The Cost of Being Vulnerable

I’ve always believed in being honest. With myself. With others. I don’t try to act differently for work, for the public, or for what people expect a “leader” to be. I’ve never liked the idea of filtering parts of me to fit into someone else’s version of what’s appropriate.

But that openness—especially in the Indian context—comes at a cost.

Me and my partner have been in therapy for over a year now, trying to navigate the complexities of intimacy in our marriage. It’s been difficult, layered, emotionally charged. And for a long time, this part of my life has felt like a quiet ache I didn’t know how to name out loud.

Not long ago, someone asked me in a conversation: “If a genie granted you a wish today, what would you ask for?”

I said, “Good sex.”

Not to provoke. Not directed at them. Just the honest answer to a raw question. That’s what was weighing on me at the time. But I realized later that being that open, that quickly, with someone I barely knew, was a mistake. They didn’t ask for that vulnerability. They didn’t owe me the space to hold it. That moment has stayed with me. I didn’t mean harm, but I can imagine it may have felt unsafe. And that’s mine to carry.

People—especially those who work for you, or look up to you—can feel caught off guard by this kind of honesty. It blurs lines. And even if your intentions are clear in your mind, the experience on the other side may be entirely different. If they feel discomfort or unease, it’s not their fault for feeling it. It’s my responsibility to acknowledge it.

I’ve been told often: Don’t be vulnerable. It makes people uncomfortable.

I’ve mostly heard this from good people—fellow founders, friends in the impact space—who’ve poured their lives and savings into trying to make the world better. But when I bring my mess to the surface, when I ask real, hard, unresolved questions, it sometimes upsets them. Maybe it confronts something they haven’t resolved in themselves. Maybe they just don’t know how to help. And that’s okay.

Still, I hold onto this belief: the world should be a place where people can be vulnerable and still feel safe.

Where we can talk about things that hurt without being framed.

Where honesty doesn’t always get you punished.

Where emotional truth isn’t seen as weakness or confusion.

I may misstep. I may overshare. I may misread the readiness of a space. But I don’t want to stop being real.

This post is me trying to take responsibility for the things I’ve said that might have caused discomfort—and also trying to stay true to the kind of world I want to help build.

—Mehar