Risking Hurt to Feel Safe: Vulnerability as the Key to Intimacy
Whenever I felt angry or frustrated as a kid, my parents would say to me, "Don't throw a tantrum. It's not helpful." I grew up thinking that I needed to learn to control my temper, that it was not okay to let all my feelings out.
The message permeates our society: Strong emotions escalate conflicts. They are not productive. We need to think rationally to resolve differences.
I’ve since become an expert in regulating and managing my emotions. In my almost-decade-long marriage, my approach to conflict resolution has been as follows: I retreat to a quiet place, process my thoughts and feelings by myself, strategize how to communicate them to my hus-band, and when I am feeling calm, I go back to him to work out a solution. Shouting matches are very rare for us.
Certainly, these conflict resolution skills have been essential; we can usually zero in on the core issues and resolve them at supersonic speed. Yet, every once in a while, especially when my emotions are overpowering, confusing, or uncontrollable, I am at a loss as how to express them to my husband. I wonder: Can he handle these intense and raw emotions? Will I hurt him if I express my rage at something he has done? What if it's so painful that he shuts down? I am not sure how he will respond to my feelings of despair.
In addition to feeling that I need to protect my husband from my messy and irrational emotions, I haven’t wanted to feel that I have to depend on him to meet my emotional needs. For most of my life, in fact, I’ve embraced the idea of self-reliance as the best means to avoid being disappointed by others; the very thought of that kind of disappointment has been too heartbreaking…too terrifying.
Yet, humans are by nature social animals; our brains are wired to connect with others. The more I told myself I didn't need to depend on my husband, the more conflicted and disconnected I felt. I needed his attention. I needed intimacy. I needed to feel wanted. But I cringed at these thoughts because they made me feel that I was too needy and neither independent nor competent enough. I should be able to manage on my own.
Life being busy, I’d found ways to ignore my need for connection. From time to time, however, I’d find I craved intimacy, but didn't know how to ask for it. Sometimes, I’d resort to passive aggressive behavior. For example, I’d withdraw to create even more distance between us, hoping that my husband would notice. Even though I knew these strategies wouldn’t be effective, they required less effort and risk than actually exposing my emotions.
We were perpetuating patterns that were slowly eroding our connection. I felt lonely and stuck. Then, we were physically separated for seven months due to the pandemic. Our WeChat messag-es were mostly about the logistics of parenting or quarantine planning. I noticed I could function well on my own. What's the point of sticking together? What am I getting out of this relationship? With our 10th wedding anniversary approaching, I found myself wondering if it made sense to follow this pattern for another ten years.
When we were finally back, face to face again in August, the need for real change became crystal clear. Every couple has make or break moments and we had flown into one. Existential questions were everywhere and it was so, so hard.
By some grace, we found a way to take our next step together. We set up a regular time to walk and talk while our kid played soccer. We undertook relationship coaching to explore what it meant to really love and to be vulnerable.
Over the course of a few months of coaching, we addressed challenging long-term issues that we had to "sweep under the carpet" in order to keep going. Once we were at the right place in time to do the work, some of the pain dissolved. Little by little, I let out my despair, exasperation, sadness, and confusion. Though these emotions were difficult to hear, I noticed that my husband could, in fact, handle them. He was and is there for me. He doesn't run away or dodge. I can rely on him to listen and to talk to me when I am sad.
One particular moment marked the culmination of our hard work. I was in a rage when one of our marathon conversations began, and after talking and listening for almost two more hours, I still wasn't sure how to move forward. We didn't seem to be able to find a solution that would meet both our needs.
Feeling exasperated, I simply uttered, "I need you." With those words, I acknowledged that I didn't have to rely only on myself. Yes, it's okay to depend on others. Yes, it's okay not to process my emotions. Yes, it's okay to feel confused. Yes, it's okay not to be in control of my thoughts and feelings all the time.
And with those words came a release of unrestrained emotions of sadness and despair. As my husband held my tense body in his arms, I surrendered to those feelings, relieved that it was safe to show him these raw emotions, and I gradually softened in his embrace.
In her book Daring Greatly, Brené Brown suggests that we can't avoid being vulnerable because to be alive is to be vulnerable. Uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure are woven through our daily experiences. Even when we pretend that we can choose not to be vulnerable, we will still feel things.
You may want to ask yourself these questions to assess how vulnerability impacts you:
1. How do you respond when you're feeling very uncomfortable, uncertain or emotionally exposed? How would you like to respond? What’s stopping you from responding that way?
2. What messages of self-doubt or self-criticism do you give yourself? What would a friend tell you? What would you tell a friend if they were sharing the same story?
3. What would it be like to take risks in braving uncertainty and opening yourself up to emotional exposure? What would you do if you knew you couldn’t fail? What would you do if you knew that failing was ok?
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