The moment those words came out of her mouth, it felt like she was talking directly to me.
Because that’s exactly what I do.
I numb.
I don’t always call it that, but I know it’s true. When things get too heavy, when emotions feel too raw, when I sense that being open might expose me to rejection or hurt — I retreat. I keep myself busy. I distract myself with little routines. Sometimes I even act like I don’t care, when deep inside, I do. It’s my way of staying safe, of keeping control.
But here’s the part that hit me the hardest: when we numb the painful emotions, we also numb the good ones. I realized that every time I put a wall up to avoid feeling hurt, I also block joy, love, and connection from fully entering my life. It’s like closing the door not just on fear, but on hope and happiness too.
I thought about the moments in my life when I’ve chosen safety over honesty — when I didn’t say what I truly felt, when I laughed off my sadness, or when I acted fine even though I was breaking inside. At the time, it felt like self-protection. But looking back, I wonder how many opportunities for real connection I’ve let slip away.
It’s hard to admit, but I think I’m afraid of being fully seen. Vulnerability makes me feel exposed, like I’m standing in front of the world without armor. And yet, Brené’s words remind me that this is where courage lives. That this is where joy begins.
So here I am, writing this down as a promise to myself: I don’t want to live a life half-felt. I don’t want to keep numbing the lows only to realize I’ve numbed the highs too. I want to feel it all — the messy, the uncertain, the raw, the beautiful.
It scares me. But maybe that’s the point.
Maybe vulnerability is supposed to scare us, because it means we’re alive enough to risk, to love, to hope, and to hurt. And in the end, I’d rather have a heart that feels too much than one that feels nothing at all.
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