As you know, Wirth’s mission is to champion radical self-worth through our quality hats, funded therapy, and shared stories. With the release of our latest capsule collection, Radical Vulnerability, we wanted to shine a light on how members of our community resonate with what it means to be radically vulnerable.
Story One
On October 19th 2017, I found out my mom’s drug of choice during my childhood. In some ways I thought that this information would set something free inside of me, that finally seeing the root of her substance struggles would heal me and the trauma that substance brought. But it didn’t.
In truth, it didn’t change anything that I was hurting from. It became what was just another piece of information I would keep to myself, something I would harbour deep in my soul . That is what I did with most of my pain; I kept what I went through to myself because why would I share, what value would I get from airing my trauma to the world, other than pity?
As years passed I became more and more closed off about what I was feeling, how I was struggling. I spoke to people rarely, and started to cut many people out in my life in fear of what I was feeling. Anything I did share was in humour, in a twisted way to feel some joy through laughter, at the expense of myself. In 2019 I was at the lowest I had ever been. Most of my days I spent thinking about how much relief I would feel if life stopped, if I could just take a break from it all. During this time no one knew I was feeling this way, no one knew I wanted to end my life.
I realised if I was gonna be able to save myself, if I was going to work towards leaving the place I was in, a fundamental change in the way I lived was going to have to happen, and I was going to have to share what I was truly feeling and going through to see the next day. In that moment I finally reached out to a therapist, which led me to crying in front of someone about how much I was hurting for the first time. If I never made that step to make a radical change in my life, to finally allow myself to be vulnerable with someone, I might not be here today. I only wish I did it sooner, so I could have started to learn to love myself just that much earlier. Be Radical. Be Vulnerable.
-Lucas
Story Two
It was June 2020 and I had just celebrated my 27th birthday, and for a brief moment, it felt like things were finally falling into place. In the middle of a global pandemic, the bar for "things going well" wasn’t exactly high. But I was dating someone, and I’d landed a job after months of searching. Life was far from perfect, but there was hope.
And then, in the span of three days, it all unravelled. First came the breakup, then, almost before I could catch my breath, I was laid off. Within 72 hours, everything I’d clung to was gone. Suddenly, I was single, unemployed, and at home living with my parents. Oh, and let’s not forget the ever-present undercurrent of anxiety about COVID. I’ve faced struggles before, but this time felt different. Heavier. Like I was carrying a boulder that wouldn’t budge. I felt trapped—not just by my circumstances but by my own pride. I didn’t want to burden my parents with how low I was feeling. But the truth was, I wasn’t okay. And no amount of pretending could change that.
One evening, I couldn’t keep it in anymore. I finally told my parents I was struggling. My voice shook, my chest felt tight, and I braced myself for…I don’t even know what. Disappointment? Pity? Instead, I was met with open arms and understanding.
They didn’t tell me to cheer up. They just listened and thanked me for telling them. When I said I wanted to try therapy, they supported me. Within days, I had my first session.Opening up was terrifying, but the relief was undeniable. I wasn’t magically better, but it gave me a safe space to unravel and begin piecing myself back together.
Over the summer, as I attended session after session, I slowly started feeling like myself again. Stronger. Lighter. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I was carrying that boulder alone. Looking back, I realize that opening up—being radically vulnerable—was the best gift I could’ve given myself. It taught me that it’s okay not to be okay. That asking for help isn’t a sign of weakness, but a courageous act of self-preservation.
-Megan
Story Three
To me the word radical easily transports my thoughts to grand acts of boldness or change. The turning of current thoughts, values and beliefs upside down by a progressive or extreme new narrative. But although this seems radical to me is it radical vulnerability?
I found my admiration and affection leaning towards the subtle, those daily small acts that through themselves create the fertile soil that allows opportunity to grow into real change in myself and hopefully others.
My radical vulnerability can come when I am out for a beverage with a colleague and I share an embarrassing failure. Or times when I become unravelled and anxiety strips me of the confidence to ask for help. These are the moments that I have spent a lifetime running from as if they were the devil themselves. It does not get more vulnerable for me than introducing someone to a skeleton that I have forced to live in exile in fear its existence would make me unloveable or not even likeable. But the secret I am learning is the more I am willing to share the things that keep me prisoner the more strength I gain to push the door open and walk from the small cage I have believed is my only sanctuary. And for the record, the key word here is “learning” and that might even be a stretch for where I currently am.
Even as I write this I know my radical vulnerability is something I manage with great diligence. Who I will remove my mask for and who I will not. The interview process for who gets to see the real me is a bit of a game of cat and mouse. To stay in character or not often comes down to spur of the moment decision where I literally hold my breath and jump. And often there are times when in that moment doubt grabs my hands and tries to pull me back. When my fingers are literally gripping the cliff of regret as gravity tugs at my feet, determined to pull me down into the abyss of shame.
So this post, just simple words from a guy who is still trying to figure his shit out is for me…Radical Vulnerability. And when you finish reading these final words you will just move on with your day and probably not even give it a second thought. But not me, nope, I will sit in regret for probably hours or maybe even days, wonder why the hell did I agree to write this stupid post…oh right…radical vulnerability.
-Stephen
