Don't Sleep on Vulnerability
I was at a friend's the other night, sipping an excellent Tequila while our daughters danced up a storm in the living room. As bedtime approached, the girls announced they wanted to have a sleepover. For my little one, who's new to sleepovers, I watched the thought bubble form over her head: "Wait, do I really want to do this? Maybe I just want to go home to my room."
The girls returned to playing but soon came back with a revised plan — the sleepover should be at our house instead. My daughter, with her warm but bossy tendencies, had clearly been working to engineer this supposed compromise. I stopped that train in its tracks.
"Sweetie," I said, "Either option is fine, but for tonight, it's either sleeping over here like you girls asked for or coming home with me."
She stood there, frozen. The other girls' mom had just arrived, and we three adults stood there quietly, watching this little micro-drama unfold. Then came the moment that would stick with me.
"I want to stay," she began, tears gathering in her eyes, "but I'm scared."
I was so proud of her in that moment for dropping the game and being real with us and, more importantly, with herself. But it's what happened next that demonstrated something profound about vulnerability that we often miss: its raw, magnetic power. In the instant those words left her mouth, all three adults physically moved toward her. My friend and I dropped to one knee, and the mom stepped closer, offering a warm smile. We didn't decide to do this — we couldn't help ourselves. Her vulnerability created a gravitational pull that went right for the heart.
That tiny moment is a window into what trips up most adults. It shows us that being vulnerable is far simpler than we've been taught to believe.
First, we make vulnerability too big; we're expecting some kind of big and scary emotional breakdown. Most of the time as an adult it's much smaller: it's saying to our partner or a co-worker "I need help" or "I don't know how to do that". That's pretty scary for us grown-ups!
Second, we miss the moment before — the thing that triggers us and gives us the chance to be vulnerable — which is someone setting a boundary. In that moment with my daughter, I set a boundary by denying her what was comfortable and what she was about to do, which was use her persuasive 'strength' to avoid having to be uncomfortable. She did the feeling and the growing, but I did my part by holding space for it to happen.
Too many parents — and leaders — deprive the people in their care of these formative moments through wishy-washy accommodation. We think we're being loving when we're actually enabling someone to stay stuck.
And then we wonder why they play it safe in self-limiting behaviors …
And then we get frustrated and turn harsh or passive-aggressive….
And then they shut down even more and disengage, and we give up on them …
Why do we do that? Because we have work, good work, left to do in ourselves. At the bottom, it comes down to some insecurity, shame, or anxiety we haven't worked out yet that keeps us from setting those types of boundaries. The hard truth is that, as a result, we let those moments be driven by our fear instead of their need. Whether they change or not is not up to you, but you have a lot more to do with setting the odds than you realize.
To become our authentic selves, whether that's in formative moments in childhood or later in school or at work, we need leaders who have worked out their own stuff enough to tell us "No." Not as some kind of control or punishment, but because they're present enough to actually see us and challenge us when they see us afraid to be ourselves or trying to be someone else.
In other words, it's not safe to be a kid if there are no adults around.
The next morning, when my daughter came home, no words were spoken. None were needed. She met my eyes with pride, jumped into my arms, and then went off to play.
Whether you're a parent, a teacher, a people leader at work, or simply trying to be a good friend to someone who's struggling, there's a universal truth here: the most powerful support you can give isn't catching someone from falling, but finding the strength to gently push them down, into themselves.
Will you be the person with the confidence to set boundaries for others? Are you willing to be misunderstood, to be blamed or to be not-liked if it's what someone else needs in that moment?
How vulnerable are you willing to be?