Cracked Open: Vulnerability, the JMT, and a Little Bit of Courage

This is the companion post to Episode 1 of the podcast. If you haven't listened yet, head there first — then come back here for everything I was still thinking about after we stopped recording and in my listen back.

I am inherently a private person with most people. But like many of us, I have a vast inner world. The difference is that, for me, that inner world doesn’t always make it outside—sometimes because I don’t want to share, sometimes because I don’t feel like I can, and sometimes because I don’t quite know how to translate it into words.

So when I sat down to record the first episode of this podcast, I was Nervous—with a capital N.

I knew I wanted to show up genuinely. I knew I wanted to share some of that inner world, because it reflected the depth of the experience we had. And I knew I wanted to be honest. But honesty comes with vulnerability, and that felt scary—even with someone I trust (and have trusted) with my life.

I could easily spend this entire post waxing poetic about vulnerability—what it feels like, what it asks of us, how it shows up. I won’t do that here. Just know that it’s the thread running through all of this.

When we first sat down to record, the tech didn’t work right away. And honestly, that helped—my nerves had a little time to settle. But once we started, I remember feeling…clunky. Nikki and I have had countless conversations over the years that just flow. We could talk for hours without trying. But listening back to the rough cut, I can hear myself thinking about how I sound, what words I’m choosing, how I’m presenting my narrative. I can feel how careful I’m being.

The first time I listened, my reaction was, “Oh, we’re kind of cute.” It was fun. The second time, I noticed I say “I agree” a lot. And I had a brief existential spiral—are people going to think I just agree with everything? (I don’t.) But in that episode, Nikki was saying a lot of things I agreed with. That’s just how that cookie crumbled. And just like that, within a couple of hours, my old friend, perfectionism, showed up and made herself very comfortable. I called Nikki and told her, half-laughing/half-concerned. She basically said, “We can cut some of those.” This was a relief and it sent perfectionism packing (bye girl). 

We chose to start with how we met, and I think that mattered more than we realized. It brought us back to graduate school—a time that was hard for both of us—and it opened the door to vulnerability early. It was a gentle entry point, a testing of the waters. And I don’t think we would have had the same experience recording this podcast if we hadn’t started there.

Because eventually, we really did go there. I went there.

Maybe not fully in the first episode. But as we moved deeper into the story of the JMT, I let more of that inner world come through. And I’m so glad I did. Retelling the story chronologically—with Nikki, with our old journals, stepping back into that time capsule nine years later, sitting in that feedback loop together—became one of the most vulnerable and affirming experiences of my life. 

And something has shifted since we recorded this podcast in February 2026. 

More of my inner world is making it to the surface—my thoughts, my rawer emotions. I feel less inclined to filter, less inclined to control. Something about this process cracked me open, in the best way.

And yes, it feels vulnerable to share that openly. But it also feels exciting. Because I hope someone out there—someone who is neurodivergent, chronically ill, maybe living at the intersections of other identities I hold—hears this and recognizes a pieces of themselves in me as I crack open. And maybe feel a little affirmed themselves too.

This podcast became more than just a way to tell my story, it changed my relationship with my own voice.