Overexposed

What Vulnerability Asks of Us Before It Gives Anything Back

A friend called the other day and said she was going to drop off a care package. She told me I didn’t even have to come outside. I said, “No, I want to see you. I miss people.”

But I also warned her that I was un-showered, in pajamas, and had been vampiring with the shades drawn in what felt like the first time I didn’t have to be “on” in a long time. Of course she didn’t care and came in anyway, and it turned out to be just the dose of connection I needed.

The first thing she said was, “How is it going? This must be so stressful.” And that was all it took for me to pour my heart out.

Being a couple weeks out from a book launch is a strange emotional place. You start to wonder if anyone will read this work that you’ve put your very soul into, and whether you’re doing enough to make sure it gets out into the world. This means trying lots of things that may or may not land. Reaching out for opportunities that get no response. Booking the podcasts, the interviews, and sending pitches. Saying yes again and again, hoping you’re making the right decisions. Plus, you’re sharing yourself and your writing in such a public way, which in and of itself is quite vulnerable.

I really didn’t anticipate how overexposed I would feel during this time. I usually have no problem sharing. In fact, I’m usually guilty of oversharing (for better or worse), but this feels different. At times, I feel like I’m walking around with no skin.

In psychology there’s something called the spotlight effect, where we overestimate how much everyone is watching and judging us. In reality, we’re far less visible than we think. Simply put: no one cares.

People might notice you for a moment (and yes maybe even judge you), but then they go back to their favorite topic: themselves. They’re too busy with their own worries, struggles, and self-judgment. Especially in today’s distracted, super-saturated world, you could probably literally walk around naked and not turn a single head.

And yet, even knowing all of that, the discomfort doesn’t go away. When you’re sensitively wired and deeply relational (like I am), putting yourself out there over and over again can feel unsettling, and even unsafe.

Intellectually you know no one cares, but emotionally you still feel watched. Social anxiety can creep in. Did I say too much? Did I embarrass myself ? I’ve learned not to attach too much meaning to every passing thought, to recognize this as my mind doing what minds do, but even with that awareness the felt sense remains.

It reminds me so much of what I see every day in therapy. Couples who take the risk to speak honestly from the heart often describe it with similar language: I feel naked. I don’t trust that it will land. I don’t want to put myself out there because if I do and I get rejected, it will feel worse than if I hadn’t said it at all.

It’s the same feeling people have when they’re job-hunting, or dating after a breakup, or starting over after a divorce. Especially women, who often feel judged the moment their relationship status changes in a way that men don’t have to endure.

Any time we’re creating change, taking risks, and stepping into visibility, the exposure can feel intense and scary. Yet it’s these risks, to be vulnerable, to share ourselves, that create true connection and transformation.

We don’t talk enough about this part of the journey: the messy middle where you feel too visible and want to hide, but know you have to keep going to have the kind of impact or relationship you long for.

So whether this season of vulnerability looks like learning to share your emotions more openly with a partner, putting your precious words on the page for others to read, or starting over at midlife, here’s what helps to remember:

1. Most people don’t really get it, and they’re not going to. They’re not in your shoes. Find someone, anyone, who has walked a similar vulnerable path and talk to them. Hearing yourself in someone else’s story has a way of making you feel less alone and reminding you that what you’re feeling is normal and temporary. Let everyone else misunderstand you.

2. Choosing growth over the familiar comfort of staying small or numb means you’re going to feel waves of discomfort, doubt and confusion. Being vulnerable means being willing to feel temporarily unsafe in order to build something more honest, more connected, and more alive. In relationships, it means saying what’s true for you directly and kindly, without controlling how the other person receives it. This is what creates real intimacy, even though many people will never take the risk.

3. Our brains hate uncertainty, and vulnerability is full of it. You don’t know how you’ll be received or what the outcome will be. All you can do is keep going while being real about how hard it feels. Don’t minimize it. Instead, name it, allow it and meet yourself with compassion while you move through it.

Any meaningful risk asks us to tolerate being seen in a way that feels raw and full of the potential for rejection. It asks us to live without armor for a time.

And what I’m learning, and relearning, is that when you feel overexposed you’re often right on the cusp of a deeper relationship, a higher calling, a bigger way of helping others. It’s simply a sign that you’re right where you need to be, doing something that matters. And anyone else who’s putting themselves out there is just as scared as you.

Until next week,
Colette xo

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