The power of vulnerability

TED Talks - Most Popular

So, I'll start with this: a couple

years ago, an event planner called me

because I was going

to do a speaking event.

And she called, and she said,

"I'm really struggling with how

to write about you on the little flyer."

And I thought,

"Well, what's the struggle?"

And she said, "Well, I saw you speak,

and I'm going to call you

a researcher, I think,

but I'm afraid if I call you

a researcher, no one will come,

because they'll think

you're boring and irrelevant."

(Laughter)

And I was like, "Okay."

And she said, "But the thing

I liked about your talk

is you're a storyteller.

So I think what I'll do

is just call you a storyteller."

And of course, the academic,

insecure part of me

was like, "You're going

to call me a what?"

And she said, "I'm going

to call you a storyteller."

And I was like, "Why not 'magic pixie'?"

(Laughter)

I was like, "Let me think

about this for a second."

I tried to call deep on my courage.

And I thought, you know,

I am a storyteller.

I'm a qualitative researcher.

I collect stories; that's what I do.

And maybe stories

are just data with a soul.

And maybe I'm just a storyteller.

And so I said, "You know what?

Why don't you just say

I'm a researcher-storyteller."

And she went, "Ha ha.

There's no such thing."

(Laughter)

So I'm a researcher-storyteller,

and I'm going to talk to you today --

we're talking about

expanding perception --

and so I want to talk to you

and tell some stories

about a piece of my research

that fundamentally expanded my perception

and really actually changed

the way that I live and love

and work and parent.

And this is where my story starts.

When I was a young researcher,

doctoral student,

my first year, I had

a research professor who said to us,

"Here's the thing, if you cannot

measure it, it does not exist."

And I thought he was just

sweet-talking me.

I was like, "Really?"

and he was like, "Absolutely."

And so you have to understand

that I have a bachelor's

and a master's in social work,

and I was getting my Ph.D. in social work,

so my entire academic career

was surrounded by people who kind of

believed in the "life's messy, love it."

And I'm more of the, "life's messy,

clean it up, organize it

and put it into a bento box."

(Laughter)

And so to think that I had found my way,

to found a career that takes me --

really, one of the big sayings

in social work is,

"Lean into the discomfort of the work."

And I'm like, knock discomfort

upside the head

and move it over and get all A's.

That was my mantra.

So I was very excited about this.

And so I thought, you know what,

this is the career for me,

because I am interested

in some messy topics.

But I want to be able

to make them not messy.

I want to understand them.

I want to hack into these things

that I know are important

and lay the code out for everyone to see.

So where I started was with connection.

Because, by the time

you're a social worker for 10 years,

what you realize is that connection

is why we're here.

It's what gives purpose

and meaning to our lives.

This is what it's all about.

It doesn't matter whether

you talk to people

who work in social justice,

mental health and abuse and neglect,

what we know is that connection,

the ability to feel connected, is --

neurobiologically

that's how we're wired --

it's why we're here.

So I thought, you know what,

I'm going to start with connection.

Well, you know that situation

where you get an evaluation

from your boss,

and she tells you 37 things

that you do really awesome,

and one "opportunity for growth?"

(Laughter)

And all you can think about

is that opportunity for growth, right?

Well, apparently this is the way

my work went as well,

because, when you ask people about love,

they tell you about heartbreak.

When you ask people about belonging,

they'll tell you their most excruciating

experiences of being excluded.

And when you ask people about connection,

the stories they told me

were about disconnection.

So very quickly -- really about six weeks

into this research --

I ran into this unnamed thing

that absolutely unraveled connection

in a way that I didn't understand

or had never seen.

And so I pulled back out of the research

and thought, I need

to figure out what this is.

And it turned out to be shame.

And shame is really easily understood

as the fear of disconnection:

Is there something about me that,

if other people know it or see it,

that I won't be worthy of connection?

The things I can tell you about it:

It's universal; we all have it.

The only people who don't experience shame

have no capacity for human

empathy or connection.

No one wants to talk about it,

and the less you talk about it,

the more you have it.

What underpinned this shame,

this "I'm not good enough," --

which, we all know that feeling:

"I'm not blank enough.

I'm not thin enough,

rich enough, beautiful enough,

smart enough, promoted enough."

The thing that underpinned this

was excruciating vulnerability.

This idea of, in order

for connection to happen,

we have to allow ourselves

to be seen, really seen.

And you know how I feel

about vulnerability. I hate vulnerability.

And so I thought, this is my chance

to beat it back with my measuring stick.

I'm going in, I'm going

to figure this stuff out,

I'm going to spend a year,

I'm going to totally deconstruct shame,

I'm going to understand

how vulnerability works,

and I'm going to outsmart it.

So I was ready, and I was really excited.

As you know,

it's not going to turn out well.

(Laughter)

You know this.

So, I could tell you a lot about shame,

but I'd have to borrow

everyone else's time.

But here's what I can tell you

that it boils down to --

and this may be one of the most important

things that I've ever learned

in the decade of doing this research.

