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The ache of a vulnerability hangover

Last week, I wanted to crawl into bed and hide under the covers.

There was a tightness clawing across my chest and throat. My mind looping, re-playing every word I’d spoken.

Was I too much?
Did I over-share?
Did I just speak complete and utter nonsense?
What will they think?

Ahhh, the unmistakable ache of a vulnerability hangover.

It had been a while since I’d felt one that strongly. But last week brought it on hard.

The week began with a podcast interview, where I spoke openly about shame, my own stories of it, how it’s lived in my body, and how I’ve danced with it over the years. Then, days later, I gave a live talk about my creative process and the wild, spiralling, soul-deep journey of writing.

Both are topics I’ve shared about before. But this time was different.

I didn’t expect to feel that sickening cocktail of being too much and not enough at the same time.

That’s the thing about vulnerability, it doesn’t always knock when expected. Even when you’re speaking on something familiar, something you’ve processed or taught before, a deeper truth can rise. A new layer can get exposed. Especially if you’ve changed since the last time you shared.

And I have.

Writing my latest book, Embodied Power, has cracked something wide open in me. I’m still integrating. Still tender. Still learning how to hold myself in this new openness. Because this book isn’t just about ideas, it’s about embodiment. It’s about becoming more of yourself. More true. More real. More you.

And that, my friend, is no small thing.

When you speak or share from that place – your realest, truest self – it can feel raw. Even if the words are similar to what you’ve said before, the energy is different. The frequency is higher. The stakes feel greater because you’re not hiding behind old masks.

But here’s what I want to offer you (and myself):
Vulnerability hangovers don’t mean you did anything wrong.
They mean you were brave.
They mean you showed up.
They mean something real happened.

Vulnerability doesn’t get easier. But it does get more familiar. And over time, your capacity to hold yourself in it deepens.

So if you’re feeling the wobble after sharing, whether that’s in your writing, your visibility, your art, your leadership, or even just a conversation that’s asked more of you, here’s a reminder:
You’re not alone.
You’re not too much.
You’re not behind.
You’re expanding.

And expansion doesn’t always feel good. Sometimes it feels like doubt, nausea, shakiness, or wanting to hide. That doesn’t mean stop. It means something in you is stretching into new ground.

So take a breath.
Move your body.
Rest if you need to.
And then keep going.
Your voice is medicine.
Your truth matters.

And your willingness to show up, messy, real, human, is the real revolution in a world obsessed with polish and performance.

With you in the tenderness ❤️

P.S. If you’re navigating your own edges of visibility, truth-telling, or creative expression and it feels wobbly, overwhelming, or like something big is shifting, I have space for 1:1 support. This is the kind of deep, spacious work where we don’t just talk about your next steps we help you embody them. If you’re ready to be held as you expand into more of who you really are (without burning out, hiding, or second-guessing yourself), you can book a call with me here. Let’s explore what’s possible when you stop shrinking and start leading from your truth.