Letting Each Other In: Vulnerability And Relationships

Most of us long for closeness with our partner—an intimacy that goes beyond shared routines and surface conversation. We want to feel seen, understood, and accepted. And yet, when the moment calls for real vulnerability, something inside may hesitate. We pull back. We protect. We become careful.

From a psychodynamic perspective, this hesitation isn't simply a matter of choice, fear, or communication style. It reflects the deeper architecture of the mind—shaped by early relational experiences and maintained through unconscious defenses and conflicts, internalized relational templates, and early wishes and longings that still live within us.

Why vulnerability feels risky

Vulnerability in a relationship means allowing ourselves to be known in our raw, unguarded state. It’s showing the feelings we’re not proud of—our fears, our neediness, our jealousy, our longing. It’s asking for reassurance not to control the other, but because we’re truly afraid. It’s saying, “I missed you,” or “That hurt,” or “I’m scared you’ll leave”—even when our voice shakes.

Many people don’t withhold vulnerability out of stubbornness or pride. They do so because, somewhere along the way, they learned it wasn’t safe or welcomed. Our earlier relationships—especially with primary caregivers—are not just remembered; they are internalized and relived through our life. The emotional tone of those early bonds forms enduring psychic structures: internal “objects” that represent self and other. These internal objects are not literal memories but affective patterns—ways of feeling, anticipating, and relating.

If our earliest caregivers responded to our emotional needs with rejection, indifference, or punishment, we may have unconsciously concluded that being open leads to pain, isolation, or suffering. When care was inconsistent, intrusive, or emotionally unavailable, we may internalize conflicting representations: a longed-for other who disappoints, or a punitive figure who judges us for needing too much. Over time, we build protective strategies and defense mechanisms, often unconsciously, that allow us to manage the unbearable.

These unconscious operations of the mind that shield us from feelings we once could not afford to feel. Defenses like intellectualization, denial, avoidance, sarcasm, minimization of our needs, chronic self-sufficiency, criticism, or attempts to control the other help maintain stability in our internal world and in our sense of self. But while they once protected us, or at least we hoped they did, they now limit our capacity to connect. They mute the very feelings that could bring us closer to another person.

Underneath these defensive structures lie a complex array of unconscious conflicts based on our own experiences. We want love but are afraid of dependence. We long to be understood but fear being exposed. We seek comfort but associate it with engulfment or loss of autonomy. These conflicts are usually expressions of unacknowledged anxieties and ambivalent wishes: “I want you close, but I’m afraid you’ll hurt me.” “I need you, but I fear losing myself.”

This defensive structure can be hard to see from the inside. We may tell ourselves we’re “just private,” or that “nothing’s wrong,” while our partner senses a wall. We may appear calm but feel emotionally numb, or we may erupt in anger when tenderness would have served us better. The point is not to pathologize these defenses—they are there for a reason—but to bring them into awareness, so we can begin to untangle them. This process not only requires a capacity for self-awareness and willingness to question long-standing certainties, but a recognition of the pain, anxiety, fear, mourning, or sorrow we have worked so hard, even if unconsciously, to guard off.

The paradox of intimacy

There is a painful paradox at the heart of intimacy: the very thing we crave—being deeply known—requires us to risk the thing we fear most—being hurt, rejected, or shamed. When we risk sharing something tender, we open ourselves to the possibility of being seen and held—but also to the possibility of reenacting old wounds. If our partner is responsive, it can be deeply reparative. If not, the impact often reaches deeper than we know, tapping into much older hurts. Vulnerability is the bridge connecting our fears and our longings, but most of us approach it with trepidation. Some of us cross halfway and retreat. Others build elaborate detours.

The intensity of this fear often stems from the past. Our early experiences of being held or dropped—both emotionally and literally—become internal templates that shape our expectations of closeness. If vulnerability once led to injury, our psyche may organize itself around avoiding that injury again, often without our conscious awareness.

This is why vulnerability is not simply a skill to learn, a barrier to overcome, or a behavior to practice, but a complex relational process that often times involves a psychic reorganization of outdated internal maps. It requires a new kind of internal safety—one that often cannot be cultivated alone. If the wounds that made vulnerability and intimacy difficult were created in old relationships, these wounds can only heal in new ones.

In emotionally attuned relationships, vulnerability is not a one-time act but an ongoing process. It grows slowly, through moments of shared truth and mutual presence. You say something that feels risky—and the other meets you with warmth. That moment gets internalized. It begins to update your internal expectations about what is possible in connection.

Of course, vulnerability must be earned. Not every relationship is a safe container for our tenderest parts. But over time, with support and reflection, we can begin to recognize when we are operating from old fears—and make space for something new. Vulnerability becomes less like a threat and more like a gesture of care.

How relationship therapy can help

Whether in individual or couples work, relationship therapy offers a space to examine the deeper forces shaping how we love and protect ourselves. This works goes beyond developing new skills or behaviors, but involves a deep and honest look at ourselves and the ways in which our relationships are entangled with conflicts, fears, and anxieties that complicate our desire for closeness. Over time, therapy can reshape our internal relational maps and narratives, creating space for new ways of relating to ourselves and others.

This internal change often has ripple effects in our external relationships. As we become more aware of our defenses, we also become more able to choose when and how to lower them. We might share a fear with a partner instead of acting it out. We might express a need instead of concealing it. We might risk being seen.

If you find yourself struggling to be open with your partner—or feeling confused about why certain emotional risks feel intolerable—psychodynamic therapy can help you understand the story underneath. Please feel free to reach out to any of our therapists to address relational challenges. In time, and with care, vulnerability can stop feeling like a threat and begin to feel like an offering: a bridge between your inner world and someone else’s.

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Photo credit: Negar Nikkhah