Vulnerability as a currency
The Exchange of Emotional Fragility for Affection
"It's okay to not be okay," they say. But what if "not okay" becomes our default setting?
Lately, one currency has been proving to be more valuable than Bitcoin: vulnerability. Just like using monopoly money in the real world, this currency might be less than we think.
Remember when Taylor Swift sang, "Band-Aids don't fix bullet holes"? She was onto something.
Being open about our struggles is important, but when vulnerability becomes a ticket for affection, we might stick to emotional Band-Aids where stitches are needed.
Vulnerability, in its most accurate form, is about honesty and connection. But somewhere along the way, we've turned it into a performance, complete with the "sad face" emoji and vague tweets that scream, "Ask me what's wrong!"
"Sad Face" Emoji
Take Emma, for instance. Picture her as your average 20-something trying to figure out adulting, which is about as easy as assembling IKEA furniture without the manual. After a rough week, she posts on social media: "Feeling overwhelmed…#stressed #needahug". The likes roll in faster than a Marvel movie at the box office. Friends comment with virtual hugs, and DMs flood her inbox. It feels good. It feels great. So, next week, when she spills coffee on her shirt, guess what? Another post goes up. And another.
Before she knows it, Emma's social media feed is less "sunshine and rainbows" and more "clouds with a chance of tears." Her vulnerability, once genuine, becomes a highlight reel of hardships. The more struggles she shares, the more affection she receives, turning vulnerability into her main currency.
The Trouble with "Vulnerability, Inc."
Here's the thing: vulnerability is much like pizza—it's best when it's real. But when we start using it to get attention or affection, it becomes about as appealing as a pineapple topping (sorry, pineapple pizza fans). When we share our struggles not to connect but to collect sympathy points, we risk turning our lives into a series of "sad posts," carefully curated for maximum impact.
Imagine this in the real world. You wouldn't (or shouldn't) walk into a party and immediately start listing all your problems to everyone, hoping they'll shower you with attention. Yet, online, this has become a familiar script.
The more fragile you appear, the more validation you get. It's like the Hunger Games, but instead of battling in an arena, we're competing for who's having the worst day.
Brené Brown, the queen of vulnerability, tells us that being open is about showing up and being seen, even when we can't control the outcome. But in today's social media-driven world, it seems we're less about "showing up" and more about "showing off" our wounds.
Vulnerability has been packaged, branded, and sold like the latest iPhone model. Instead of fostering deep connections, we're curating our struggles like our Netflix watchlists.
This doesn't just happen online. In real life, too, we might find ourselves overplaying our difficulties in getting attention from friends, family, or baristas who always remember our coffee order.
It's like we've become actors in our reality show, where the more dramatic the story, the better the ratings.
As this trend grows, we end up in what I like to call the "Vulnerability Olympics."
To stand out, you've got to have a story that's bigger, sadder, or more heart-wrenching than the next person. It's like the X-Men of emotional struggles—everyone's trying to be the Wolverine of woes. But here's the plot twist: while competing, our audience might be silently checking out.
When everyone shares their hardships, it can lead to compassion fatigue. It's like when you've been to too many superhero movies in a row—eventually, you get tired( this term is called “superhero fatigue”). When we're constantly bombarded with others' vulnerabilities, our emotional batteries start to run low. We become desensitised, and instead of feeling more connected, we start avoiding those deeper conversations altogether.
We can reclaim vulnerability as the powerful tool it was meant to be, not a performance for affection but a genuine expression of who we are.
Healthy vulnerability is like a good rom-com—honest, messy, and uplifting. It's about sharing because we want to connect, not because we're auditioning for the role of "Most Needy Friend." It's about having the courage to be accurate, even if no one likes or comments on our posts. It's about understanding that sometimes the bravest thing we can do is face our struggles quietly, finding strength within rather than seeking validation without.
So, how do we get back to the basics?
Start by reflecting on why you share your struggles. Are you looking for solutions or likes? Next, build up your inner superhero through self-care, hobbies, or binge-watching a show that makes you feel good. And remember, your friends aren't your emotional ATM. They're there to support you, but they've got their stuff going on, too.
In the wise words of Dory from Finding Nemo, "Just keep swimming." Life's tough, but so are you. Vulnerability isn't about getting a standing ovation for your tears; it's about being true to yourself, even when no one's watching.
Key Takeaways:
Vulnerability, when used as a currency for affection, can turn into a competition in which no one really wins.
Genuine vulnerability should be like a good rom-com—real, uplifting, and a little messy.
Oversharing can lead to compassion fatigue in others and emotional burnout in yourself.
Reclaim vulnerability as a tool for connection, not as a performance.
Remember, you're the hero of your own story, and sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is keep swimming.
Important Considerations:
Reflect on your motivations for sharing personal struggles and vulnerabilities.
Develop internal resources for self-soothing and problem-solving.
Focus on cultivating resilience and positive self-esteem rather than seeking constant validation.
Be mindful of the impact your shared vulnerabilities have on others.
Strive for balanced, mutually supportive relationships rather than one-sided emotional dependency.
So, next time you feel the urge to post that sad text, ask yourself: Is this the real me or just the Instagram version? Because at the end of the day, we all want to be loved for who we are, not for how well we can play the part.
