This article is written by Cordie Gwilym, social work manager at Salford Council, England

In social work, we often talk about the people we serve in terms of vulnerability. And vulnerability takes courage - so can this help us see and serve communities differently?

Have you ever felt failure? When you flick through pictures of beautiful, wholesome families on Facebook, of everyone you have ever known or met, while you are hiding from your own children in the bathroom.

Have you ever felt shame? When your boss publicly dismisses your suggestion to consider stakeholders’ feelings about a project you are working on, making you feel ridiculously small and soft.

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Have you ever felt despair? When you stood in front of someone who chose to not see you, or refused to see you, because you did not fit into their concept of what a person worth seeing looks, sounds or acts like.

Anyone who grew up in the Western world will know that feeling vulnerable is deeply associated with being ‘weak’ or acting in ‘weak’ ways. Dr. Brene Brown taught me and millions of other people that vulnerability is uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure. In her book ‘Daring Greatly’, she describes vulnerability as “that unstable feeling we get when we step out of our comfort zone or do something that forces us to loosen control.”

As Social Work Leader, I currently manage service delivery at Salford Council, in the UK. I often hear the word vulnerability in conversations about the people I serve. We talk about “vulnerable people”. “Vulnerable children and families”. “Vulnerable adults”.

In Brene Brown’s logic, these groups must be oozing power. These are people who have the courage to expose their humility to strangers — to social workers like me. They share some of their deepest vulnerabilities by asking for support when it really matters.

What if we see vulnerability as power? Having worked as a social worker for 12 years, and as a human being who had adverse childhood experiences, I wasn’t taught to associate vulnerability with power or leadership.

In my experience, vulnerable children and families are perceived as anything but powerful. Socially, they are segregated from others by the architecture of our cities, by the structure of our education systems and through limited access to creative opportunities. In economic terms, we see them as a costly enigma that’s impossible to resolve. And in politics, people’s individual stories are minimised or exaggerated for emotional effect, and used to reinforce conservative notions of success.

Martin Luther King Jr. can help us understand power better. He described it beautifully in his 1967 book as “the ability to achieve purpose...the strength required to bring about social, political and economic change.”

When I see vulnerable children and families, I see courageous people with exceptional amounts of power. I see individuals with the capability to seek and fulfil their own purpose.

So what if vulnerable children and families on the deprived social housing estate near you were clear about their purpose? If they were led with earth-shattering humility and strong values? As Dr. Susan David suggests in her book ‘Emotional agility’, what if they were encouraged to “walk their why”: to make everyday choices infused by their values?

I have seen vulnerable people show purpose. A mum called to give me feedback one afternoon. She explained how she feels social work systems don’t see her for who she is.

“My mother was a drug user, and my sister and I went into care”, she told me. “I have worked so hard to give my children a better life, and all the social workers talk about is when things go wrong. No-one sees how far I have come. I am very proud of what I have achieved and don't need your recognition, but your social workers are only interested in when things go wrong.”

A 21-year-old stood up to a group of professionals in a meeting. She’d been asked to find a particular type of nursery place for her young nephew within 3 months: a nephew whom she’d just started to foster alongside her own two children.

She didn’t hold back: “I am doing my best, looking after three children under the age of three whilst grieving for my sister, who is going AWOL and throwing her life away. I will do what needs to be done but your regulations are not on my priority list.”

I believe being vulnerable, awkward, brave and kind empowers us to become daring leaders for change. Powerful leaders with global impact — Barack Obama, Angela Merkel, Jacinda Ardern — choose language that is kind, caring and soft.

In social work practice, love, vulnerability and heartfulness are considered ‘feminine’ concepts. They’re kept far apart from power and leadership. These remain rooted in ‘masculine’ ways of being, where telling people what to do and getting stuff done are most important. Rarely have I seen senior leaders listen deeply to how children and families feel about the services they receive. Rarely have I heard senior leaders admit that they don’t know how to respond to the changing, multi-faceted needs of local communities, and consult social workers on how to get it right. Never have I witnessed senior leaders use their power to challenge oppressive bureaucratic systems that are defensive and harsh, and hinder social workers who want to invest time in developing caring relationships with families.

Dr. King was not finished. He continued to teach and wrote “power without love is reckless and abusive.”

Indeed, powerful leaders who are remembered for creating wellbeing, making whole and leading lasting change, are all sharing a certain courage. The courage of being vulnerable, showing humility and caring with candour.

So let’s close the loop. Vulnerability takes courage and creates power. Power is rooted in a vision to achieve purpose. Purpose gives us the strength to ‘walk our why’, acting in a way that’s infused by our values. Yet, power without love is reckless.

Here’s what that means for me, a social work leader. When I see vulnerable children and families, I see courageous people with exceptional amounts of power. I see individuals with the capability to seek and fulfil their own purpose. These are people who can organise, plan, strategise and mobilise with whatever resources are available to them to achieve their vision. They are people I will walk with and support with love, vulnerability and heartfulness, ready to be stunned by the power that’s unleashed. — Cordie Gwilym

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