How relaunching my website turned out to be surprisingly vulnerable.
Hello there,
A few weeks ago I relaunched my website.
Pulling it together took a lot of writing, coding, and iterating, and I'm proud of the finished product. Yet the harder part was something entirely hidden from view.
What was less visible was the inner process of deciding how honest and vulnerable to be: how much of myself to share, and what to say about the specific kinds of clients I love working with most. Those things proved harder to navigate than the practical work of text and images. Yet some early first passes left the website factually correct, yet also very safe; that felt devoid of resonance.
All of which has me thinking about my own tendency to share from a place of safety, choosing not to reveal too much. Often this has been sensible and what the situation called for. Of course, not every moment requires my full life story. Yet sometimes when I'm seeking to connect deeply, I have to be willing to share more vulnerably and openly.
As a gay man, I know my habit of "not revealing too much too soon" is a particularly strong instinct. At times in my teenage years, I felt that revealing too much about myself held unimaginably destructive consequences for my sense of reality.
I could sense this pattern at play as I drafted my website. I found it easy to write about humans as a whole or coaching in general terms. Yet my own experience has been specific: I've been attracted to older men, navigated non-linear career decisions, and found myself unhappy with standard relationship models.
The more specific I could be about these things, the more resonant my website became, and at the same time, the more scary it felt to reveal publicly.
Well here I am now, having chosen the path of vulnerability and choosing to write about the process too. I see all of this as part of my conscious practice of self-acceptance and growth. I didn't defeat my fears. Rather, I spent enough time with them to understand what they were protecting me from. From that place of intimacy with myself, I sense a softening and I chose to move forward.
This all feels connected to broader questions I've been living with. What does intimacy mean to me? How can I cultivate deeper intimacy with myself and others?
I believe that intimacy is, at its core, the deep human longing to be known, seen and valued just as we are.
It requires that we offer something of ourselves to another person, since we can't be known without disclosing ourselves in some way. In this act of sharing, there's always risk. We might share something tender and find it met with distraction, or even misunderstanding.
To open ourselves to intimacy is to accept the risk and uncertainty of what might happen next. I believe it's still a risk worth taking, and my practice is to keep committing again and again to the small leaps of faith it requires.
May you find the courage to share more of yourself despite not knowing how you will be received, and may you find yourself received with the tenderness and care your vulnerability deserves.
Vulnerably,
Stephen
