Fauxnerability, Revisited
How Narcissism Adapts in a Therapeutic Age
Nearly six years ago in When Narcissism Comes to Church, I used a word that felt significant at the time: fauxnerability. I was trying to describe a pattern I was seeing in leaders and pastors, in particular, a performance of vulnerability that created the illusion of depth and curiosity while protecting the self from true exposure.
I’ve revisited that word in my next book Who You’re Becoming. Because now I’m seeing fauxnerability in places I never expected.
When I was a newly ordained minister and licensed therapist in the late 90’s, therapy itself was suspect in my ecclesial orbit. If I invited colleagues to consider counseling or encouraged them toward vulnerability, they looked at me strangely. It was lonely back then, and I longed for the day when we would and could talk more freely, more vulnerably - about ourselves, our stories, and more.
So when the thaw began, I was encouraged.
It was slow at first - a fellow pastor admitting that he was seeing a therapist, a church staff reading Allender’s The Healing Path, a Scazzero book sitting on a friend’s desk - someone I never would have imagined reading emotionally healthy anything.
And then, almost overnight it seemed as if everyone was talking Enneagram - and not about their shadow sides, or the ways in which it was revealing a hidden wound or an unseen impact. People were talking about their attachment styles like it explained everything about them. One friend told me about his therapist. I asked, “What are you digging into?” He said, “He’s more just a guy I run ideas by.”
Things had shifted, alright.
In recent years since the narcissism book was published, I’m hearing more and more stories and seeing more and more examples - of practitioners with lots of certificates and tools who lack presence and compassion, and sometimes harm. There’s a whole industry of personality typing gurus. There are spiritual abuse “experts” who’ve never looked at their own trauma. There are “coaches” who slap “trauma-informed” into a social media bio after reading some pop psychology book.
And now I see new ways of avoiding, references to personality or type or relational dynamics with little movement toward real self-awareness:
“That’s just my 3-ness coming out…just my personality.”
“That’s just how I’m wired.”
“People tell me I’m so vulnerable in my sermons…you’re obviously not listening.”
“I’m direct because I’m an 8.”
“My therapist told me I’m anxiously attached, so you’ll just have to put up with it.”
I’m often saddened by what I see.
The Commodification of Vulnerability
Fauxnerability is showing up in spaces I never expected.
Even in counseling, a vocation that at its best is rooted in humility, presence, and compassion, I see the pull toward branding, expertise, performance, drama, competition, and posturing - therapeutic language projected into the digital egosphere, where the sacred language of attunement and relationship is stripped, packaged, and monetized.
I see counselors a year or two out of school speaking with certainty, the kind of certainty which diminishes among those who’ve been doing it for decades and know disappointment, failure, fatigue, and the character formation that accompanies these things. I see coaches with little training advertising trauma-informed cohorts and expensive courses. I see the meteoric rise of practitioners who’ve mastered the art of the platform-building, but whose presence feels thin, performative, and prosaic.
Fauxnerability is what happens when we learn the language of healing but stop short of the surrender healing requires. Fauxnerability is what happens when we become experts in talking about suffering without having experienced the dark night. Fauxnerabilty is what happens when we disclose to soothe our nervous systems rather than to be truly known. Fauxnerability is what happens when honest words are performative rather than a manifestation of authentic presence.
And we live in a culture that rewards this. Perceived vulnerability builds (apparent) connection quickly. It signals to others, “I’m deep. I’m in tune. I can be trusted.” And in a hyper-therapeutic age, talking about self-awareness or your wounds can function as social capital.
I was invited on a podcast once where, in the minutes before we started, the podcaster said, “We figure you’ll be up for this, but we’re just all gonna go really deep and get really vulnerable in this.”
I’d already sensed a vibe by the aesthetics and set up of the podcast, and politely said, “Actually, I am vulnerable with just a few people in my life…but not on podcasts.”
They were a bit stunned. “But we’ve heard you - you go so deep!” one of them said.
“Sure, I’m open about some things,” I responded, “but vulnerability is sacred…reserved our closest companions.”
They were shocked. But then I realized what I’d signed up for when I said yes to this podcast - the branding of vulnerability for the sake of hits and likes.
I thought about John O’Donohue’s caution of a kind of “neon-consciousness” so prevalent today - everything exposed, too quickly aired. Henri Nouwen echoes this, writing: “There is a false form of honesty that suggests that nothing should remain hidden and that everything should be said, expressed and communicated. This honesty can be very harmful.”
But fauxnerability is also used as a preventive measure, too - as one leader admitted to me after many months of therapeutic work we were doing, “I thought that if I talked about my Enneagram and my therapist, I’d never be accused of being narcissistic and abusive.” But he was…and his harm was profound.
It all signals that we’re living in the era where the practice of presence is now performed and commodified.
What is the Fruit?
When conversations about emotional and spiritual health first began to open up in our churches, many of us hoped for maturity. We longed for leaders who were less defensive, more self-aware, more honest with others and themselves. We wanted depth, not just words. And in many ways, that shift has been monumentally helpful to so many. In particular, I think of the many folks who’ve been able to receive care because it is less stigmatized today.
But somewhere along the way, fluency in the vocabulary of vulnerability began to outpace the actual formation of souls.
So I ask a simpler question than I’ve often asked before: What is the fruit?
Not what is posted or proclaimed, listed in a bio or lauded from a platform.
But, what is the fruit over time?
Are we becoming more patient? More kind? More loving? More faithful? More gentle?
Is he growing more open to feedback, more capable of repairing, and less reactive under stress?
Do the people closest to her experience her as safe, responsive, and accountable?
Are we known across years and seasons of life as someone who exhibit the fruits of the Spirit?
Because while fauxnerability settles for the appearance of maturity, true character is revealed in an increasingly integrated life, consistent life, and faithful life.
And fruit, unlike fauxnerability, is enduring.
This is what I talk about in more depth in this book, coming soon. Please preorder and share with your friends!
Coming October 24, 2026.
So good.
Oh my. You’ve touched on a painful reality that I often experience in my work as well as the church and yet, I haven’t identified what’s actually at play. These words are a breath of fresh air; I’m so very excited about the release of this new book.
As always, grateful for your voice.