We’ve all sent a sweaty text message, and not in the “I just worked out” way. It’s the “heart pounding, slightly shaking message that might hurt your relationship” text — a moment of true clarity sent from one screen to the next. The ellipses appear on your screen and your heart beats faster. In these little text bubbles, we expose ourselves as humans with real feelings.
I sat in a coffee shop, debating in my mind if I should send a text to clarify an incredibly confusing relationship. I asked my best friend. I debated the syntax, the formatting and the potential death by embarrassment. I ultimately decided that being honest — albeit super vulnerable — superseded my incessant need to “play it cool” in a relationship. I sent the text. I got my answers. I only died a little on the inside.
With sweaty texting, your partner never sees the salty sheen accumulating on your phone as your thumbs frantically work and rework your feelings. You can hide the tears, hide the smiles and fake a couple of “lols.” Social media is even worse. The perfect pose and most hilarious caption act as armor to taking on the world. No one ever has real feelings and no one is ever vulnerable. We are all walking and talking vacuums that show no sign of life, right? Wrong.
Vulnerability is decisive to the human experience and separates us from the robots we keep in our pockets. Vulnerability is one of those ultimate truths that leads to better living no matter the number of sweaty texts we have to send. You can live your life pretending nothing hurts you, but nothing really happens with that. You’ll only get what you want by happenstance, and who wants that in the “I want it now!” generation?
It feels like every time I do anything online, I see older generations complaining about trigger warnings, the end of humor as we know it or how millennials are just a bunch of “wussies.” But isn’t requiring trigger warnings just an exercise in vulnerability — and public vulnerability at that?
It is looking at something and saying, “Hey, I don’t think I can handle this right now.” Or with offensive jokes, “Hey, your joke isn’t funny and actually makes me feel uncomfortable because it’s a reminder that you are perpetuating stereotypes and your position of privilege.”
Older generations are so quick to call foul on their own free speech instead of thinking about how their words might infringe upon others. But by admitting to the things that make us uncomfortable, we can grow as a society to create room for all voices.
Public vulnerability can also help tear down the institutions that perpetuate oppression. Due to the patriarchy, toxic masculinity occupies a large space. From the lighthearted “dish soap for men” ad, to the horrifying “Man kills date after rejection” headline, encouraging vulnerability and establishing safe spaces to be vulnerable can help dismantle this notion that men cannot have emotions. While we still have a long way to go with the patriarchy, celebrating vulnerability can provide instant relief for those trapped by what “is” and “isn’t” manly.
Emotions aren’t just for poets and dreamers. We all have them. The more we can grow to accept our emotions, the more we can accept ourselves. Being vulnerable can also help you weed out people who aren’t right for you in friendships and relationships. Achieving true peace with vulnerability means understanding that some times s— is just not going to work out.
Sometimes you’re going to send a sweaty text and receive an icy one back. Sometimes you’ll lose people to the vacuum. But those people are probably a member of DJ Khaled’s proverbial “they,” and you shouldn’t sweat it.
Once you finally find your people, being vulnerable can allow you to share both the bad and the good of life with one another. Anything can feel like the weight of the world, then you say it out loud and it doesn’t seem so bad. Problems become manageable, asking for help becomes easier and the world becomes brighter. Hippies rule, man — just kidding. Kind of.
All voices that espouse your views, you mean. When victimhood/vulnerability become a form of social status, grievances are endlessly amplified: “Under such conditions complaint to third parties has supplanted both toleration and negotiation. People increasingly demand help from others, and advertise their oppression as evidence that they deserve respect and assistance. Thus we might call this moral culture a culture of victimhood … the moral status of the victim, at its nadir in honor cultures, has risen to new heights.”–Bradley Campbell and Jason Manning.