One of the first things we talk about in the Dare to Lead™ programme is the mistaken idea that vulnerability is the same as weakness. It's definitely a common conflation —even my 11-year-old stepson said weakness was the first thing he thought of when I asked him about vulnerability.
But having been working with this material for four months now, with groups ranging from small senior leadership teams to large public programmes, I've observed that this isn't the only conflation error we make.
So I wanted to share with you why "vulnerability equals weakness" is so problematic, along with a few other inaccurate "this equals that" myths that are coming up regularly.
Myth One: Vulnerability equals weakness
In every training we do, I ask the room how many have ever associated vulnerability with weakness. Inevitably, every hand goes up. Then (per Brené's teaching) I ask people to try to think of a single example of courage that didn't require vulnerability. And no one can.
If you Google the word vulnerable, the first definition that comes up is, "exposed to the possibility of being attacked or harmed, either physically or emotionally." And that sounds weak to us. After all, if we were strong, we couldn't be attacked or harmed, right?
In the context of Dare to Lead™, however, the meaning is a bit different. Our definition is: “risk, uncertainty and emotional exposure.” And while being in a position of risk, uncertainty and emotional exposure means you’re open to the possibility of being attacked or harmed, it is also the only way to authentically connect with others.
If you’ve got your armour up, you can’t be truly seen. And if there’s no risk, uncertainty, or emotional exposure, there’s no courage. After all, if something is risk-free, it doesn’t make you very courageous to do it, right?
As Brené says, far from making you weak, vulnerability is actually our most accurate measure of courage.
Myth Two: Toughness equals courage
The flip side to the “vulnerability equals weakness” conflation is the equally false idea that toughness equals courage.
Before we ran our first Dare to Lead™ programme, I started pulling together a playlist of songs for the breaks. I had a few that I knew already I wanted to include (“Brave” by Sara Bareilles being right up there), but it definitely wasn’t going to be enough, so I started searching for songs about courage.
The results made me disheartened. Almost every song was what I would call a “screw you” song: you dumped me but I don’t need you, I’m better off without you, I’m stronger than you, who needs boys anyway, who needs girls anyway.
It’s as if our artists are all making the assumption that the only way I can be strong is for you to be weak. The songs are not actually about courage; they are about putting on armour to cover up our hurt.
Courage isn’t measured by how little we need other people. It is measured by our willingness to lean into vulnerability.
Myth Three: Kindness equals not speaking up or setting boundaries
The sub-title for the “BRAVING Trust” section of Dare to Lead is straightforward: “Clear is kind. Unclear is unkind.” And the whole purpose of the work is to allow us to lean into vulnerability, to speak our truth, and to listen with the same passion with which we want to be heard. And while we do dive deep into empathy — and the need to say hard things without shame or blame — we never recommend pulling punches in order to spare someone’s feelings.
And yet, inevitably, someone will bring it up as an objection. “All this empathy stuff is fine, but sometimes a person is really terrible at their job.” As if having empathy means you aren’t allowed to address performance issues or attitude issues. As if being kind doesn’t allow you to set clear boundaries for what behaviour is okay and what’s not okay.
Being kind does not mean letting people get away with anything they want. It does not mean you have to let people walk all over you. It does not mean you have to put up with inappropriate or dysfunctional behaviour.
It does mean you can hold people to account for that behaviour without shaming them — without implying that the bad behaviour means they are a bad person. It’s the difference between guilt (“I did something bad”) and shame (“I am bad”). And it’s a substantive difference.
Ngā mihi mahana,
Kaila Colbin, Certified Dare to Lead™ Facilitator
Founder and CEO, Boma
