... at least so says a psychotherapist writing in 'Psychology Today'.
One of the problems with large parts of the popular psychology world and, indeed, the world of recovery, into which the former has bled like a ruptured necrotic organ, is the sloppy and counterproductive use of language.
The article in question goes on to say:
Allowing ourselves to be open gives us the opportunity to let another's heart touch our own ...
and
We create a lot of who we are based on the reactions of others.
[I'm going to leave aside precisely what is meant by 'hearts touching each other', because it means precisely nothing.]
When we use words, they are interpreted by others in the light of their existing, known meaning and usage.
Let's see what the Oxford English Dictionary describes 'vulnerable' as denoting. The figurative meaning (for that is what we are concerned with) is as follows:
Open to attack or injury of a non-physical nature; esp., offering an opening to the attacks of raillery, criticism, calumny, etc.
Now, obviously, attack is bad. Good advice cannot possibly be to make oneself open to attack. It will not help your patient for him to be psychologically injured.
More importantly, though, vulnerability is an attendant quality of a particular material condition. It is not that condition itself. One cannot 'be vulnerable' as an act of the will. One would have to do something that renders one vulnerable.
So what is the action that one being enjoined to take that would render one 'vulnerable'. Obviously, and based on the quotation above, it is being open, specifically disclosing feelings, thoughts, desires, needs, expectations, beliefs, values, attitudes, actions, and activities, plus personal facts and circumstances. The action being enjoined is disclosure; the quality being enjoined is candour.
Now, if the opening idea were this:
Intimacy, by its very nature, requires us to be candid and to disclose information, I would have no problem with the idea: in fact, it is perfectly right and good although should obviously be tempered by good judgement: candour and disclosure should be deliberate, tactful, considerate, and judicious and should never be selfish, manipulative, witless, or reckless.
So, when we have an English word for the quality of being open, why it is so common for vulnerable to be used as an effective metonym or synonym for open or candid?
Because it betrays the unhealed worldview of the user of such language, and the user cannot help but demonstrate that worldview.
Let's take an example. If I have a feeling, say sadness over the death of a dog, or a belief, say about the effectiveness of a particular prime minister, and I disclose this feeling, this belief to another, I am being open and candid. Now, the feeling and the belief may be attacked as being inappropriate, ridiculous, or any number of other things. But the attack does not, itself, injure, harm, or affect the sadness or belief itself. I might develop other feelings in response to the attack, but the feeling or the belief is untouched. I am just as sad, and, unless I incorporate the substantive ideas of my interlocutor, the belief about the prime minister will also remain intact. The attack, itself, cannot harm. Feelings, beliefs, and indeed anything capable of disclosure, being abstract, are invulnerable to external attack. There appears to be attack, but literally nothing has happened; if you shout at a cabbage, the cabbage is unchanged by this.
If Susan tells Bobby she likes Haydn, and Bobby says how facile and shallow Haydn is, if Susan is mature, she will stare, nonplussed, at Bobby, who is obviously a first-class fool, and proceed to her next task. Her disclosure has not damaged her predilection for Haydn, being invulnerable, not indeed her person, her identity, or her value. Her purpose of having a pleasant conversation with Bobby has been confounded, but that's a trivial point; her purpose in life is quite intact. She will continue to listen to Haydn. The essence is this: though something resembling an attack has taken place, nothing has happened, no harm has been suffered, so the openness, the candour, and the disclosure have not entailed vulnerability. It is therefore clear that 'vulnerability' is a poor metonym or synonym for what is really denoted, namely openness, candour, and disclosure, because it is not necessarily entailed by these.
But what if Susan has, as the wise therapist has observed without any attempt to dislodge the rookie error, 'created a lot of who [she is] based on the reactions of others'. We'll call this alternative Susan 'Sad Susan'.
Bobby's attack will be interpreted thus: (1) Bobby thinks Haydn is facile and shallow (2) I like Haydn (3) Bobby thinks I am facile and shallow. Leaving aside the magical thinking behind the false syllogism, Sad Susan's self-image, by her own interpretation and consent, has been shattered in a trice. She has placed her identity, value, and purpose on the roulette wheel of life, and idiotically given the wheel a spin. What is rendering her vulnerable is her locating her identity, value, and purpose outside of herself, magically 'reading' it from the tealeaves of others' reactions.
Now, a good therapist would understand that Sad Susan's intimacy problem, stemming from avoiding others and in particular avoiding disclosure, cannot be solved by perpetuating the idea that to disclose is render oneself vulnerable. This is as idiotic as suggesting to a child who is frightened of shadows, which he construes to be monsters, to 'face the monsters' without dislodging the erroneous construal. The job is to turn on the light and show the blighter there's literally nothing there. But if you have no torchlight, and you yourself believe in monsters, the best you can do is work around the monsters and hope you and your hapless patient don't get your heads bitten off.
The reason the therapist is unable to help Sad Susan is because he himself suffers from the same problem. He is an unhealed healer. Let's look at the phrasing:
We create a lot of who we are based on the reactions of others.
The beliefs that can be inferred from this use of language:
- We do not exist independently of our own perception of ourselves
- If we ceased to 'create who we are', we would cease to exist
- We perform this act of creation by observing and interpreting the reactions of others
- Without the reactions of others, we would have no material to fully create ourselves
- We thus need the reactions of others to even fully exist
- Since others necessarily react in a variety of ways, the raw materials for 'who we are' are volatile, and indeed vulnerable, because love, approval, and agreement can literally disappear
- If they disappear, we disappear.
This cannot but produce an unstable self-image, which provides the basis for the need to control others' reactions to us in order that we even continue to exist.
This is wholly insane.
What is the right approach to intimacy?
- Be open and candid with others
- Be cautious but deliberate in the process of disclosure
- By testing out others' reactions, we can find out whether there is a common basis for a loving, supportive, fruitful, or constructive relationship
- If people are unsuitable, move on
- If people are suitable, build from there
But at no point is there any vulnerability, because who we are: pure, whole spirit, rays of sunshine, drops in the ocean, stardust, moves in the cosmic dance, is utterly invulnerable, inviolate, intrinsic, unalterable, and entirely good, beautiful, and true. None of this can be changed by others' reactions.
The right approach to the fear is not to perpetuate it by maintaining the rancid illusion that others can genuinely threaten or harm us in any way by mockery, disapproval, disagreement, or distancing but to assert the inviolate, invulnerable wholeness of the individual.
There is nothing to risk and there is everything to gain.