What Do You Mask Your Vulnerability With?

I often find myself wishing we had all grown up in a world where our true selves were nurtured—a place where we were encouraged to show up as we are, to speak our deepest truths, and to feel the full spectrum of our emotions without shame. A world where we learned that it’s okay to cry, to feel, to express the raw edges of our hearts, and to connect with others from that vulnerable place. But for so many of us, that wasn’t the reality we knew.

Instead, we were taught—whether directly or through subtle cues—that showing emotion was risky, that being vulnerable meant being weak. We learned to protect ourselves, to wear masks that hid the parts of us that felt too fragile or too real. We sensed how people responded to us—the warmth when we met their expectations and the distance when we didn’t. And so, we adjusted. We built walls, we put on brave faces, and covered up our wounds with whatever we could find.

I’ve been there too. From an early age, I became a master at hiding my vulnerability, draping it in layers of armor. But here’s what I’ve come to realize: those layers kept me safe, yes, but they also kept me isolated. They prevented me from experiencing the profound connection that only vulnerability can offer. That deep, nourishing connection we all crave? It can’t happen if we’re too busy protecting ourselves to truly show up.

The layers we use to protect ourselves may keep us safe, but they also keep us isolated from the deep, nourishing connections we all crave.

As you read this, I invite you to gently reflect on the ways you might be masking your vulnerability. Here are some of the masks I wore—perhaps you’ll recognize them in yourself too.

A Stoic Exterior

For years, I believed that showing emotion was a sign of weakness. I built an impenetrable exterior, thinking that if I could just keep it all together, I’d be safe. But what a shame it was—for a beautifully emotive person like me to hide behind that façade. It took years to unlearn this belief and to discover that vulnerability is not fragility. It’s strength in its truest form, a strength that comes from embracing the fullness of who we are.

Perfectionism

Perfectionism was my shield. I thought that if I could just be perfect—perfect in my work, perfect in my relationships, perfect in my appearance—no one would ever see the flaws, the insecurities, the tender spots I wanted to hide. I chased that illusion of flawlessness for years, always striving, always exhausting myself. But I eventually learned that perfectionism doesn’t erase vulnerability. It amplifies it. The cracks remain, and they grow deeper the harder we try to cover them.

Humor

In my family, humor was the way we deflected the hard stuff. It’s what kept things light so no one had to look too closely at the weight we were carrying. I became so skilled at laughing off difficult situations, hiding my true feelings behind jokes and smiles, just as my brother and dad did. But humor, while comforting, became a barrier. It took more courage than I thought I had to let people see beyond the laughter—to show them the tender heart underneath.

Over-Achievement

As a child of immigrants, achievement became my way of protecting myself from the vulnerability I felt. I poured myself into success, thinking that if I could just accomplish enough, I’d be safe. I’d feel whole. So I chased success, always reaching for the next milestone. But with each achievement, I found myself more and more disconnected from my true self. The validation from others felt empty because it wasn’t touching the places that really needed it.

Deflecting with Busyness

Oh, the glorification of busyness. For so long, busyness was my way of avoiding my own feelings—of staying too occupied to sit with myself, to confront my vulnerabilities. I wore it like a badge of honor. But busyness only kept me stuck, preventing me from growing, from healing, from being present with the parts of me that longed for attention.

Busyness only kept me stuck, preventing me from healing, from growing, from being present with the parts of myself that needed attention.

Intellectualizing Everything

My intellect became my refuge. I thought if I could just analyze everything, I wouldn’t have to feel it. If I could understand my emotions from a safe, intellectual distance, I wouldn’t need to experience the messy, uncomfortable truth of them. But emotions aren’t meant to be reasoned away. They’re meant to be felt. And no amount of intellectualizing can replace the raw, unfiltered experience of feeling.

We all have our ways of protecting ourselves, and those ways aren’t inherently bad. They’ve served us well at different points in our lives. But when they start to hinder our emotional growth, when they keep us from living fully and connecting deeply, it’s time to reevaluate. Wouldn’t you agree? Vulnerability isn’t a weakness. It’s the essence of our humanity. It’s what allows us to connect, to heal, and to love in ways that are true and lasting.

We all have our ways of protecting ourselves, but when they start to hinder our emotional growth, it’s time to reevaluate them.

So, what do you mask your vulnerability with? And are you ready to gently set those masks aside?

An Invitation

If you find that softening your protective mechanisms feels overwhelming, you don’t have to do it alone. I’m here to support you. Whether through one-on-one therapeutic coaching or in my Heart Share Circles, there’s a space for you to be seen, to be heard, to gently uncover what lies beneath your protective layers, and to rediscover the parts of you that long for healing and connection.

You deserve to experience the fullness of life—raw, beautiful, and real. You deserve to love and be loved without the armor.