vulnerability: where healing truly begins

Vulnerability is such an interesting companion in life.
As a facilitator of healing, a coach, and a doula, I sit with people who are high-achieving, or searching for answers, or simply longing to feel whole again.

And yet, vulnerability is not always easy for me.
Not because I fear it—quite the opposite. I’ve done the deep work of becoming comfortable with who I am. I know my strength. I know my flaws. I hold them all, without judgment.

The challenge is that vulnerability—like kindness—is so often misunderstood as weakness.
We’ve been conditioned to expect those who guide us to be polished, confident, untouchable. No cracks. No trembling. No tears.

But I don’t believe that’s true.

If anything, those who walk alongside others in their healing must hold more vulnerability. To show good faith. To whisper without words: I see you. I’ve been there. I am not perfect either. And that’s not a bad thing.

Think of Kintsugi, the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold.
It’s not the unbroken that makes the vessel beautiful. It’s the fractures, lovingly mended, that give it its worth.

Healing is like that.
It’s not about pretending the hurt isn’t there, or hiding how we cope. It’s about the courage to piece ourselves back together—learning, growing, moving forward.

As a facilitator of healing, my work is to bring my years of experience and knowledge so your journey doesn’t have to be as long, or as lonely. To walk with you, so you have space to break down, to soften, to be seen without needing to be “put together.”

Because there is no single right way to heal.
There is only your way.

And the doorway into that path is vulnerability.

From vulnerability comes authenticity.
And from authenticity—deep, unexplainable, life-changing healing.

Over more than a decade of walking with clients, I’ve seen this truth again and again: until we make peace with our truest selves, no amount of surface healing will ever last.

But when we embrace our wholeness—messy, radiant, flawed, complete—judgment begins to fall away. Hatred dissolves. Perspective shifts. Compassion expands.

And suddenly, love is possible. For ourselves. For others. For generations past and yet to come.

So yes—it’s okay to feel awkward.
It’s okay to cry.
It’s okay to admit you’re not okay.
It’s okay to lower your guard in a safe space—whether that’s with trusted others, or perhaps most courageously, with yourself.

Sometimes, that is the hardest thing of all.

I hope these words offer you a little wisdom, and permission to give yourself the grace of being vulnerable.

And if this stirs something in you—if it resonates—reach out. Let’s have a conversation about what vulnerability might mean in your life, and how I can walk this path beside you.

Dr. Jaspreet Soor