Our society is filled with voices that suggest honesty and vulnerability don’t matter. We’re told compassion and empathy for those we disagree with are wasted efforts. Giving others grace and the benefit of the doubt are treated as weaknesses. When we’re upset, it’s easy to rally others to our side with blame, insults, manipulation, or aggression. We often slip into comments like:

  • “My spouse is so irritating!”
  • “I can’t stand being around those people these days.”
  • “You never put your phone down!”

Rarely do we see healthy, meaningful communication modeled for us. But what if we could express what we really feel beneath those surface-level frustrations? What if we said:

  • “I feel totally alone in my relationship.”
  • “I feel powerless and isolated.”
  • “I miss you. I really want to spend time with you.”

Often, what we truly mean is: “I’m so hurt and scared to be vulnerable with you, even though all I want is closeness.”

Why Is It So Hard?

We’ve all felt these emotions, but speaking them aloud is difficult. The reason is simple: rejection. Vulnerability exposes us to the risk of rejection, and rejection threatens one of our deepest survival needs—belonging. When the rejection comes from someone we love most, it can feel like a threat to our very existence.

Another reason is that we don’t always recognize our deeper emotions. In therapy, we often differentiate between surface emotions (secondary) and underlying emotions (primary). Surface emotions—anger, irritation, frustration, even anxiety or depression—are easier to access and more socially acceptable. But often they mask something more painful: fear, grief, hurt, or despair. Instead of admitting, “I feel hurt and betrayed,” it feels safer to point outward: “You’re wrong, you’re selfish, you don’t care.”

Blame protects us from our own vulnerability. It also makes it impossible to hear the meaning beneath our loved one’s words. We get stuck in cycles of attack and defense, blame and shame.

The Cost of Silence

When we don’t risk sharing our truest, hardest emotions, we deny our relationships the chance to grow in intimacy. We keep closeness at arm’s length. Learning to identify and voice vulnerability isn’t easy, but it’s essential to breaking these destructive patterns.

The Role of “I Statements”

In therapy, we often practice “I statements.” Instead of pointing at the other person—“You don’t care about me anymore”—we address our own experience, “I’m scared our relationship is falling apart.” One statement blames; the other reveals vulnerability. The difference can be the difference between receiving a defensive response versus an empathetic response, between an argument and a conversation.

Of course, tone and delivery matter. Saying “I’m scared” while yelling, stomping, or slamming doors undermines the message. Conversely, even clumsy words spoken calmly and vulnerably can open space for compassion.

Listening with Regulation

Healthy communication is not only about speaking differently; it’s also about listening differently. Even when words come out imperfectly—perhaps shouted or spoken in anger—rather than reacting automatically, we can try to pause and hear the deeper meaning behind those words or at least avoid escalating. Can we regulate our own emotions so we can try to respond with empathy rather than shame, defensiveness, or withdrawal? Can we try to remain open, offering presence instead of reactivity?

A Learnable Skill

This work is not easy, but it’s deeply worthwhile. Healthy, vulnerable communication has the power to heal old wounds, rebuild bridges, and transform fear into safety. It gives us the gift of being seen, accepted, and loved.

If healthy communication feels out of reach, remember: it’s not an innate talent—it’s a skill. Like learning to read music, ride a bike, or tie a shoe, it can feel impossible at first. We stumble, make mistakes, and feel incompetent. But every mistake is practice. Each time, we hit a few more “right notes.” With persistence, the language of healthy communication becomes “music” we can play with confidence, creating harmony in our relationships.

About Sarah Dietsche, MA, LMFT

Sarah completed her LAMFT at Antioch University, New England. She also enters the profession with a PhD in musicology having spent the past 20 years working as a music professor, private teacher and professional musician. She finds that many of the same skills apply in teaching and in therapy.

Sarah’s education focuses on systems theory, seeing clients not only as individuals but as part of interlocking networks of family, friends, colleagues, organizations, etc. Sarah views much of her work as helping clients to evolve in these networks in ways that support them as individuals and work for their health and, potentially, the health of those around them. She has experience working with individuals and couples and is also looking forward to working with families. Sarah also has additional experience and training in LGBTQ+ issues, sex therapy, gender, social justice, trauma, grief and loss, and creative arts modalities.

Learn more about Sarah.