On Vulnerability as a Form of Self Care

My new coach invited me to write about what vulnerability means to me and to describe the different dimensions of it. Here’s what I came up with:

Vulnerability is saying what’s real in the presence of a perceived threat.
It’s the courage to let someone see what’s actually happening inside of me.

We don’t often talk about vulnerability as self care. We talk about eyebrows. Bubble baths. Supplements. Boundaries. Therapy. Journaling. All beautiful, nourishing practices indeed.

But telling the truth when it would feel safer not to?
Letting yourself be seen before you feel perfectly composed?
Allowing your internal world to be witnessed instead of managed in isolation?

That, too, is self care.

Am I Good at Being Vulnerable?
Absolutely.
And not at all.

At this stage of life, I can wholeheartedly declare that I’m exponentially more vulnerable than I’ve ever been. I’m proud of how far I’ve leaned into letting others witness my full spectrum of human emotion. Perfectly imperfect. Not just when I’m superhuman, but when I’m superrr human.

And yet, there are still edges. Perhaps there always will be.

The Professional Dimension
In my career and leadership, I used to try to look like I had it all together all the time. I would hold the weight of the world on my shoulders, alone. I’d harbor and hide the stress, anxiety, sadness, and every other “low vibe” state inside so no one in the company could see it.

I never wanted my team to glimpse weakness or doubt my ability to run the business, lead fiercely, and make critical decisions confidently. I wouldn’t dare impart fear or worry about their own future wellbeing because of a few bad financial months or an unexpected surprise that I would inevitably solve for.

I tried to frame and say everything so eloquently that they would never see my anger, frustration, discouragement, or disappointment. I tried to play it cool and even keeled while riding the wild rollercoaster of entrepreneurship.

But that kind of composure comes at a cost.

Now, I don’t necessarily share everything in team meetings. I still believe there is a huge place for discernment in authentic communication. Vulnerability is not haphazard emotional dumping. It’s intentional truth telling.

So I do share what’s honest, real, and valuable. Sometimes it’s professional. Sometimes it’s personal. Most times it’s emotional. All times, we’re better for it.

I’ve intentionally created a culture at MELT where all of it is welcome, where life and career are intertwined. I show my human. I own my stories and my internal world. I let my team in on what’s happening behind the scenes and in my personal life when it’s something they could genuinely benefit from knowing. And I dream that everyone else feels like they can do the same.

The Maternal Dimension
Vulnerability has been a gigantic experiment for me as a new mom.

Early on, I asked myself what it would actually look like to be ruthlessly honest about postpartum when people ask. Not delivering the sugar coated, canned response about how “it’s the best!”

It is the best. No doubt.
And it’s a lot of other things too.

It took a galaxy sized dose of vulnerability for me to use the D word and admit to myself, Andrew, and others that I was feeling depressed and worried about my mental health. That I felt completely unhinged at times. Hanging on by a thread. Desperate for the kind of help I couldn’t even identify because it was a level of support I had never allowed in before.

Saying the real, raw, relatable truth about new parenthood, the parts no one told me about, has connected me more deeply to other women. Not just in the shiny, sparkly moments, but in the full spectrum of motherhood.

When I chose to tell the truth instead of protect the image, something softened. In me. In others. I feel more liberated and loved now than ever before.

That is some serious self care, my friends.

The Relational Dimension
Vulnerability is medicine, not just for me but for others.

It’s a permission slip. 
Vulnerability begets vulnerability. 
It’s a gift that keeps on giving.

When I choose to go first, I show others it’s okay to be completely themselves in every moment. I show them it is safe to be seen, to be held, and to be worthy of love.

I actually consider this one of my superpowers now. My friends, loved ones, and even strangers often tell me they’re able to say things to me they could not say to other people. That they feel warm and welcomed. Safe. That they find themselves sharing things they didn’t expect to share, or calling me when they need a listening ear or grounded advice.

But here’s the paradox:
The ability to hold space for others was always easier than fully revealing myself.

Vulnerability as self care is not just about being a safe place. It’s about allowing yourself to be held safely, too.

The Intimate Dimension
Andrew, my partner, has been my greatest teacher in vulnerability.

He is so fully himself. His ability to say what he thinks and feels is masterful. More than just inspiring or aspirational, he has helped heal so many parts of me that I once believed and feared might not be lovable.

He has invited, and directly asked for, all of me. ALL of me. Not just the fun, sexy, adventurous, flirtatious, passionate, inspiring, joyful, brilliant, confident, magical parts. But the dusty little corners and cobwebs too. The crunchy stuff. The embarrassing, shameful parts. The ones that inevitably rear their ugly heads and make an appearance, and potentially even get transformed through the dojo of committed partnership.

Every time I say the scary thing. Every time I reveal the new edge. Every time I allow myself to be seen mid process instead of polished and impressive, I get proof that this is the best way to be.

The Existential Dimension
Sometimes vulnerability isn’t dramatic.

Sometimes it’s not knowing what I want.
Not knowing what I’m feeling.
Not knowing what I need.

Sometimes it’s sitting in the discomfort. Sitting in the question. Letting the answer unfold instead of forcing it.

That, too, is self care.

The Perfectionist’s Edge
As a recovering perfectionist, vulnerability feels like the opposite of my old pattern.

It asks me to let go of polished, composed, impressive.
It asks me to be unfinished.
To be seen mid process.
An ongoing work in progress.
To be exceptionally ordinary.

To remember that, "There is a crack in everything, and that’s how the light gets in."

Vulnerability is the practice of telling the truth about my internal experience, especially when it feels risky.

And in that truth telling, there is relief.
Connection.
Healing.
Self care. 💖