Vulnerability Hangover
The emotional aftermath of sharing intensely personal news online
As I was getting ready to launch this blog to the world, there were a lot of times when I asked myself, “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
I had concerns about how going public would affect my career, my relationships, and my family.
But I kept going. I was hoping I might help some people share their own mental health experiences, and maybe make a little dent in the stigma about ADHD and bipolar disorder.
I’ll admit that as I was writing my initial content and preparing all my Substack welcome messages in preparation for launch, I didn’t give much thought to how I would feel after breaking the “big news.” I wasn’t thinking much beyond the “Surprise! I have bipolar!” moment.
And since the launch, people have been incredibly, unfailingly kind. The feedback I’ve gotten — both publicly and behind the scenes — has been overwhelmingly positive. I had some fears about getting negative comments or backlash, and it hasn’t happened. Instead, there’s been a groundswell of lovely support.
What I didn’t expect was the vulnerability hangover.
A vulnerability hangover is that uneasy, exposed feeling that creeps in after sharing something deeply personal. It's a mix of emotional rawness, self-doubt, and a dash of "What have I done?!" panic.
During my own vulnerability hangover, my thoughts are:
Did I overshare?
What will they think of me now?
I can’t unring this bell, now that I’ve told everyone.
What the hell do I do now?
It's the uncomfortable aftermath of baring my soul, when I’m suddenly second-guessing my decision to let my guard down. For me, it feels like I’m walking around with a lump in my throat all the time.
Deep down, I know that being vulnerable is the right way to live my life — and a lot of the wonderful comments from people these past few weeks actually said I was brave for being so authentic. I didn’t expect that. One dear friend even said “You’re a force of nature” and I just don’t even know what to say about that because I’ll cry.
Because today, I don’t feel like a force of nature. I feel like a newborn giraffe, and wow, am I wobbly on my feet. I’m also a little scared to sit down at the keyboard to write for this blog because I’m half scared of what’s going to come out of me next.
It doesn’t help that right now I’m picking through my own personal history so I can figure out the story of my mental health issues and how I started my business. That’s making me relive some parts of my life that were really, really hard.
But here’s the thing: Being vulnerable is the way I want to move through this world, even if it does leave me with this whiplashy feeling sometimes.
Because to connect with people on a real level, they need to really know me — even the messy parts. And I want to know them completely, too. I want them to feel safe being vulnerable with me.
And clearly, from the reception I’ve gotten so far with this blog, people are embracing the mess and giving me the message that it’s okay to be open.
Perhaps I should have anticipated that this would happen, after keeping a secret this big for this long, and then revealing it to such a wide audience. But honestly, I wasn’t thinking much beyond the “Surprise!” phase. Lesson learned.
So I’m putting my marker in the ground and saying “Hey! I have a vulnerability hangover, even though all of you have been amazing!!”
I figure that if I’m going to tell you I have bipolar and ADHD, I might as well tell you when things get a little wobbly, too! Because that’s what this blog is all about.
But here’s one thing I’m not going to do: I’m not going to go back to keeping secrets and hiding from the world. Because as uncomfortable as I feel now, it’s nothing compared to how hard that was.
What I’m going to do is embrace the awkwardness. Seize the cringe. Because I know the right thing to do is to KEEP GOING.
Maybe going forward I should think of every vulnerability hangover as a merit badge for showing up as my true self.
And who doesn’t love a merit badge? I know I do.
Thanks for your continued support. 😀
Yes, totally keep going!!! This is awesome!!
Phew, I was holding my breath until this: "And since the launch, people have been incredibly, unfailingly kind. The feedback I’ve gotten — both publicly and behind the scenes — has been overwhelmingly positive." So grateful you received love and support. Also grateful you'll continue writing with authenticity!
When I "came out" about my suicidality in my 20s, the editor who was running my piece told me, "Stacey, this is the New York Times. A lot of people are going to see it, and you can't put the ship back in the bottle." Reminds me of your analogy, too: You can't un-ring that bell. But would you want to if you could? (Not I. The toll is too great.)
Speaking of analogies, I love your analogy about the baby giraffe with wobbly feet. What a delight it was to read this piece. :)