Being vulnerable is the only path to living your truth

The main gate of University College Cork, the university where I learned a few of the biggest lessons of life.

University seems like many lifetimes ago. Time does that. Back then, getting older seemed so exciting. Now, I barely remember my age. We were so focused on moving forward that I rarely looked back. On top of it all, I was pursuing a degree I thought I was interested in, but my heart wasn't in it.

We often do things because we think it's expected of us. It's that sense of "duty" we inherit. Don't express yourself truly and deeply because it's our duty. Do things that don't align with you because of duty. I remember feeling obligated to follow a traditional career path because that was the family expectation. My parents were supportive, but they had their dreams for me too. Instead of following my heart, I pursued a degree in engineering, thinking it was the "right" thing to do.

Following our logical mind in life can be exhausting because it often disconnects us from our true selves. During university, that's what I was doing. Treating life like a strategic chess game, analyzing and overthinking each step.

In the process, I neglected myself. I stopped meditating, something I'd done since I was four. I stopped exercising and practicing yoga. I studied all night, but my grades never improved because I was so sleep-deprived. I worked harder, but not smarter.

I thought this was how life was meant to be lived. "Adulting," we called it. But one evening, I realized this wasn't the way to live. Here’s what happened…

My brother Gurmukh and I, celebrating Rakhi back in 2013.

My brother offered to drive me to my university apartment as he was meeting a friend near University College Cork. I was thrilled because it meant I could bring extra luggage without hauling it on trains and buses.

The drive to Cork was fairly relaxing, but I felt unsettled. I felt unsettled all the time back then. When I reached my apartment, I realized I'd forgotten my keys at home, two hours away.

My mind went blank. My cheeks flushed. My heart pounded so hard I could hear it through my eardrums. I became breathless. I fought back tears, but they won. I choked on my own breath.

My brother saw this and said, "Prem, you're having a panic attack." He realized that all wasn't well with his baby sister as it seemed. "Prem, you need to breathe." He told me to focus on the present. "Focus on where you're sitting. Notice the clouds. Notice the trees. Feel the temperature against your skin. Anchor yourself in safety. You're safe here. You're safe with me."

"You're safe here with me."

"You're safe here in the present moment."

"You're safe."

As he said these words, I began to breathe again. Shakily but surely, I came back into my body. I had a headache as an aftermath of it all.

I tried to do anything except facing my truth, and that included inhaling a footlong sub sandwich.

"Prem, you had a panic attack," he affirmed again. He told me another friend of his just left our hometown and could bring my apartment keys. But that meant I'd need to hang out with him for another two hours. I breathed deeper. We went out for dinner at Subway, and that's where my brother began to gently ask about my lifestyle in university.

At first, I was scared. I was terrified of being vulnerable. I often joke about how I grew up in a Type-A family. Every family dinner was full of questions like, "What are your career plans?" My dad's side of the family was full of doctors, engineers, and scientists. I wanted to become a scientist too, so that I could matter. I wanted to be enough for my family. Suddenly, all this began to pour out in the middle of a busy Subway on a Sunday night.

As it all came pouring out, I noticed I felt lighter. Then came a moment when I had no more words to say. With that, I felt an expansive emptiness, with a sudden realization - I already “matter” to my family. There is nothing to prove. I felt vulnerable. I didn't know if my worries, stress, and fears would invoke understanding or rejection from my brother. But I also didn't care. I suddenly felt brave. Now that my truth was bare, I could be more authentic to myself.

In yoga, we talk about Satya, the practice of truthfulness. It's about aligning our thoughts, words, and actions with our true selves. Being vulnerable is a way of practicing Satya. It's about showing up as our authentic selves, even when it's uncomfortable.

This experience became a foundation for me to start living with my heart first, trusting that being vulnerable will always lead me to the place I am meant to be. Ultimately, this led me back to yoga and became the root of why vulnerability is such a massive part of who I am, why I teach, and how I teach yoga. I didn’t know what the future held for me, but I knew that in the present moment it didn’t matter. I ended up graduating from my microbiology degree with good grades, but my heart told me to keep searching for something more meaningful in life. Little did I know, my openness to being vulnerable and authentic would lead me to finding purpose and meaning in yoga.

Through yoga, I've learned that vulnerability is a strength. It opens us up to deeper connections and a more meaningful life. It's in our most vulnerable moments that we find our true selves and the courage to be authentic.

Brené Brown says, "Vulnerability sounds like truth and feels like courage." And it's true. In that moment in Subway, I realized that being vulnerable wasn't a weakness. It was a superpower. It allowed me to connect deeply with my brother and, more importantly, with myself.

This realization led me through a path where I was met with a lot of closed doors. However, it ultimately brought me to the right place, where my heart felt the most content. This is when I started to teach at Jai Yoga and share this value through our yoga teacher training. At Jai Yoga, we embrace vulnerability as a cornerstone of our practice. We encourage our students to be truthful with themselves and others, to show up authentically, and to find strength in their vulnerability.

Parting Words…

I often wonder, how would the world be different if everyone lived heart first and felt brave enough to be vulnerable? It would result in more of us having honest relationships with ourselves and others. That means no more expectations, stopping taking things personally and being honest with our words. You can start living bravely now by understanding that vulnerability is not a weakness, but a superpower that allows us to live more fully and authentically.