My one year turned into six years:

Thousands of stories, hundreds

of long interviews, focus groups.

At one point, people were

sending me journal pages

and sending me their stories --

thousands of pieces of data in six years.

And I kind of got a handle on it.

I kind of understood, this is

what shame is, this is how it works.

I wrote a book, I published a theory,

but something was not okay --

and what it was is that, if I roughly

took the people I interviewed

and divided them into people who really

have a sense of worthiness --

that's what this comes down to,

a sense of worthiness --

they have a strong sense

of love and belonging --

and folks who struggle for it,

and folks who are always wondering

if they're good enough.

There was only one variable that separated

the people who have a strong sense

of love and belonging

and the people who really struggle for it.

And that was, the people who have

a strong sense of love and belonging

believe they're worthy

of love and belonging.

That's it.

They believe they're worthy.

And to me, the hard part of the one thing

that keeps us out of connection

is our fear that we're not

worthy of connection,

was something that,

personally and professionally,

I felt like I needed to understand better.

So what I did is I took

all of the interviews

where I saw worthiness,

where I saw people living that way,

and just looked at those.

What do these people have in common?

I have a slight office supply addiction,

but that's another talk.

So I had a manila folder,

and I had a Sharpie,

and I was like, what am I going

to call this research?

And the first words that came

to my mind were "whole-hearted."

These are whole-hearted people,

living from this deep sense of worthiness.

So I wrote at the top

of the manila folder,

and I started looking at the data.

In fact, I did it first in a four-day,

very intensive data analysis,

where I went back, pulled the interviews,

the stories, pulled the incidents.

What's the theme? What's the pattern?

My husband left town with the kids

because I always go into this

Jackson Pollock crazy thing,

where I'm just writing

and in my researcher mode.

And so here's what I found.

What they had in common

was a sense of courage.

And I want to separate courage

and bravery for you for a minute.

Courage, the original

definition of courage,

when it first came

into the English language --

it's from the Latin word "cor,"

meaning "heart" --

and the original definition was to tell

the story of who you are

with your whole heart.

And so these folks had, very simply,

the courage to be imperfect.

They had the compassion to be kind

to themselves first and then to others,

because, as it turns out,

we can't practice compassion

with other people

if we can't treat ourselves kindly.

And the last was they had connection,

and -- this was the hard part --

as a result of authenticity,

they were willing to let go

of who they thought they should be

in order to be who they were,

which you have to absolutely do that

for connection.

The other thing that they had

in common was this:

They fully embraced vulnerability.

They believed that what made them

vulnerable made them beautiful.

They didn't talk about vulnerability

being comfortable,

nor did they really talk

about it being excruciating --

as I had heard it earlier

in the shame interviewing.

They just talked about it being necessary.

They talked about the willingness

to say, "I love you" first ...

the willingness to do something

where there are no guarantees ...

the willingness to breathe

through waiting for the doctor to call

after your mammogram.

They're willing to invest

in a relationship

that may or may not work out.

They thought this was fundamental.

I personally thought it was betrayal.

I could not believe I had pledged

allegiance to research, where our job --

you know, the definition of research

is to control and predict,

to study phenomena for the explicit

reason to control and predict.

And now my mission to control and predict

had turned up the answer

that the way to live is with vulnerability

and to stop controlling and predicting.

This led to a little breakdown --

(Laughter)

-- which actually looked more like this.

(Laughter)

And it did.

I call it a breakdown; my therapist

calls it a spiritual awakening.

(Laughter)

A spiritual awakening

sounds better than breakdown,

but I assure you, it was a breakdown.

And I had to put my data away

and go find a therapist.

Let me tell you something:

you know who you are

when you call your friends and say,

"I think I need to see somebody.

Do you have any recommendations?"

Because about five

of my friends were like,

"Wooo, I wouldn't want

to be your therapist."

(Laughter)

I was like, "What does that mean?"

And they're like,

"I'm just saying, you know.

Don't bring your measuring stick."

(Laughter)

I was like, "Okay."

So I found a therapist.

My first meeting with her, Diana --

I brought in my list of the way

the whole-hearted live, and I sat down.

And she said, "How are you?"

And I said, "I'm great. I'm okay."

She said, "What's going on?"

And this is a therapist

who sees therapists,

because we have to go to those,

because their B.S. meters are good.

(Laughter)

And so I said, "Here's the thing,

I'm struggling."

And she said, "What's the struggle?"

And I said, "Well, I have

a vulnerability issue.

And I know that vulnerability

is the core of shame and fear

and our struggle for worthiness,

but it appears that it's also

the birthplace of joy, of creativity,

of belonging, of love.

And I think I have a problem,

and I need some help."

And I said, "But here's the thing:

no family stuff, no childhood shit."

(Laughter)

"I just need some strategies."

(Laughter)

(Applause)

Thank you.

So she goes like this.

(Laughter)

And then I said, "It's bad, right?"

