The pool was quiet, the water still, and for a moment, I felt like I could finally breathe.
A few mornings ago, I found myself standing at the edge of the pool in my neighborhood — the only indoor pool in the area. It’s often crowded, which is why I got there forty minutes early, hoping for a little peace and space to swim.
That morning, I wasn’t just there for a workout. I was there because I needed to move through some anxiety that had been sitting heavy in my chest. I just wanted to breathe — to find rhythm again.
When I arrived, I noticed there was an open lane. The masters’ swim class was still going on, but the coach said it was okay for me to swim this one time. I felt relieved and grateful. I slipped into the water, feeling that first rush of ease as the cool water wrapped around me and my body found its flow.
About forty minutes later, after the masters finished, the pool area filled up quickly. Lines began to form. I stayed in my lane, quietly swimming laps, trying to hold on to the sense of calm I’d found.
Then, a woman dressed in business clothes appeared at the edge of the pool. She bent down, grabbed my hand at the side of the lane, and said sharply,
“You need to get out of the pool now.”
I froze. People were watching. My first reaction wasn’t calm or curious — it was defensive. I could feel heat rising up my neck.
“I’m not done with my swim yet,” I said.
She frowned. “It’s recommended that swimmers get out after forty-five minutes if others are waiting.”
“Well, I’m going to recommend that I keep swimming,” I said, trying to sound strong but really just feeling embarrassed and exposed.
“Oh, I used the wrong language… It’s our policy that if there’s a line of swimmers waiting, you have to get out after 45 minutes,” she said.
Just then, the masters’ coach came over. “You’ve been in here forty-five minutes. I let you in early when you weren’t supposed to be. You need to get out.”
In that moment, I wanted to lash out — to defend, to fight. But I also knew I had no power there. No clout. If I wanted to keep swimming at this facility, I had to comply. So I got out of the pool, fuming, feeling small and unseen.
The Emotional Shift
Later, in therapy, I told the story. My therapist gently asked, “What might it have sounded like if you’d spoken from your truth, instead of your protector?” I paused. Then she offered: “What if you had said, ‘Ma’am, I’m struggling with some health issues right now and really needed to swim. Would you mind if I took five more minutes?’”
Her words stopped me in my tracks. I felt a wave of clarity — and a pang of regret. She was right. I hadn’t spoken from my truth. I’d let my protectors take over — the parts of
me that learned long ago that being vulnerable was dangerous. The ones who say, “Don’t you dare show weakness.”
But the truth is, my defensiveness was just a cover for something tender: I was anxious, I was tired, and I needed to feel okay for a little while.
That’s the art of vulnerability — not about oversharing or surrendering power, but about staying in touch with what’s real, even when it’s uncomfortable. It’s the courage to let the truth speak before the armor does.
Why Vulnerability Is So Hard
Most of us weren’t taught how to be vulnerable safely. Somewhere along the way, we learned that if we showed too much of ourselves — our fear, our uncertainty, our need — it would be used against us. So we protect.
In families, it can look like silence or sarcasm.
In workplaces, it looks like pretending we have everything handled — even when we’re quietly drowning.
We armor up with control, logic, or perfection, believing that strength means never letting them see you sweat. But the irony is that this kind of strength creates distance. It costs us connection, creativity, and collaboration.
Why Vulnerability Matters — Especially in Leadership
When leaders hide behind certainty and control, they block trust.
When they dare to speak the truth — “I’m concerned about this deadline,” or “I don’t have the answer yet, but I believe we can figure it out together” — they make space for others to contribute.
Several years ago, I had the chance to work with an executive who was failing to reach his sales quota. He was on the verge of losing his job. For the previous decade, he had been incredibly successful in hitting his numbers, but when he became responsible for leading a team of sales professionals, collectively, they couldn’t meet their goals.
It took a few coaching sessions to prepare him for the conversation that would ultimately change everything. But when he finally had it, he said flatly to his team: “I’m failing at leading you, and I need your help. How can we, together, reach our goals?”
From that vulnerable place, something shifted. His team rallied together, offering ideas and solutions. Nine months later, they blew their numbers out of the water.
That’s what real leadership is: not forcing people to work harder, but inviting them to work with you.
Vulnerability doesn’t weaken authority. It deepens it — because it roots authority in honesty and shared purpose, not in fear.
The Call to Action
The next time you feel your protector rising — when your chest tightens, when you want to control or defend — pause.
Ask yourself:
- What’s the truth I’m protecting right now?
- What would it sound like to speak from that truth, instead of from fear?
- What might become possible if I let my humanity lead for just a moment?
You may not always get the response you want. But you’ll walk away knowing you honored yourself — and that’s the foundation of trust, courage, and connection.
Closing the Loop
Would that woman at the pool have made space for my truth? I’ll never know.
But what I do know is this: the next time I find myself standing at the edge of discomfort, I’ll try to let my truth speak first. Because that’s where connection begins — in the courage to be seen.
That’s what I’m practicing.
And it’s what I invite you to practice too.
Not fearless vulnerability —
but honest, boundaried, human truth.
Because that’s where connection, creativity, and real leadership begin.
Looking to deepen the conversation?
Misti Burmeister speaks to leaders and teams about trust, communication, and the human dynamics that shape real performance. Her work helps people notice what’s
happening beneath the surface—so better decisions, stronger relationships, and healthier cultures can emerge.
If you’re exploring a speaker for an upcoming event, workshop, or retreat, Misti would love to connect. Reach out: [email protected]
Here’s To Your Greatness,
Misti Burmeister
Misti Burmeister is a dynamic coach and speaker with an unparalleled ability to unlock potential and inspire transformation. Known for her energy, enthusiasm, and passion, Misti awakens thought patterns and fosters meaningful change in individuals and teams alike. With over 20 years of experience, she is celebrated for improving communication, accountability, and personal responsibility across organizations.
Described as a “world-class archeologist” by Captain Ken Barrett, U.S. Navy, Misti excels at uncovering the hidden treasures within every person she interacts with. Her groundbreaking philosophies on two-way communication and personal responsibility are the foundation for lasting success, empowering organizations to achieve extraordinary results.