When we let the Walls Down

After I posted my first blog, something kind of weird happened.

Every time someone said they’d read it, I’d smile politely and thank them — but inside? Full panic mode. My stomach dropped. My shoulders tensed like they were auditioning to be my earrings. My brain looped the same anxious thoughts on repeat.

It felt like walking into a room in metaphorical underwear while everyone else was in sweaters and jeans. Not because I regretted what I wrote — I didn’t. But putting it out there, letting people see me, triggered a full-body “abort mission” response.

What are they thinking? Are they judging me? Do I sound like too much? Not enough?

On one level, I felt proud — this was self-acceptance! Growth! But on another? I wanted to delete everything and move to a cave with no Wi-Fi.

So I sat with it. Got curious. Asked myself: What is this? Where is it coming from? At first I thought it was just fear of judgment. But it ran deeper — it was the fear of being known. Fully, awkwardly, deeply known. The soft-bellied, weird-thought-having, overthinking-at-3am version of me. And the fear that if someone really saw that… they might decide I was too much. Or not enough. Or just… not right.

That’s what brought me here.

Because I think this moment — the tension between wanting to be seen and wanting to stay safe — is one we all know. We’re wired for connection. No one’s meant to go through life unseen. And yet, when something really matters to us, we pull back. We soften our truths. Delay our stories. We tell ourselves we’re just being private, but sometimes, we’re just scared. Scared that our honesty might be misunderstood. Or used against us. I get that.

But here’s what I’m learning: when we hold back to protect ourselves, we also keep ourselves from truly connecting. It might feel safer at first — but over time, it can start to feel lonely. Like we’re never really being seen. Like we’re walking through life in a version of ourselves that doesn’t quite fit.

Because real connection — the kind that lets us finally exhale — only happens when we’re actually there. Not just physically, but emotionally, truthfully.

That’s the paradox of vulnerability: it feels risky, but it’s also the doorway. Without it, we skim the surface. We keep others — and ourselves — at a distance. And that distance can quietly turn into disconnection. Not just from others, but from who we really are. When I look back on the moments I’ve felt most alive, they’ve all had one thing in common: I let my actual self be seen. I was vulnerable. Sometimes by choice (choosing to write that first blog and publishing it). Sometimes because life left me no other option. But either way — I was there.

And yeah, I was scared. But I was also free. Vulnerability isn’t polished. It’s a practice. Wobbly. Uneven. Tender. Every time I think about sharing something real, that same voice shows up: What if this is too much? What if I get it wrong?

But something else shows up too.

When I let it happen — when I share what’s real — something shifts. Someone says, “Me too.”

That’s the gold.

I’m not writing this because I’ve mastered it. I’m writing this because I’m in it — maybe like you are. Still learning. Still practicing. Still showing up. And here’s the question that keeps echoing for me:

What if the parts of myself I try hardest to hide… are the ones I most need to face in order to feel whole? I’ve spent so much time managing how I’m seen. Rehearsing. Smoothing. Trying to seem more certain, more together. But I’m starting to wonder…What if the instinct to protect is what’s keeping me disconnected?

Maybe it’s not about being fearless or flawless. Maybe it’s about being honest — even when it shakes you. Maybe the work isn’t to rise above the fear, but to sit beside it. To listen. To understand. And then — gently, intentionally — to stop hiding. Not for anyone else. But for you. So you can feel what it’s like not to abandon yourself.

Maybe the thing you’re most afraid to say… is the exact thing your own heart needs to hear. Because what if vulnerability isn’t about being understood by others — but about being honest with yourself? Maybe being real, even when it’s scary, is the most powerful thing you can offer.

If you’re out there wondering if it’s safe to let yourself be seen — from one vulnerable soul to another:

You’re not alone.

You’re already enough.

You don’t have to wait.

You don’t have to be more polished or more healed.

You just have to be here.

Curious. Soft. Willing.

The world needs your kind of real.

“Staying vulnerable is a risk we have to take if we want to experience connection.”

— Brené Brown

If you have any questions, please feel free to comment below. I invite all comments with an open heart.