Stop Hiding. We Want to See You. Yes, You.
I heard something fairly regularly that makes me think. People often say, “Thank you for sharing so much of yourself with us.” It’s lovely to hear — it really is — but it always surprises me that to them, it seems unusual.
I mean… how are we supposed to connect, and to build close, loving relationships, if we keep ourselves closed off? As I say in my blog, my books, and pretty much anywhere I’m allowed a microphone: we’re all in this together. So why not open the windows and share the breeze?
And what experience am I talking about? All of it. Life in its messy glory — the pangs and the belly laughs and the long stretch of ordinary in between.
If we’re truly sharing, we let people see our pain and our joy, our fears and our wins, our shaky beginnings and our proud finales. If we’re not willing to do that… what’s the point of being here? It’s like being a gorgeous flower that never blooms; no one sees your colours — including you.
When you hide who you are, you’re not just shutting others out; you’re also locking yourself in. That “I’m very private” wall can quietly restrict the flow of energy, ideas, and conversations that let two souls actually meet. Think of it like water: a pond with no inlet goes stagnant and murky. Your spirit does the same when there’s no exchange.
Personally, I’d rather be a sparkling pool with fresh water moving through — changed and replenished by new experiences.
Why we close (and what it costs)
Most of the time, the reason is fear.
Fear of not being liked if people see the real you.
Fear of rejection or judgment.
Fear your tenderness will be mishandled.
Fear that if you stop performing, you’ll disappear.
I get it. But here’s the twist: by shutting down to avoid rejection, you end up rejecting yourself first. You miss the intimacy, joy, adventure, and belonging you were trying to protect. You sidestep pain — and also the good stuff.
So why do we keep playing hide-and-seek? We peek from behind the curtain, longing to join the laughter outside, while hoping not to be seen. And if you do step out and some people don’t clap? So what. There are plenty who will love you exactly as you are.
We often say “countries go to war,” but it’s people who decide it — people guarding secrets, hiding vulnerabilities, presenting a hard front. We don’t have to live like that in everyday life, suited up in emotional armour at the café and the grocery store. When we do, we live scared and lonely, mistaking safety for isolation.
Your uniqueness is not a risk to manage; it’s a gift to share. Your spirit is delightful — meant to be seen, not trapped in bubble wrap.
A quick word about boundaries (because: important)
Openness isn’t a confessional flood or handing strangers your diary. There’s a difference between privacy (healthy, chosen) and secrecy (fear-based, isolating). Boundaries are the frame that let the painting be seen clearly.
Try this simple map:
Inner circle: earned trust. They get your soft underbelly.
Middle circle: friendly and real; you share honestly, not everything.
Outer circle: kindness, presence, and appropriate edges.
Opening up doesn’t mean dissolving the circles. It means letting your true colours show in age-appropriate amounts to each one.
Gentle ways to open (without a vulnerability hangover)
Share one “real” thing a day. Not your tax return — just something true: “I’ve been anxious this week,” or “I’m proud I finished that thing.”
Name your needs. “I’d love a hug.” “Can we do a quiet night in?” “I don’t have capacity for that.”
Swap small talk for small truth. Ask, “What’s lighting you up lately?” or “What’s one thing you’re looking forward to?”
Let people help. Say yes to the soup, the lift, the listening ear. Receiving is intimacy, too.
Show your drafts. Share the messy middle, not just the ta-da moment.
Celebrate out loud. When a friend wins, beam like you helped invent confetti. Joy multiplies when shared.
Use “and,” not “but.” “Today was hard and I’m grateful for the sunset.” That tiny word makes space for the whole picture.
Will it feel awkward at first? Probably. That’s just the toll you pay crossing the bridge from performing to being. Awkward passes. Connection stays.
If you needed a metaphor (I always do)
Live like you’re at war, and you’ll get the spoils of war: suspicion, distance, coldness. Become the stagnant pond: still, sealed, safe — and slowly clouding over.
Or be the blooming flower. Risk the sun. Let your colours be seen — first by you.
Or be the clear pool. Let life flow through. Fresh water in, fresh water out.
You don’t have to fling your heart wide in every direction. Just open the window a crack. Let some air in. Let some laughter out.
But what if they don’t like me?
Some won’t. That’s not a prophecy; it’s math. You are not for everyone — and everyone is not for you. The sooner we make peace with that, the freer we become.
What openness will do is help your people find you faster — the ones who exhale when you walk in, who say “me too” when you speak, who handle your tenderness like it’s precious (because it is).
What we discover when we share
Only through sharing do we fully discover ourselves. You can’t know your voice if you never use it. You can’t test your courage if you never step out. You can’t feel belonging if the room never gets to meet you.
Remaining closed keeps others from knowing you — and keeps you from truly knowing you. The feedback loop of connection is how we refine our edges and find our centre.
A small challenge (and an invitation)
This week, try one tiny experiment in openness:
Tell someone a true thing you usually tuck away.
Ask for something you usually deny yourself.
Celebrate a small win out loud.
Offer a piece of encouragement you’re thinking anyway.
See how your body feels afterward. Notice if the water in your inner pond looks a little clearer.
You can live as though you’re at war — braced, guarded, lonely.
Or you can respect the beautiful gift that is you and share it.
Let us enjoy the incredible person you are. Let you enjoy the incredible person you are.
After all, isn’t that the whole point of being here?