Normally it takes work to get inside another person’s head. When patients sit down across from me for the first time, I have no idea what makes them tick (or what makes them ticking bombs). In those first minutes they’re mysteries to me, just as I am to them.

But that’s not how it was with Vijay. He didn’t come to my office. In fact, he was halfway around the world, in India. And I’d never met him. He’d e-mailed me “cold,” after reading my blog and finding my e-mail address on the Internet.

But it didn’t matter. The instant I read his e-mail, I knew exactly how Vijay felt. That’s because 30 years ago I was standing in his shoes, and I was just as scared. And just like him, I didn’t know what to do.

Vijay’s message to me read:

I wish I had never been born, I wish that I could just jump off the roof of my house, I wake up wishing that I had never woken up from my sleep. I made a vow to myself that I actually wouldn’t kill myself no matter what because I’m really scared of death, because I haven’t accomplished anything so dying now would be more useless than staying alive.

I also wouldn’t want to put a burden on my family. I don’t want them to go through that terrible grief, or even worse, give the impression to my parents that all the hard work they did for my sister and me failed horribly.

That would be too much for them … but I simply don’t have any interest in living, Doc. The main thing I think that triggered all these thoughts is that my O level exams start on 15 May. I’ve put a lot of pressure on myself to get high marks to make my parents happy. My dad always says to me that since I didn’t do so well for my first two subjects, it is more important that I do well for the last three. I feel that if I get a B instead of an A, my parents won’t love me anymore….

Dr. Goulston, please e-mail me, I’m having all this trouble because I don’t know who to talk to, in a calm voice that is. I’m begging you, Doc….

I knew better than to brush off Vijay’s fears about getting a B in school. Dozens of kids kill themselves each year over such small crises, and it’s a particular risk in cultures like India where they take academic achievement very seriously.

So I wrote back immediately. I told Vijay I was sorry to hear how awful he felt. And then, knowing how alone he must feel, I told him my own story.

This was the most powerful moment of my entire life, and it happened when I was at the lowest point of my life. It changed everything, because I was totally honest and true to my deepest feelings of fear and shame. So I told Vijay to do the same thing.

SHOW THEM YOUR NECK, AND THEY’LL WANT TO SHOW YOU THEIRS

Like most young people (men in particular), I once believed that earning respect meant never showing weakness—especially to my father. Instead, it meant hiding mistakes and covering fear with bravado. But I learned several things from this profound experience.

One is that people will forgive you and even try to help you if you’re honest about a mistake. Another is that it’s not telling the truth that makes people angry or disappointed in you. It’s all the things you do to avoid telling them the truth.

I learned, too, that it’s much better to reach out for help before you mess up. When you wait until you mess up and then ask for help, others may see it as a way to get out of being punished. Even so, it’s better to reach out after a screw-up than to avoid reaching out at all.

Owning up to your feeling of vulnerability is empowering. It prevents an amygdala hijack that could result in rash decisions and seriously bad life choices. It allows you to exhale, rather than blowing up. Doing the opposite—pretending you’re fine when your world is imploding—can be dangerous or even deadly.

But “assertive vulnerability” isn’t just about blowing off steam; it’s also about reaching people. To see why, let’s get back to mirror neurons—the brain cells I talked about in Chapter 2—which allow us to feel what another person is feeling.

When you’re scared or hurting or humiliated, but you’re still in cover-up mode because you’re afraid of losing another person’s respect, here’s what happens:

   Your own mirror neuron gap widens. You don’t feel understood because you can’t be understood. That’s because nobody has a clue what’s going on with you. You’re on your own, and it’s a self-inflicted wound.

   The person whose respect you’re worried about losing (a parent, a boss, a child, a partner) can’t mirror your distress and understand it. Instead, the person will mirror the attitude you’re using to mask your distress. If you’re using anger to cover up fear, you’ll get anger in return. If you’re using a “screw you” attitude to hide your feelings of helplessness, you’ll get back “fine—screw you too.”

When you bare your neck, however—when you find the courage to say “I’m afraid” or “I’m lonely” or “I don’t know how to get through this”—the other person will immediately mirror your true feelings. It’s biology; he or she can’t help it. The person will know how bad you feel, and even feel the same pain. As a result the individual will want your pain (which is now, to some degree, his or her own pain) to stop. That leads to a desire to help … and a desire to help leads to a solution.

