A challenge for men
Vulnerability has become the new buzzword in relationships, much like “empathy” was a few years ago. Since women overwhelmingly seek therapy and counselling to explore and understand their emotional inner worlds, there’s growing pressure on men to evolve emotionally to avoid being left behind.
However, this request often falls flat. While men may desire the courage to embrace vulnerability, as it sounds promising, they often grapple with internal resistance or societal expectations of masculinity. Traditionally, vulnerability suggests weakness, and it’s defined as being exposed to the possibility of physical or emotional harm.
Historically, male roles centered around strength, protection, and provision. Being asked to show vulnerability can feel like a threat, clashing with ingrained narratives of masculinity that discourage anything perceived as weakness. Failing to meet these standards often triggers fears of rejection and social exclusion.
Survival strategies from prehistoric times taught men to assess each other for weaknesses, as any sign of frailty was seen as a liability to the group. Such men were undervalued as partners and were in risk of losing social standing. This evolutionary instinct still prompts men to conceal any perceived vulnerabilities.
Brené Brown, known for her research on shame, redefines vulnerability as uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure. Her perspective reveals the courage required to engage in vulnerable acts. Demonstrating bravery garners respect and admiration, not just from other men but also from potential partners, aligning with cultural “warrior” archetypes found in myths worldwide.
Today, many developed societies enjoy unprecedented physical safety, diminishing the need for male protection. Ironically, men now feel inherently vulnerable because the traditional protector role is less relevant. The diminished need for male protection challenges their sense of value and purpose, sparking a broader identity crisis.
Men’s existential need to be needed is significant and documented. Studies in the U.S. show that messages like “No one needs me” and “I’m worthless” are common themes in men’s suicide notes. Women’s economic independence has also shifted traditional dynamics, reducing men’s role as providers. Adjusting to this cultural shift in just a few generations is no easy feat.
Vulnerability is often misunderstood as merely expressing deep emotions, but it encompasses much more: asking for what you want, setting boundaries, requesting help, trying new things despite the risk of failure, and approaching a potential partner with the possibility of rejection.
In essence, vulnerability surfaces whenever our identity faces potential challenge or risk.
The value of vulnerability in relationships
In intimate relationships, vulnerability fosters closeness, a vital element for healthy connections. Sharing your truth invites genuine connection and builds trust. Revealing our authentic selves signals that we have nothing to hide and pose no threat.
People often conceal their truth in order to maintain a sense of control and security, avoiding discomfort. Healthy vulnerability requires discernment—knowing what to share, with whom, and when. It’s part of personal growth, pushing us beyond our comfort zones to explore new possibilities. Without venturing into the unknown, we miss opportunities for transformation.
Vulnerability demands courage—to face fears and take leaps of faith without guaranteed safety. While falling flat on our face and failing are very real, possibilities, each attempt teaches resilience and flexibility, making future challenges less daunting.
Can men be vulnerable and attractive?
There’s no universal answer, as women’s preferences vary based on upbringing, culture, trauma, and personal experiences. However, one general principle holds: vulnerability expressed from a weakened, self-deprecating place often feels uncomfortable for women. If a weeping man appears unable to care for himself, let alone his partner, it can be unsettling for a woman.
On the contrary, vulnerability is attractive when it stems from a man’s empowered self. When men accept themselves and strive for growth without seeking validation, they display strength—even in tears. This form of vulnerability isn’t weakness but courage: revealing imperfections without collapsing or begging for approval.
True vulnerability is an act of bravery, a willingness to take risks despite insecurity. By embracing this mindset, relationships can flourish, allowing deeper, more meaningful connections. Without such openness, relationships risk stagnation, becoming dry and unfulfilling.
Emotional closeness is the essence, the magical elixir that reveals the other person in their multi-layered wholeness and helps keep the relationship alive.
Vulnerability isn’t easy, but that’s its nature. Men can choose to remain attached to outdated standards of masculinity or become part of the new generation of men who opt for equal, mutual, and authentic relationships.
