor in the human element the safe space reveals…that unique presence of the other person.
For instance, despite having guided over 80 meditations in over 80 Intimate Moment conversations, number 86 turned up and I was speechless, barely able to catch my breath. I forgot everything I knew about guiding meditations. That’s the Intimate Moment right there: my trembling voice, scrambling for words, floundering from the start.

Every time we begin again — sometimes with that treacherous trembling voice, other times reminding ourselves to go deeper, to leave our zone of comfort and actually dive into unchartered territories. Far too tempting is the cosy place where we can play ‘pretend vulnerability’ by sharing an old story that once was uncomfortable but which by now we have long outgrown. An old story shared with a new person can be an intimate act and often it’s just that: an old story, something that is in our head and completely disconnected from our current emotions. It appears to make us feel vulnerable, because the truth is that we often hide behind our stories. It’s more comfortable to tell a story than to be intimately present with the person sitting across from us. Right here, right now: to explore the unasked questions, avoided revelations, hidden expectations and unexpressed feelings.

Why play it safe that way?

The answer is found in the definition of vulnerability itself: “The quality or state of being exposed to the possibility of being attacked or harmed, either physically or emotionally.”

Why wouldn’t we play it safe?

By remaining in control we do not risk exposure and as a consequence the dreaded vulnerability hangover. Vulnerability hangovers occur in moments, when our openness is met by withdrawal, judgement or intellectualisation. Any reaction that does not acknowledge our vulnerable share leaves us feeling exposed.

When tenderness is met by condescending sympathy “ Oh, poor you!” or canny advise “ Why don’t you try this?” or “You should speak to that person!”, rather than by empathic encouragement “I hear you, thank you for sharing this. How is this for you? “.

Sioux Indians

This emotional disconnect does not happen out of deliberate malevolence, but rather from a place of helplessness, and I’m as guilty of it as some of the courageous people who participated in 100 Intimate Moments. What the other person shares might trigger our own internal defence mechanism, and is perhaps too close to home. In addition, many of us have unlearnt how to relate mindfully to another person, if we acquired that skill at all. There is no formal education in authentic relating. Whilst ancient cultures had their tribes, rituals and elders to learn from, we face the challenges of our fast-paced, city-dwelling, uprooted, digital lives that oftentimes lead to a neurotic way of relating to each another. This also enables us to easily avoid intimacy all together — even in our closest relationships.

If our vulnerability is not met by the other, it can lead to feelings of shame and embarrassment, followed by regret and self-judgement: “ If only I hadn’t shared THAT.”
Whilst I did not learn to be perfectly vulnerable, what I learned for sure is to live through vulnerability hangovers. To feel rejected, misunderstood, embarrassed, ashamed and judged are all extremely uncomfortable feelings and all passing. They do not define who I am.

Considering the chances of experiencing one or all of the above uncomfortable emotions throughout or after an Intimate Moment conversation are high, why keep testing myself in this nausea inducing, nerve-wracking experiment in the first place?

It’s the only way.

Awkward vulnerability can be a gateway to the most healing, gentle, precious and metamorphic experience to be shared with another human being; any human being. 
I want to trust and encounter the human experience fully. I want to be seen, in all of it, not just receive validation for the impenetrable, perfectly polished version. I want intimacy instead of ignorance, connection instead of separation, truth instead of lies. I want authenticity instead of phoniness, consciousness instead of numbness, courage instead of avoidance and spontaneity instead of perfection. I want to love deeply and I want to feel alive. 

To me, that outweighs a vulnerability hangover a million times over. Not hiding our darkest spots has a pleasant side effect: It creates a deep sense of confidence.

I have noticed I am far less critical with other people and ultimately myself.

The person who initially seemed to be a self-absorbed, power-hungry CEO turned out to be a bullied child, afraid of the dark and of not being loved. Every facet I encountered in the 98 conversations is a facet of my own life, my own personality and beyond that my own soul. Vulnerability as vehicle to create emotional intimacy takes courage. It’s scary. It is like falling in love and risking heartbreak. You cannot have one without the other.

I am very grateful to all the courageous individuals who have participated in 100 Intimate Moments. If emotional intimacy is something you’re struggling with or simply curious about, reach out and we can take the first step together.

This article appeared originally on Medium.