You might be familiar with Brené Brown’s: The power of vulnerability TEDx Talk.

Her talk was accurate, honest and vulnerable. She applied action and utility to her own version of vulnerability and made something extraordinary out of it.

The issue I take up with people I engage in conversation about her presentation is that they get to the state of being vulnerable and stop there, somewhere between being almost completely honest with themselves and being a victim. The more and more I read what people are sharing in the name of vulnerability, the more I think they must have had C’s in reading comprehension while they were getting A’s in marketing.

These people aren’t actually *being vulnerable*…that’s the point. They don’t actually get to the state of being vulnerable, they learn the language of vulnerability. They learn the jargon, commit it to memory, and make facial expressions where appropriate.

Then they go on and use vulnerability as emotional currency, becoming mini self-loathing monsters disguised as enlightened self-aware beings, over-sharing their lives to the wrong audience.

Descartes told us, “I think, therefore I am,” and Foucault wrote, “I confess, therefore I am” (i.e. anything I do is meaningless–and therefore I am meaningless–until someone else knows that I have done it). Lately, it seems like we’re sitting in a weird combination of the two.

We think one way. We behave another way. Or maybe we think and act the same way. Either way, people need to know about it.

Language is a powerful thing. For me, it actualizes my abstract thoughts; it pulls them from the malleable (and safe) realm of my brain and makes them real. Once they’re real, they’re actionable. Once they’re actionable, I can’t hide from them anymore. Unfortunately, in the wrong hands (mouth?), language can also be the great mimicker. In the same way that Jane Goodall can probably do a stellar ape impression, so too can an intelligent individual with a decent emotional education play at presenting emotional vulnerability.

Here’s my beef: I LOVE what Brene Brown had to say in Daring Greatly. It inspired and convicted me in ways that I’m not about to bring up here. You know why? Because Brene (I’ve re-read the book enough to call her by her first name, I think) makes a big point about being vulnerable in the right company; with those who matter to you, who DESERVE to hear what you choose to say. It’s the crucial difference between vulnerability and oversharing.

But, just like the gap between Descartes and Foucault, her book doesn’t allow for what has appeared as the NV, the New Vulnerable. More and more, I feel like I’m seeing people (even worse, influential people) utilizing the language of openness, authenticity, and yes, vulnerability, to perpetuate their own self-image. Or to sell site advertising, book promotions, webinars etc. Or even just to manipulate those they are dating. It’s not right. It’s not honest. It certainly isn’t authentic.

But, oh, is it seductive.

Instead of turning in to really face their demons, they turn out and feed off ‘likes’ and ‘double taps’ to justify their lack of real personal development which they label as prized vulnerability.

SHARING YOUR EMOTIONAL VULNERABILITY TO 5K+ FOLLOWERS IS A HUGE FUCKING RED FLAG

Yes, I am yelling.

When you, influential person, post on your blog that you had an extraordinarily emotionally vulnerable moment/conversation/experience and stop there, my first reaction is to call BULLSHIT.

Oh really? Your heart hurt from a conversation you had yesterday? You want to leave it at that? Okay. BULLSHIT.

How can we (and I include myself in this) pretend to have a grasp, not only on how someone has made us feel, but why they have made us feel that way, if we don’t actually turn into our own emotional and psychological mire? And then, once we find those answers, shouldn’t we have to work with them one-on-one (me with me) for a spell? “I have daddy issues” is only a stopping point for someone who doesn’t want to have that conversation with you! (Reminder: that person doesn’t deserve your emotional vulnerability anyway). What are your daddy issues? How did they arise? What triggers them today? Yes, this is just an example but the point is you should have answered these questions on a personal level, dug a little deeper, dealt with them on a personal level, and shared them with your closest circle (should you choose to share them at all) before you decide whether you want to share them with the public. Frankly–and this is just my opinion–if you do all that work and still decide that you want to broadcast your deepest and darkest, you need to take a good hard look at why you want to do that. Is it because you want to use that information for personal gain?

Do you think it will get you more Instagram hearts? Make you a better songwriter? Will it help you get more people to sign up for your “Feel All the Feelings” retreat? Will it help you be a better potential girlfriend?

Is there a reason that your readers should be afraid of you?

