Empower vulnerability with your audience

What does it mean to truly be vulnerable with your audience? For me, it was exposing something shameful on LinkedIn—about my younger brother’s incarceration.

That day, I pushed myself to be more open and honest despite my intense fear. I knew I would be judged by my old colleagues, friends, and professional network. 

I share this story with you because being vulnerable made me feel seen, supported, and connected. And as a writer, that’s all I hope for when I publish something. 

So as you read my story, think about your own vulnerabilities. What can you open up about in your practice? 

LinkedIn is a place to show off, isn’t it?

I had always thought of LinkedIn as a place to share about work stuff and show off wins. In my experience, that’s what I saw most people using it for. When I posted about my brother’s incarceration, it wasn’t something I had planned to do. It just sort of happened, and I was faced with a choice. 

What was that choice? Let me explain…

I had just published my first article with a prison advocacy publication, Prison Journalism Project. The piece was about all of the things I didn’t know about prison, like sending him money for canteen (the prison “store”) so he could buy food and toiletries. I wanted to help families who were dealing with a loved one in prison, but also to let others know what it’s like when a family member is locked up.

I thought my story would only be published on Prison Journalism Project’s website, but realized they shared it on LinkedIn and Instagram too. I found out about it through a notification on LinkedIn because I was tagged as the author.

I shouldn’t have been surprised, as promoting an article on social media is a natural part of the posting process. But yet, I felt a surge of emotions hit me and the panic crept up because I had never publicly shared my brother’s incarceration on social media, especially on LinkedIn.

At that moment, I could’ve done nothing and hoped that my LinkedIn network wouldn’t see it. Or, I could’ve reposted and shared, which would be the normal thing to do, right?

But I didn’t want to share because I wanted to protect my brother. What would people think about him?

Shame and guilt

My relationship with my brother was a parental kind, as I am a decade older. After he went to prison, I felt intense guilt that I could’ve done more to help him when he needed me. 

After my brother’s trial, he was sentenced to 19 years for carjacking—the maximum punishment for that crime. (This year marks his sixth year in prison.) His trial left me and my family completely shocked and broken. I didn’t tell anyone about what happened. 

So it’s not like I woke up one day and thought, I’m going to write about my brother’s imprisonment. Rather, it was a slow process and it took a few years for me to reach. It wasn’t until my first visit to him that I felt this intense need to write about his life and what happened. 

Before the visit to prison, I imagined his daily struggles in prison, trying to avoid fights and getting bullied. Much to my detriment, I watched way too many movies about prison, so I thought the worst. I was terrified of how I’d feel, seeing him in his prison uniform for the first time. I dreaded that day so much.

But after I saw him and realized he was doing okay, I felt lighter. My feelings changed from fear and anxiety to curiosity. On the drive home, I told my mom I wanted to write about that day and everything else that happened.

As a writer, I process the world around me through words. I wanted to try and make sense of what happened, and feel less alone and shameful. I started a Substack called , and later, I started writing a monthly column for Prison Journalism Project.

Let the inner turmoil begin

So, back to that day. There I was at my desk—my laptop opened, staring at the LinkedIn post. On the one hand, my first story was published, and I was thrilled. But on the other, seeing it on LinkedIn made my heart jump. I felt a surge of emotions hit me hard—fear, panic, anxiety. 

I thought about what my brother would think. Would he care that people would know he was incarcerated? The need to protect him from the virtual judgment was strong. 

But then I realized I was more afraid of how people would judge me. I’m supposed to be this experienced writer and marketer who's worked at cool startups in Silicon Valley. Why would I share something so personal?  

I felt ridiculous because I was proud of the story I wrote for PJP and the newsletters I created on Stories About My Brother. I thought about why I started my Substack in the first place. I wanted to create more empathy and understanding. As humans, we all make mistakes. For my brother, those mistakes landed him in prison, but it doesn’t define him. 

I knew there would be naysayers, the ones who would think, why is she writing about this or judge me in all the ways I had feared. But mostly, I hoped my post would resonate with others and feel authentic.

I wrote up a quick summary of my PJP article, explaining my brother’s incarceration and how I felt about it. I included a link to the story and after a very long pause, I posted it. 

Immediately, a voice inside said there was no going back. Your secret is out. But I also felt a release inside me, like a weight had been lifted.

Feeling mentally drained, I closed LinkedIn and didn’t open it again for a few hours. 

When I checked it again, I saw an overwhelming amount of support and kind responses. In the history of everything I’ve shared on LinkedIn. It received the most amount of engagement and generated over 5,000 views in just the first hour. 

I was floored. I wasn’t expecting this level of engagement and kindness. People liked it, reshared it, and in not so many words, said I was a good sister.

Without sounding too corny, I felt a shared sense of humanity. I felt understood and weirdly, loved. I responded to the comments and thanked everyone for their generous and warmhearted words.

Days later, the positive responses continued to pour in.

This LinkedIn moment caused a ripple effect in other areas of my life, and I pushed myself to be more honest—whether it was writing on my Substack, or connecting with others in real life.

Being vulnerable in this way took years of writing about it in my journal and on Substack, and sharing how I felt in small chunks. Today, I openly talk about my brother’s incarceration because I’ve learned to let go of the shame and fear of judgment from others.

I exposed the parts of my life that were imperfect, shocking, and shameful. And people related to it because it was the truth.

Curious to learn what makes you feel vulnerable? Feel free to leave me a comment!

If you like this one, make sure to subscribe to Claire’s Substack, Stories About My Brother.

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