About Brené

Dr. Brené Brown is a researcher, writer, and professor. She is a member of the research faculty at the University of Houston Graduate College of Social Work, where she has spent the past ten years studying a concept that she calls Wholeheartedness, posing the question:

How do we cultivate a life defined by authenticity, love and belonging, and a resilient spirit, and what gets in the way?

Brené spent the first seven years of her decade-long research journey studying how the universal experiences of shame and fear affect us, and how practicing courage, compassion, and connection in our everyday lives can change the way we live, love, parent, and work.

Brené has won numerous teaching awards, including the College’s Outstanding Faculty Award. In 2008, she was named Behavioral Health Scholar-in-Residence at the Council on Alcohol and Drugs Houston. Brené’s work has been featured on PBS and the Oprah and Friends Radio Network, and her articles have appeared in Self magazine, Elle magazine, and many national newspapers. She is also a frequent guest on radio shows across the US. Most recently, Houston Women Magazine named her one of "The 50 Most Influential Women of 2009."

Brené is the author of I Thought It Was Just Me (but it isn’t): Telling the Truth About Perfectionism, Inadequacy, and Power (Gotham, 2007) and two forthcoming books, The Gifts of Imperfection: Letting Go of Who We Think We Should Be and Embracing Who We Are (Hazelden, 2010) and Wholehearted: Spiritual Adventures in Falling Apart, Growing Up, and Finding Joy (Hazelden, 2011). She is also the author of Connections, a psychoeducational shame resilience curriculum that is being facilitated across the nation by mental health and addiction professionals.

Brené’s current research focuses on wholeheartedness in families, schools, organizations, and the workplace.

Brené lives in Houston with her husband, Steve, and their two young children, Ellen and Charlie.

For a copy of Dr. Brown's CV or a publicity photo, click here.

A Note from Brené

When I stand back and look at the work I’ve done over the past ten years, I can clearly see that the heart of my work is about the very human need to live with authenticity, love and belonging, and a resilient spirit. I call this WholeHearted living. I have dedicated my career to studying difficult topics like shame, empathy, and vulnerability because I want to know, in my head and in my heart, why we’re all so afraid to let our true selves be seen and known. I want to hear and tell the stories that inspire us to be real, imperfect, and powerful. The core of WholeHearted living is connection.

My passionate and hopeful search to understand WholeHearted living has taken many forms, including a book on my decade-long study on shame, my work on addiction and behavioral health, my parenting research, the personal writing I do on my blog, my shame-resilience curriculum, my teaching at the University of Houston Graduate College of Social Work, the work I do with corporations around topics like authentic leadership and organizational change; and certainly my own spiritual journey.

Last year, an event organizer called me and said, “I’m trying to put your bio statement together for the publicity material and I’m having a really hard time.” She explained, “When I went to your lecture, I was really moved by your stories so I thought I’d describe you as a storyteller. I’m just worried that people may not believe what you’re saying if I describe you that way.” The open-minded part of me was trying to listen and the scared, academic part of me was thinking, “Storyteller? Are you kidding me? What’s next? Magic pixie?”

She continued, “I also thought about describing you as a researcher, but that won’t work either. They’ll believe you, but they’ll also assume that you’re going to be boring and irrelevant.”

I drew a deep breath and exhaled. “Trust me. I understand. It’s the story of my life. Literally.” I thought for a minute then called on my courage and said, “Why don’t you just put researcher and storyteller.” There was dead silence on the other end of the phone. After a few seconds, she forced a diminishing laugh and said, “That’s ridiculous. There’s no such thing as a researcher storyteller.”

I am a researcher and a storyteller. I am an academic and a lover of the intuitive. I am afraid to write and I am a writer. I am an activist and a sucker for good face products. I am a teacher and I am a student. I am seriously focused and I am whimsically creative. My safe place is with my husband and children and the space I most often crave is alone time. I am full of fear and I am full of courage. I trust my head, I'm learning to trust my heart, and I try to live in the soulful place that connects the two.

I know the world looks good when everything is stuffed into neat little boxes, covered in shiny wrapping paper, and tied with big, crisp bows (I like the Pottery Barn holiday spreads as much as the next person). The problem is that, despite our desire to stuff ourselves and the people around us in those convenient compartments, I've never met anyone who really fits in one neat box. We're all more complex than that. Plus, the gifts – joy, gratitude, hope, love, resilience, grace – are inside those boxes. We’ve got to rip off all of that stuff to get inside. Unwrapping, ripping, and untying lots of seemingly mismatched boxes is a big mess. A big, wild, authentic, wonderful mess.

I recently wrote a piece on my blog about my journey to live authentically and soulfully. I received several emails asking me what I meant by living authentically and soulfully. For me, the soulful piece is about living in the spirited space that connects my head and my heart (which is a huge challenge for a head person, like me). Trying to come up with a definition for authenticity forced me to tap deep into my research to find the words that capture what I've learned in my work and reflects what I've actually lived. Here's what I come up with:

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