At some point last year I had a revelation that was at the same time completely obvious: vulnerability is not safe.
It’s literally what the word means!
What perhaps confused me was that I’ve grown accustomed, in my life, to move toward vulnerability in my relationships. When I find myself armored and readying my weapons, it has been profoundly transformative to set those done and approach my would-be adversary as a possible friend.
When we become vulnerable, and set aside our weapons and armor, we can relate to each other as humans. When that relating is betrayed, it hurts far worse because we allowed ourselves to be vulnerable. When I expect an attack, I come prepared and may turn an insult into a joke. When I am with those I trust, an insult cuts deeply.
The truth is, vulnerability is the foundation of intimacy and authentic relationship. To allow ourselves to be healed requires vulnerability—to show the doctor or therapist the wound, allow it to be witnessed, and then risk the process of healing. To love and be loved requires vulnerability.
At times, vulnerability transforms a hostile situation into a human moment. The first person to lay down armor and weapon could be initiating the end to war.
Or, they might end up riddled with arrows. Not everyone deserves our vulnerability. Not everyone will handle our vulnerability with the care and respect it deserves. Some will let you do all the work of being vulnerable while they continue to shelter behind sword and shield. Some will belittle you to your face or when you’re not around. Some will use your vulnerability to hurt you.
In trauma-informed perspectives, when we’ve experienced hurt we develop parts of us that seek safety, a state in which we can be fully ourselves without fear of being physically or emotionally harmed. Yet these protective strategies are our weapons and our armor, and what creates safety for ourselves may legitimately make others feel unsafe.
Perhaps your weapon is flattery, perhaps your armor is falling apart and crying instead of accepting accountability and apologizing. Perhaps your armor is growing bigger and angrier to scare off threats, and perhaps your weapon is to lie and hide the truth.
These protectors are so necessary. When vulnerability is punished, a shield is appropriate. When a person is racing to harm you, a sword may be the boundary you need.
When we are not present, however, those protectors may become unaccountable forces who only see the world as a place of dangerous foes and silly people who need to be kept safe. Those protectors may insist on adding more and more weaponry and defenses to their systems, to shutting down any activity or connection that seems too risky.
Their job is to keep us same from harm and eventually we will want to take risks, and they don’t deal well with it. They punish, they criticize, they panic, they “sabotage.” They try to force you back into the small shape they could protect.
To become free, we must restore them back into the helpers they truly are. We must remind them who they are and of their caring toward us. And we must also listen and take seriously their concerns, their valid assessments of danger, and come up with solutions together.
Perhaps, for example, we can take the risk of socializing with others again, but we might stay protected by making sure they are in agreement with our COVID safety protocols around masking or vaccination, whatever they are. Or perhaps we’re willing to extend ourselves into riskier territory, but then we want a plan for if it gets too much.
Think of a part of you that becomes activated when you feel unsafe. The fighter, the drinker, the runner. The perfectionist. The Good Child. The Bad Child. Or your parts may be more esoteric and specific. Don’t try to name them all, pick one. Find a place and time where you can be alone and undisturbed and see if you can sense into your body where that part of you lives. If you can’t, just guess, and pretend you’re right.
Imagine you can say to this part:
I see you, [Name of Protector].
I see that you have, in your ways, tried to help me and keep me safe.
I see that without you I might have been lost in my pain and suffering.
I acknowledge your work and your service.
With my whole heart I thank you and honor you.
This work, which has been so necessary, has been a gift to me.
And if you are ready, I would like to grow beyond it.
What would you do if you could do anything?
What kind of life would you make if we were safe, secure, and free?
What can I do to help you make this happen?
Listen for an answer, whether it makes sense or not. You might imagine you can give this part of you that experience, and see how that feels. Or if it’s achievable, see if you can set a goal to work toward that experience.
