I Hate Being Vulnerable—But Cancer Made Me Do It

I’ve spent most of my life AVOIDING being vulnerable.

I learned from my mentally ill mother that vulnerability only led to bad outcomes. Sometimes really, really bad.

Instead, I developed a pretty thick shell and turned it into a virtue. It helped me succeed in the crazy competitive, fast-paced stress of consulting. I became driven and focused and exceedingly competent at work, at organizing my life, my business.

Eventually I realized it was costing me plenty in terms of relationships and did some serious therapy in my 30’s. I came out the other side vowing to open myself up more; and gradually—we’re talking years, not months—built a multi-dimensional life I’m proud of.

If you’d asked me before cancer if I could be vulnerable, I’d have said “Of course—no problem”! But it turns out I was seriously delusional 🙄.

Because the first thing I did upon getting my (unofficial) cancer diagnosis—after sobbing on the hubby—was raise the drawbridge. I told only one close friend—an even more obsessive researcher than me—via email because I couldn’t discuss it without crying and I just didn’t want to go there yet.

I’m the sort who has to understand a thing pretty deeply, especially when it’s going to impact the quality and length of my life. So I explored my treatment options privately and used my friend and the hubs as occasional devil’s advocates. I just didn’t want any other voices in my head.

I swore my husband to secrecy (which he hated since he is wired as a sharer). It wasn’t until I’d chosen my procedure and was exploring surgeons that we started sharing the news. And by “we”, I mean him. He made all the tough phone calls (I will owe him till the end of time) until I finally could speak about it.

But here’s what happened when I finally let people in: turns out what I thought was a small but lovely village is actually much bigger than I ever dared dream.

One set of dear friends insisted on driving all the way from LA to pick me up, take me to LA for another biopsy I dreaded and drive me home (they stashed bottles of sparking and still water and two kinds of homemade cookies PLUS a comfy bed pillow for me in the backseat).

Several offered their spare rooms in LA, so I could stay overnight on big appointment or treatment days.

For surgery, we had booked two nights at a nearby hotel—one night before, one night after, and our friends insisted they were staying there too, despite living 15 minutes away. They sat with my husband all day during prep and surgery, they saw me from recovery to the hotel, even commandeered a wheelchair—TWICE—so that I would be as comfy as possible.

Another friend drove two hours roundtrip to babysit our dog for the day so we wouldn’t worry about his care on top of everything else.

My researcher friend flew in for two days to drive me (three hours each way) to my first round of post-surgical appointments and do anything else I asked.

Another drove me twice from Palm Springs to LA for more appointments when I still couldn’t drive and the hubs had work conflicts.

And that’s not counting the flowers, the cards, the chocolates, the charcuterie board, the fruit bouquet, the aromatherapy, the books, the homemade soups and cakes and even spa and restaurant gift cards.

There wasn’t a day after we went public that I didn’t feel the love and warmth and community from the most excellent village I could imagine.

It eventually taught me one of my big takeaways from breast cancer: it’s OK to be vulnerable sometimes.

It’s OK to let people in. It’s OK to let them help like I’ve helped others over the years (reminder: helping feels so good). It’s OK to just be who I am, even in the difficult moments.

Because being vulnerable is a gift to all the lovely people in our lives who genuinely want to help.

Repeat to self: say yes when the kind people offer.