And she said, "It's neither good nor bad."

(Laughter)

"It just is what it is."

And I said, "Oh my God,

this is going to suck."

(Laughter)

And it did, and it didn't.

And it took about a year.

And you know how there are people

that, when they realize that vulnerability

and tenderness are important,

that they surrender and walk into it.

A: that's not me,

and B: I don't even hang out

with people like that.

(Laughter)

For me, it was a yearlong street fight.

It was a slugfest.

Vulnerability pushed, I pushed back.

I lost the fight,

but probably won my life back.

And so then I went back into the research

and spent the next couple of years

really trying to understand

what they, the whole-hearted,

what choices they were making,

and what we are doing with vulnerability.

Why do we struggle with it so much?

Am I alone in struggling

with vulnerability?

No.

So this is what I learned.

We numb vulnerability --

when we're waiting for the call.

It was funny, I sent something out

on Twitter and on Facebook

that says, "How would you

define vulnerability?

What makes you feel vulnerable?"

And within an hour and a half,

I had 150 responses.

Because I wanted to know what's out there.

Having to ask my husband for help

because I'm sick, and we're newly married;

initiating sex with my husband;

initiating sex with my wife;

being turned down; asking someone out;

waiting for the doctor to call back;

getting laid off; laying off people.

This is the world we live in.

We live in a vulnerable world.

And one of the ways we deal

with it is we numb vulnerability.

And I think there's evidence --

and it's not the only reason

this evidence exists,

but I think it's a huge cause --

We are the most in-debt ...

obese ...

addicted and medicated

adult cohort in U.S. history.

The problem is -- and I learned this

from the research --

that you cannot selectively numb emotion.

You can't say, here's the bad stuff.

Here's vulnerability,

here's grief, here's shame,

here's fear, here's disappointment.

I don't want to feel these.

I'm going to have a couple of beers

and a banana nut muffin.

(Laughter)

I don't want to feel these.

And I know that's knowing laughter.

I hack into your lives for a living.

God.

(Laughter)

You can't numb those hard feelings

without numbing

the other affects, our emotions.

You cannot selectively numb.

So when we numb those,

we numb joy,

we numb gratitude,

we numb happiness.

And then, we are miserable,

and we are looking

for purpose and meaning,

and then we feel vulnerable,

so then we have a couple of beers

and a banana nut muffin.

And it becomes this dangerous cycle.

One of the things that I think

we need to think about

is why and how we numb.

And it doesn't just have to be addiction.

The other thing we do is we make

everything that's uncertain certain.

Religion has gone from a belief

in faith and mystery to certainty.

"I'm right, you're wrong. Shut up."

That's it.

Just certain.

The more afraid we are,

the more vulnerable we are,

the more afraid we are.

This is what politics looks like today.

There's no discourse anymore.

There's no conversation.

There's just blame.

You know how blame

is described in the research?

A way to discharge pain and discomfort.

We perfect.

If there's anyone who wants their life

to look like this, it would be me,

but it doesn't work.

Because what we do is we take fat

from our butts and put it in our cheeks.

(Laughter)

Which just, I hope in 100 years,

people will look back and go, "Wow."

(Laughter)

And we perfect,

most dangerously, our children.

Let me tell you what we think

about children.

They're hardwired for struggle

when they get here.

And when you hold those perfect

little babies in your hand,

our job is not to say,

"Look at her, she's perfect.

My job is just to keep her perfect --

make sure she makes the tennis team

by fifth grade and Yale by seventh."

That's not our job.

Our job is to look and say,

"You know what? You're imperfect,

and you're wired for struggle,

but you are worthy of love and belonging."

That's our job.

Show me a generation

of kids raised like that,

and we'll end the problems,

I think, that we see today.

We pretend that what we do

doesn't have an effect on people.

We do that in our personal lives.

We do that corporate --

whether it's a bailout, an oil spill ...

a recall.

We pretend like what we're doing

doesn't have a huge impact

on other people.

I would say to companies,

this is not our first rodeo, people.

We just need you to be authentic

and real and say ...

"We're sorry. We'll fix it."

But there's another way,

and I'll leave you with this.

This is what I have found:

To let ourselves be seen,

deeply seen, vulnerably seen ...

to love with our whole hearts,

even though there's no guarantee --

and that's really hard,

and I can tell you as a parent,

that's excruciatingly difficult --

to practice gratitude and joy

in those moments of terror,

when we're wondering,

"Can I love you this much?

Can I believe in this this passionately?

Can I be this fierce about this?"

just to be able to stop and, instead of

catastrophizing what might happen,

to say, "I'm just so grateful,

because to feel this vulnerable

means I'm alive."

And the last, which I think

is probably the most important,

is to believe that we're enough.

Because when we work from a place,

I believe, that says, "I'm enough" ...

then we stop screaming

and start listening,

we're kinder and gentler

to the people around us,

and we're kinder and gentler to ourselves.

That's all I have. Thank you.

(Applause)