Why We Hide the Things That Matter Most
I once spent twenty minutes talking to a coworker about the brand of almond milk he swears by. We stood there, casually debating oat vs. almond, frothing quality, the whole deal. No hesitation. No fear of judgment. Just two grown adults, passionately defending plant-based milk.
And yet, when it came to what I was actually feeling that week? The shame I was carrying? The deeper truth I was wrestling with about my marriage, my sexuality, my desire? That stayed locked up tight.
Funny how that works.
We’ll share our grocery preferences. Our Spotify Wrapped. Even our weird childhood fears if the moment’s right. But the things that actually shape us, the things that live closest to our bones, we keep quiet. Not because they’re wrong or shameful, but because they matter. Because they’re tender. Because they feel like they could be used against us.
So we hide.
But that brings us to a question that’s worth sitting with:
What do we protect by hiding, and what do we lose?
In the short term, secrecy can feel safe. It keeps the surface smooth. We don’t have to explain ourselves or risk being misunderstood. We don’t have to defend desires that still feel fragile, or admit to wants we haven’t even fully accepted.
But over time? Hiding starts to erode connection.
Not just with others, but with ourselves.
It creates distance. We second-guess. We shrink. We tell partial truths and then wonder why we feel alone.
And here's where it gets personal. The parts of me I’ve kept most hidden have also been the ones most in need of light. My erotic truth. My real needs. The version of me that doesn’t fit neatly into what people expect. Those weren’t just secrets. They were entire pieces of myself that I put on mute, until I couldn’t anymore.
The truth is, protecting yourself and being yourself can be at odds.
Vulnerability asks you to take a risk. To be seen. To bring something honest into the room and not know how it’ll land. That can feel terrifying.
But also? That’s where the real connection lives.
So let me ask you:
What’s something real you haven’t shared, not because it’s bad, but because it’s tender?
What part of yourself has been waiting for permission to speak?
What would it feel like to be known, not just liked, but known, for who you really are?
We’re all trying to find that line: between safety and honesty, between privacy and connection. There’s no one-size-fits-all answer. But we can’t grow what we don’t name. And we can’t feel fully connected while holding back the parts of us that matter most.
Your truth is not too much. Your desire is not a liability.
And being seen, really seen, might be the bravest thing you do.