During the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic, I found myself struggling to process the weight of what was happening—both around me and within me. The fear, the uncertainty, and the overwhelming responsibility of being a healthcare worker in that moment were things I didn’t know how to express. Instead of talking about it, I did what I’ve always done—I kept pushing forward. I felt it was my responsibility to stay strong for others. But as time passed, I realized that the strength I thought I was showing wasn’t true resilience. It was a mask, one that kept me from acknowledging what I was really feeling.
It was then that I inadvertently stumbled onto storytelling. Not because I intended to, but because I needed an outlet. I began taking photos, writing journal entries, and capturing the small, quiet moments that seemed to mirror the inner turmoil I couldn’t quite define. I didn’t know it at the time, but these acts of expression would become my way of learning to be open, of sharing my vulnerability not out of fear but with sincerity.
The Challenge of Vulnerability
Being vulnerable has never come easily to me. Like many of us in healthcare, I’ve been taught to put on a brave face, to focus on solutions rather than feelings. But as I began to capture moments during the pandemic—through photos of my surroundings, journal entries, and reflections that deeply resonated with me—I realized how much I had been holding back emotionally. Each image and word I documented revealed layers of feelings I hadn’t fully processed or expressed, giving me the space to begin exploring my own vulnerability.
One of the first photos I was willing to share broadly was a picture of my partner’s handwritten note left on the bathroom mirror, encouraging me to take care of myself, to rest, and to manage stress. It was such a simple moment, yet it captured a truth I had been avoiding: that I was struggling, that I needed help, and that it was okay to admit that. Sharing that image felt like an act of vulnerability, but more importantly, it felt like an act of honesty.
In the past, I would have hidden that struggle, kept it to myself for fear of appearing weak. But as I began to share these small stories, pieces of my authetic self—through photos, through words—I started to understand that true resilience isn’t about pretending everything is okay. It’s about being honest, with yourself and with others, about what you’re going through. That honesty is where strength is born.
Strength Through Sincerity
As I began to share more of my stories, I discovered something unexpected: the more I allowed myself to be vulnerable, the more connected I felt to those around me. People began sharing their own experiences and opening up in ways that mirrored the openness I was trying to cultivate in myself. In that exchange, I found a new kind of strength—not the kind that comes from holding everything together, but the kind that comes from letting go.
I realized that being sincere about my experiences didn’t diminish my resilience. It deepened it. By allowing myself to be seen—fully, flaws and all—I was embracing a more authentic version of strength, one that wasn’t rooted in perfection or control, but in the acceptance of my own humanity. Vulnerability, I came to understand, isn’t a weakness. It’s a pathway to connection.
One journal entry that particularly resonated with others was written late at night after a long, emotionally taxing shift at the hospital. The entry was filled with raw, unfiltered thoughts—some hopeful, some overwhelmed, all deeply personal. I hesitated before sharing it, unsure if I was ready to be so exposed. But in that moment of doubt, I reminded myself that being vulnerable isn’t about seeking validation or approval. It’s about being true to your own experience. So, I shared it, and the response was overwhelming.
Incredibly, people from different walks of life, both inside and outside of healthcare, began to share stories of their own. Some shared their fears about the future, others opened up about their struggles with anxiety, and many expressed how much they appreciated the honesty in my reflections. In each of those conversations, I saw how my own act of vulnerability had created space for others to do the same. That’s the power of storytelling—it’s not just about sharing your truth; it’s about creating a ripple effect that allows others to share theirs, too.
Building Resilience Through Connection
What I’ve come to learn is that resilience isn’t a solitary journey. It’s built through connection—through the stories we tell, the experiences we share, and the ways we show up for each other. In my early, unintentional attempts at storytelling, I thought I was simply trying to make sense of my own emotions. I was not planning on sharing these reflections widely or creating any larger impact; it was more about processing my own experiences. However, by opening up to others, I found a community of people who were also seeking clarity, comfort, and understanding.
Through these shared experiences, I’ve learned that resilience isn’t about being unbreakable. It’s about being open enough to admit that sometimes we break, and that’s okay. It’s in those moments of vulnerability that we find our greatest strength—not because we are pushing through alone, but because we are allowing ourselves to be supported by the people around us.
This understanding of the power of vulnerability has shaped the way I lead resilience workshops, where I invite participants to share their own stories, fostering a space for connection. What I’ve learned from my own journey is that the sharing of these personal stories has the power to heal, to build resilience not just in ourselves, but in our communities. When we are willing to be open and honest about our struggles, we invite others to do the same, and in that shared vulnerability, we all grow stronger.
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