Interestingly, this is true even if you bare your vulnerability to people who don’t like you very much. One of the jobs I’m asked to do most often is to handle jerks: corporate leaders who have tremendous skills but also glaring failings. Usually these people are rude, arrogant asses who cause good people to leave in droves and create such a toxic environment that nobody can function. They spend months or years tormenting their staff—making people feel small, weak, scared, unimportant, degraded, or humiliated—and when I come on the scene, these people are usually hoping for only one thing: revenge.

But then a remarkable thing happens. Once I make problem execs face their failings and tell them that their futures depend on fixing the problem, they agree and ask, “How?” And my first piece of advice is: Bare your neck. Tell the people you work with that you know you’ve been an ass. Tell them you’ll do your best to reform. Lay it all on the table, and hope that they’ll feel empathy.

And amazingly, most people do. In spite of everything the person put them through, they forgive. They even actively root for the reformed jerk. As a result, most of these ex-jerks get a second chance, and some even become good friends with the people they previously hurt.

Exposing your vulnerabilities can also create instant bonds strong enough to turn total strangers into friends. My partner Keith Ferrazzi uses the bare-your-neck approach at training sessions to get people to let down their guard and—as he puts it—”share the stuff that makes them human.” He says,

“I’ve heard so many touching stories recently from people who had the courage to try it. For instance, one young man had been on his sales job for six months but he wasn’t making his quota. As a result, his compensation dipped significantly. It dipped so much, in fact, that he had to sell his house and move his wife and two kids into a much smaller apartment. Another young guy said he has an autistic child whom he loves more than anything. He told us about the constant challenge of knowing that every hour he spends playing with that child, he’s contributing to the child’s development and keeping him from drifting away to the dark side. But he’s always torn between how much time he has for that and having to work to pay the bills.

“That’s some rough stuff they’re going through. And many people would be too afraid to share those stories. But when you have the guts to share your vulnerabilities, two things happen. Inevitably, it turns out that your conversation partners have very similar vulnerabilities or problems in their lives. Secondly, they’re so empathetic with you that they immediately want to help. They offer contacts or advice or just a pair of sympathetic ears. And instantly, you will have developed a more intimate relationship with your new friend, perhaps even more intimate than ones you have with some old friends.”

You’re even more likely to find support and empathy if you’re baring your neck to someone who already cares deeply about you. Moms and dads in particular are biologically wired to care about you—no matter how brusque or demanding they may usually act. Reveal your wounds to them, and odds are they won’t pour salt in them. Instead, they’ll nearly always help you find a way to heal them.

All of which brings me back to Vijay. After reading my note, he went to his father and told the man about his fears of failing and disappointing the family. And—to his surprise—his father didn’t melt down or say, “I’m disappointed in you.” He didn’t criticize. He didn’t do any of the things Vijay feared. Instead, he understood. And he bared his own neck, by explaining that he knew he was sometimes impatient and that his own flaws got in the way of listening to Vijay. Together, they talked things out and came up with solutions. Vijay’s dad would be less impatient. Vijay, for his part, would stop blowing his father’s upsets out of proportion. And no matter how Vijay’s exams turned out, they would both be fine.

After their talk, Vijay e-mailed me to say, I didn’t know that it was okay to be afraid. I was scared that my dad or anyone wouldn’t accept me if I made a mistake. Instead, he learned what we all find out at some point: Simply saying “I screwed up” or “I’m afraid” is often the wisest move to make when you need to reach another person.

In other words, assertive vulnerability isn’t weakness—it’s power.

  Usable Insight

When you’re cornered and everything inside you makes you feel like baring your teeth, reach deeper into yourself, feel your fear, and bare your neck instead.

  Action Step

The next time you’re afraid or in distress, don’t pretend that you’re not. Instead, identify the people you’re trying to hide your emotions from—and then tell them the truth.

The next time you suspect that someone else is afraid or in distress, encourage the person to tell you about it. Then let the person know you respect him or her for having the guts to say “I’m scared” or “I made a mistake.”