And, as readers, this is where we need to have our guard up. Being on the receiving end of perceived emotional vulnerability feels good because that information is supposed to be for a select audience. It’s exclusivity, affection, and the feeling of being valued all rolled into one. (Does it feel as good to know that 4,999 other people are feeling the same thing about the same post?). Unfortunately, the theme of our age seems to be “If it feels good, do find a way to commodify it”. Brene Brown recognized the power in being vulnerable–that, at our cores, we desire to be seen and accepted–and she desires to remove the fear that is naturally associated with it; to teach people how to reach for it on their own. The NV recognize the power in selling their own vulnerability: “Don’t you see how much better than you I am emotionally? How much stronger I am because I choose to acknowledge my weaknesses? No, don’t look behind the curtain! Pay me $300 and I’ll show you my 5 easy ways to be more vulnerable!”

And that’s just when they’re being honest about what they’re trying to do.

The truly insidious NV are those who, again, have harnessed the language of vulnerability so well that their sales pitch is seamlessly hidden within the context of their own sharing. The language of vulnerability can be a buffer as much as it can be a conduit. With enough keywords (“It’s difficult“, “I’m afraid“, “In all honesty“, “It hurts me to say it, but..” Need I go on?) and an understanding of Human Psychology 101, it is unfortunately pretty easy to seem like I’m offering my raw, pink underbelly when, in fact, my psyche is snuggled very comfortably in its warm cocoon of insularity.

In a professional context it might look like this: “I am very smart and entrepreneurial (with questionable scruples). Don’t I seem different from all the rest of the sales people you’ve encountered because I speak the language of emotional authenticity? Doesn’t it make me seem more whole as a person? Wouldn’t you also like to be more whole as a person? Are you ready to buy yet? Did I mention I have a podcast? What if I add praying emoji hands?“

While in a personal context it looks like this: “I am very smart and scared (with questionable motives). I’ve never shared this with anyone. Don’t I seem different from all the rest of the romantic partners you’ve encountered because I speak the language of emotional authenticity? Don’t you want to stand closer to me? Don’t you want to crack my hard candy shell? I can deflect you while drawing you closer by making you think that I’m sharing with you. Please, never leave me but never get too close to me either. And, please, never share this with anyone. Did I mention I have a podcast?“

Yes, that is taking things to the extreme, but I’m trying to prove a point. What do you expect?

It’s language without feeling because there is no actual emotional honesty happening.

To throw myself into the ringer, I’ll tell you I was like that. “Sharing” my vulnerability script to the world like a coward because I didn’t have the guts to actually face it.

I couldn’t face the failures, the breakups, the abuse and the embarrassment of it all. I didn’t want to face myself, and admit to those closest to me that I was in pain and spinning out of control on the inside. Instead, I disguised it and told a story of vulnerability and how I was a fighter by nature. It was all under control.

Cowards label those things that don’t want to change as innate. Convenient, right?

Under control. And isn’t that what it comes down to? Controlling the narrative? I can tell you that, for so long, all that mattered to me was controlling the narrative. I was a self-assured, beautiful, intelligent, financially, and emotionally stable young woman. As long as I felt like I was in control of the way I was perceived, and that the perception was a positive one, I was good to go. The living room was spotless but you couldn’t see the bedroom floor, if you get my drift. I could speak the language of someone who was doing better-than-fine. I spoke it well. I had everyone fooled. If I couldn’t fool you, fuck you, get out of my life. But those instances were few and far between; I had chosen my circle well and I had pushed out those who actually understood me. If I couldn’t convince them with my “doin great!” language, I withheld my language altogether…which is to say I hid from them completely.

The concept of emotional honesty is a special one. It feels special because our individual emotional states–more importantly our vulnerabilities–are an intensely personal thing. Again, like Brene says, true emotional vulnerability is only meant for a select (“select” means SMALL) audience; those who are really important to us. For those who are actually practicing the terrifying thing that is emotional honesty, this is an intuitive link: “my deepest personal emotions, fears, and wants” + “the select few I value enough to put myself out on a limb for by sharing this with them”. For me, it is a scary thing to do with one person. Or two. Or two close friends and one family member. That’s because I’m actually striving to turn into my fear, pain, anxiety, whatever. I don’t care to share it with too many people because it’s ugly and it scares me and I’m embarrassed. Yes, the reward is good, but that does very little to assuage the fear factor.

So, in conclusion, I’m not cynical. I’m tired of the influential, well-spoken, intelligent, decently emotionally educated windbags. Dear Windbags, I think you’re dangerous. I think you’re diluting a very important message that could actually benefit a lot of people if you’d stop overcooking it with your hot air.

Vulnerability is absolutely admitting fear and weakness, but what separates a man in the arena from a victim is the one who has the balls to go into battle with themselves, fully exposed during the fight, not just after the triumph.