I ghosted them for 18 months: Christian O’Connell on men’s fear of vulnerability

by Christian O’Connell

I once cancelled a speech about vulnerability, having written a book about vulnerability – because I was scared of being vulnerable. The irony wasn’t lost on me …

A man named Daniel, who leads a Jewish men’s group, emailed me after reading my first book. He asked me to come and give a talk about vulnerability. I said yes.  And then I stopped replying to his emails. For a year and a half.

I just … ghosted him. Because I was worried I’d have a panic attack while talking about vulnerability in front of a room full of men. I’d written a book about this stuff, and I couldn’t face talking about it.

After 18 months of silence, I finally rang Daniel

I said, ‘I’m really sorry. I was feeling vulnerable about talking about vulnerability. And I’d love to come and do the talk if you still want me’.

He said he’d speak to his group. They’d vote on it. They voted yes.

And that became the talk. You can be vulnerable about being vulnerable. That is the practice.

The talk was held in a community sports centre, in a room above a squash court. Fluorescent lights. Plastic chairs. This is where men go to talk about vulnerability.

The men shuffled in, apprehensive about me, about the topic, about what they might be asked to feel. For protection, many arrived clutching a bottle of beer to their chest – like a sword. Or a teddy bear.

And then came the introduction …

‘Now, I know there has been some reluctance about tonight’s speaker. Some of you expressed concerns as to why we invited him and what someone like him would have to say of any value … ’

I nearly walked out.

A room full of men older than me by 10, 20, 30 years. Lawyers. Business owners. Accountants. Way more professionally accomplished than me. And apparently, some of them didn’t even want me there.

The last speaker was one of the most respected and successful sport coaches in Australia, and now it was a guy who played Nickelback for a living who didn’t even want to be there.

Perfect conditions for a group of men to be vulnerable.

I told them the truth. That I’d ghosted their leader for 18 months because I was scared. That I’d written a book about vulnerability and still sometimes found it hard to be vulnerable. This gave me an authentic way to talk about the courage required for vulnerability. Why we resist it: because we are choosing to avoid feeling certain emotions.

The questions afterwards were incredible

One man cried talking about his disconnection from his daughter. ‘I’m not good at this vulnerability stuff,’ he shared, and was met with many nods of agreement.

You don’t have to be good at it. Sometimes it comes out bumpy – like that garden tap when you first turn it on after it’s not been used for a while. The water runs brown at first. But as it flows, it runs clearer. The more vulnerable you are, the better you can create a new story and kill an old script about what you can handle.

At the end, something beautiful happened. Daniel stood up and started a standing ovation. I have to say, I enjoyed the vulnerability ovation! Only 50 or so people there, in that room above the squash courts, and again I was shown – and they were shown – what vulnerability leads to. Deeper connection.

As I left, way after the talk ended because they now had so much to say, I was followed out like a pied piper as I walked to my car. My last image of this very special night was a 70-year-old urologist handing me his card saying, ‘For 20 years’ time, when you’ll need it’.

Vulnerability

For any conversation where you want to show up authentically, you will need vulnerability. You can’t be authentic without being vulnerable, and you can’t be vulnerable without being authentic.

That inseparable pair is what I call your connectability – your capacity to connect at a deeper level.

Here’s the question I keep coming back to: when life gets tight – and it does – do I close down or stay open? Do I withdraw into my fear or turn towards my courage, my self-compassion, and stay open-hearted to it all? Which way keeps me small? Which invites me into my fullness?

I dare to lead with heart and vulnerability. That’s often scary, messy and uncomfortable. But it is the path of true transformation, connection and aliveness.

Edited extract from Unscript: The radical act of being yourself by Christian O’Connell (Wiley, $34.95), available 29 July at all leading retailers.