We all know about the power of vulnerability in relationships. About how opening oneself up builds emotional bonds and makes people come closer.
But when it comes to the workplace, we – the same people – often act differently. We freeze. We clam up. We act like there’s a difference between the person and the professional. We behave like emotions have no place behind a desk or under a collar. So, we put our game facades on. Our resting corporate face is intentionally and insincerely set to constructed poise and calculated steeliness.
We hold back because we fear that our vulnerability can be taken advantage of. That it can be used against us when we’re already down.
Or equally bad, that it can be called out as a weakness. But I’ve discovered that vulnerability at the workplace is powerful. It is actually empowering. Being openly vulnerable has in fact served me well throughout my career.
I started my career in advertising at that great university, HTA (Hindustan Thompson Associates), in 2001. As a month-long ‘summer intern’, straight out of the Indian Institute of Mass Communications. After a year of the thrilling tribulations of trainee life, I was finally ‘confirmed’ as a Full Time Employee. Ah! The legitimacy it bestowed. To get my first visiting card. To not worry anymore about getting my internship extended. I might have been the junior-most copywriter at HTA, but on that day, my CCO would have had to win a big pitch and a couple of Lions to match my swagger.
And then my bright bubble burst. And it took my confidence with it. I learned that my reporting manager, the inimitable Juhi Kalia, a veritable Molotov cocktail of brazen brilliance, my first-ever-forever boss, had put in her papers to move abroad.
I was crushed. No, I was bereaved. Not only to be missing out on her stewardship, but also separately for myself. In these 12-odd months, I had displayed an irresistible mix of precocious smarts, veteran sweat and a charming insouciance. I was seen as a rising star. But I drew my strength from Juhi. With her backing me, there was seemingly nothing I couldn’t crack. And without her, I wasn’t sure of anything anymore. I could feel myself falling and failing, like a child learning to cycle – and seeing his parent grow distant in the rearview mirror.
My mythical abilities seemed just that. A cruel, short lived myth.
And so, I had a heart-to-heart with her about my fears. No, I blubbered. I wasn’t faking it or talking to her out of some misplaced sense of humility. I was honestly terrified. It also took a lot out of me to say it to her and to hear my insecurities voiced aloud for myself.
But her reply coursed like cocaine through my bloodstream. I felt like a Spartan staring down Xerxes’ endless millions with a hungry smile. ‘Even if you say you aren’t able to come up with a single idea for the next 6 months, they won’t fire you. That’s how much of a long rope you’ve earned. That’s how good you are,’ she said.
And after hearing her, I was.
I never needed to cash that confidence cheque, but my vulnerability allowed me to ask for the bare-naked truth. Un-crafted into pretty prose. Uncouched in euphemisms. It’s been 24 years to what she said, but I remember it as the best compliment of my working career.
If I hadn’t allowed myself to be vulnerable, I would have never heard those words.
The years have rolled by, and I have been vulnerable on many occasions. For big and small things. Sometimes to juniors: ‘Your script is better than mine. We’ll push for it.’ Often to clients who ask about a film, ‘How will the music sound?’, my answer has been, ‘I have no clue. All I know is we’re working with a good director and a good music director, and we’ll have something fabulous at the end of it.’
Most clients can sniff out the truth. And the good ones will trust you with it. Very recently, I told one of our biggest clients before the shoot of one of their biggest campaigns, ‘I’m in a bit of a bind and need your support. I know you are used to storyboards. But my director doesn’t do storyboards. I know this campaign is very important for you and that you’re spending a lot on it. I promise our treatment will bring the scripts to life very clearly, and that you will have a mind-blowing series of films at the end.’ He heard me, backed us, and now he has a campaign that he’s exceptionally proud of – like all of us here at Mullen Lintas are.
Before I got this CCO gig, I was working at Meta for over six and a half years as a Creative Strategist. And one cold November morning, I got an email that said I was one of the 11000 employees globally to be “impacted”. And just like that, in all of the three minutes it took me to read the email, I went from working at one of the coolest places ever, to being out of a job. I went from being a ‘star performer’ (I’ve always prioritised self-awareness over false modesty) to being someone the company had no role for.
I was gutted. This isn’t how meritocracy works in an ideal world, I thought. But then, the world isn’t ideal; it is only real.
I was supposed to attend an event at my son’s school that morning. I sat through it, simultaneously numb and nauseous. But as I was coming back home, a little voice in my head told me, ‘You’re feeling terrible as you’re not in control. Wrest back the narrative. Own this moment like you’ve owned the good ones.’
And that required me to be vulnerable.
That’s what I did. I wore sunglasses to hide my tears, took a selfie and posted about it, titling it ‘The Layoff-ie’ on my personal Facebook profile and on LinkedIn.
Two things happened. One expected, and another wonderfully not. As expected, I felt immediately better. Owning my layoff was cathartic. It was a purging of fear, a cleansing of worry. The ‘shameful’ secret was out. Only, I discovered that the shame wasn’t mine. However, for a short while, the ‘secret’ bit had been. And that too lost its power once I chose to be openly vulnerable over being guardedly ‘strong’.
The unexpectedly wonderful thing? The flip side of being publicly vulnerable meant that world knew I was available for hire. It also scuttled any behind-my-back talk about what had happened to me. In a very practical sense, it meant that within the same day, I had clients, friends and colleagues reaching out to me with chats and leads. And within a very short while, potential leads had translated into concrete opportunities. And soon after, I had landed my CCO gig at Mullen Lintas.
Of course, I’m aware that I’m extremely blessed and lucky. It very well might not have turned out like this. But whatever else, this much would have still happened: I would have undeniably, unstoppably, felt better. And what nourishes you can only be good for you.
Open vulnerability doesn’t come naturally to most of us, as it rails against the amygdala. It seems anti self-preservation. The truth, however, is the opposite. Vulnerability builds trust, as once you’re laid bare, there’s literally nowhere – and nothing to hide. It builds connection as it talks to the other person’s unvoiced fears. It allows us to be fully authentic, in touch with ourselves, and thus allows us to grow. Vulnerability helps turn trauma into a triumph of the human condition. Vulnerability reminds us that there are no two lives – the professional and the personal. That the same bruised body and soul we wake up in, is the one we bring to work.
All vulnerability asks for then, is a safe space. And if the office can be that safe space, then something magical happens. Fragility turns to iron, and employees into loyalists. Culture improves and productivity thrives. Employees who weren’t crushed but carried become unpaid brand ambassadors who speak well of their managers and their offices in dimly lit bars & bright coffee shops. They give more unasked, because they feel understood. They feel belonged. They shine, for that’s how kintsugi works.
Vulnerability only requires that it comes from a place of honesty and good intention. Vulnerability isn’t a crutch or a free pass. You can’t be lazy, give it less than your all, deploy it to cry wolf - and expect empathy or help.
It also requires that the people who hear us being vulnerable, are decent human beings. I hope we all find those who allow us to be vulnerable at the workplace. And more importantly, when someone in turn is vulnerable with us, we have the grace to see it as a privilege, a responsibility and a chance to lift them up. And in the process, rise as well.
