Getting to Vulnerability

Growing up, the message I received was simple: be tough. It came from my parents, especially my dad, and from the culture I was steeped in. Strength meant control. Success meant independence. You handled your own problems. You did not make a scene. You did not need too much. I internalized it quickly. To be safe in the world, I believed I had to rely on myself, keep my composure, and never let anyone see when I was scared, uncertain, or in pain.

I see this same armor in many high-achieving women in medicine. We are extraordinarily comfortable being responsible, capable, and reliable. We are far less comfortable being seen when we are overwhelmed, unsure, or in need of support. Over time, vulnerability becomes something we quietly reject, even as we intellectually agree that it matters. And yet vulnerability is often described as essential for connection, leadership, and well-being. So why does it feel so difficult?

What Vulnerability Actually Is

Brené Brown defines vulnerability as uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure. That definition is deceptively simple. Vulnerability is not oversharing, emotional spilling, or abandoning professionalism. It is not a weakness. It is the willingness to be seen without being able to control how you will be received.

In leadership and in life, vulnerability looks like acknowledging uncertainty, expressing needs, admitting limits, and allowing emotional truth to be visible. In psychological research, it overlaps with interpersonal risk-taking, speaking honestly when outcomes are not guaranteed. When we name what is difficult or uncertain, we create space for thoughtful response rather than fear-driven reaction. When we admit limits, we lead with integrity rather than pretense. Vulnerability is not the opposite of strength; it is what allows strength to be relational rather than isolating.

Why Vulnerability Is Hard for High-Achieving Women

For women in medicine, vulnerability is complicated by context. We exist in environments where mistakes are costly, emotional control is rewarded, and competence earns belonging. I watch new faculty members hesitate before asking questions about complex cases. They worry that asking will expose incompetence. They assume they are supposed to know all the answers. The message is rarely spoken directly, but it is absorbed nonetheless.

Over time, our nervous systems begin to link safety with being prepared, useful, and low-maintenance. If we keep producing and do not need too much, we will be valued. Our identity becomes organized around competence and independence. Vulnerability then feels dangerous because it threatens that identity. It risks credibility. It risks judgment. It risks losing control. Avoiding vulnerability is not a character flaw; it is adaptation. It is often the very strategy that allowed us to succeed.

The problem is that the very strategies that help us survive can quietly disconnect us from others and from ourselves, and that disconnection fuels burnout.

What Happens When Vulnerability Is Missing

When vulnerability is absent, relationships remain functional rather than deeply supportive. Leadership becomes lonely. Emotional exhaustion accumulates quietly. You can be admired and still feel unseen.

In the midst of my own burnout, my relationship with my husband began to feel transactional. We coordinated schedules and managed responsibilities efficiently, but something essential was missing. I longed to be understood, yet I did not know how to lower my guard. I was so focused on performing well, at work and at home, that I mistook validation for belonging. Without vulnerability, achievement becomes the currency of connection, and that currency is costly.

In medicine, we often pride ourselves on pushing through physical and emotional limits. We skip meals, ignore fatigue, and delay basic needs. We act like machines because the system rewards endurance. But we are not machines. When we repeatedly override our limits, we disconnect from ourselves and from each other. Vulnerability interrupts that pattern. It is what allows us to acknowledge limits before they break us.

Increasing Your Willingness to Be Vulnerable

Vulnerability requires sufficient internal safety. When the nervous system is activated in fight-or-flight mode, there is little capacity for uncertainty or interpersonal risk. Our brains react to an email or a difficult conversation with a physiological response that once evolved to protect us from predators. Regulation must come first. Only when we feel grounded can we choose to be seen.

From there, vulnerability grows gradually. It does not require dramatic disclosures. It often begins with simple honesty, acknowledging when you do not know, when something is difficult, or when you need support. Discernment matters. Vulnerability is not indiscriminate openness; it is selective and intentional. Starting with trusted relationships allows the nervous system to learn that being seen does not automatically lead to harm.

Self-compassion is foundational. If you believe you will attack yourself for imperfection, you will avoid risk. Vulnerability becomes possible when you trust that you will meet yourself with kindness if things do not unfold as planned. It is through imperfect action that we discover we can survive being seen.

Making It Safer for Others

We are not only responsible for our own willingness; we shape the environments we inhabit. People are more likely to be vulnerable when uncertainty and imperfection are acknowledged rather than punished. Listening with curiosity before offering solutions signals respect. Thanking someone for speaking honestly reinforces safety, and naming your own uncertainty appropriately models integrity without eroding authority.

Leaders do not need to disclose everything. They need to make honesty survivable. When people know they will not be shamed for their imperfections, connection deepens, and teams function more effectively.

Many high-achieving women learned how to be strong long before they learned how to feel safe being seen. Strength brought success. Vulnerability sustains connection. Without connection, even extraordinary achievement can feel hollow.

Where in your life might a little more honesty create more connection than more effort?