When did we stop being vulnerable?

Vulnerability is our first language. Long before we learn to speak, we cry when we’re frightened, reach out when we need comfort, and express distress without hesitation. A baby doesn’t question whether its needs are acceptable; it simply communicates them. There is no shame, no self‑consciousness, no fear of judgment. Just need, expression and connection.

Somewhere along the way, many of us lose that natural openness. We learn to hold back, to toughen up, to keep our inner world hidden. For many people, especially men, this shift becomes so normal that they barely notice it happening. Yet the cost of abandoning vulnerability is profound, and it sits at the heart of much emotional distress.

This article explores how vulnerability becomes suppressed, why shame plays such a powerful role, and how this suppression can contribute to depression and other mental health struggles. It also invites us to reflect on what might become possible if we allow ourselves to reconnect with the parts of us that have been silenced for too long.

The early roots of vulnerability

Human beings are born dependent. Our survival relies on connection, responsiveness, and attunement from others. In infancy and early childhood, vulnerability isn’t optional; it’s how we communicate our needs.

Healthy development depends on:

• being soothed when distressed
• being allowed to express emotion
• receiving comfort without judgement
• feeling safe to depend on others
• having caregivers who respond consistently and warmly

These early experiences teach us that our feelings matter and that reaching out is safe. They form the foundation of emotional regulation, self‑worth, and the ability to form healthy relationships later in life.

But not everyone receives consistent emotional validation. Even those who do eventually encounter social messages that reshape how they relate to their own vulnerability. The world begins to teach us that some emotions are acceptable, while others are inconvenient, embarrassing, or “too much.”

When vulnerability starts to close down

As children grow, they absorb cultural expectations. spoken and unspoken, about what emotions are acceptable. Many people, particularly boys, learn early that certain feelings are unwelcome.

Common messages include:

• “Don’t cry.”
• “Be strong.”
• “Sort yourself out.”
• “No one likes a moaner.”
• “You’re fine, get on with it.”

These messages don’t just discourage emotional expression; they teach children to disconnect from their internal experience. Over time, vulnerability becomes associated with embarrassment, weakness, or failure.

By adolescence, many young people have already learned to:

• hide sadness
• mask fear
• downplay hurt
• avoid asking for help
• pretend they’re coping
• push through rather than reach out

This emotional self‑protection can feel like strength, but it often becomes a barrier to well-being. What starts as a survival strategy becomes a lifelong pattern of emotional isolation.

When I think back to my own upbringing, I remember how hostile things could feel. Crying or showing sadness wasn’t an option, not if you wanted to stay safe. If you let people see you were hurt, someone would use it against you. Weakness wasn’t met with comfort; it was met with intimidation or ridicule.

Particularly as a boy, you were respected more for standing your ground and losing than you were for running home in tears. Adults would shrug and say, “That’s part of growing up,” or, “It’ll toughen you up for the real world.” And I know many of you reading this will recognise some of this in your childhood.

But what happens when you carry that same armour into adulthood?

What happens when you’ve never learned how to express sadness, fear, or tenderness because, as a child, those things only made life harder? It shows up in our relationships, with partners, with friends, with our children.

If you were never given emotional regulation, if a parent was distant or shut down, it’s easy to find yourself repeating the same patterns without even realising it. You become the person who can’t talk about how they feel, not because you don’t want to, but because you were never shown how.

Shame: the emotion that silences us

Shame is one of the most powerful forces shaping emotional suppression.

It tells us:

• “You shouldn’t feel this way.”
• “You’re the only one struggling.”
• “If people knew the truth, they’d think less of you.”

Shame thrives in secrecy. It convinces us that our struggles are personal flaws rather than human experiences. And because shame is so uncomfortable, many people respond by shutting down emotionally.

Shame doesn’t just silence vulnerability; it distorts it. It turns normal human feelings into evidence of failure. It makes reaching out feel dangerous. It convinces people that they must cope alone, even when they’re overwhelmed. This is where vulnerability becomes not just difficult, but frightening.

The link between emotional suppression and depression

Depression is complex and can arise from many factors, biological, psychological, and social. But emotional suppression can be a significant contributor.

When people consistently avoid vulnerability, they often:

• internalise distress
• carry emotional pain alone
• feel disconnected from others
• struggle to express needs
• experience chronic self‑criticism
• become overwhelmed by unprocessed feelings
• lose touch with what they actually feel

Depression can emerge not because someone is weak, but because they’ve spent years holding everything in. Research consistently shows that emotional avoidance and suppression are linked to increased depressive symptoms.

When emotions have nowhere to go, they don’t disappear; they turn inward. They become heaviness, numbness, irritability, exhaustion, and despair. And while men may face strong cultural pressure to suppress emotion, this isn’t only a man’s issue.

Emotional suppression affects everyone, and we all have a role in changing it

People of all genders also learn, in different ways, to mute their needs, minimise their pain, or prioritise others at the expense of themselves. Many carry their own shame stories about being “too emotional” or “too much.”

Because of this, supporting men to reconnect with vulnerability isn’t a task for men alone. It’s relational work. When partners, friends, family members, and communities create space for men to express emotion without judgment, something powerful can happen:

• relationships deepen
• trust strengthens
• communication becomes more honest
• conflict becomes easier to navigate
• emotional closeness becomes possible

When men feel safe enough to be vulnerable, it doesn’t just improve their well-being; it enriches the relationships around them. Couples often find that emotional openness leads to greater intimacy. Families notice more connection. Friendships become more authentic. And new relationships form on a foundation of honesty rather than performance.

Vulnerability isn’t a gendered trait; it’s a human one. And when we work together to normalise it, everyone benefits.

The intergenerational impact: what are we passing on?

Children learn far more from what they observe than from what they’re told. A child who sees a parent, especially a father, express emotion safely learns that feelings are normal, manageable, and human.

When men reconnect with vulnerability, they don’t just heal themselves; they interrupt generational patterns. They model emotional honesty, healthy communication, and the courage to be seen. They show their children that strength and softness can coexist.

This is how emotional culture shifts. Not through lectures or slogans, but through lived example.

What might open up if you let yourself be vulnerable?

These questions aren’t about judgment; they’re an invitation to pause, breathe, and consider what might be possible:

• What would it be like to loosen your grip on emotional self‑protection and allow someone to really see you?
• How might life feel if you didn’t have to brace yourself against judgment every time you felt something deeply?
• If you could set down the expectation to “hold it all together,” what kind of space might open up inside you?
• What would it mean to be supported rather than silently enduring everything alone?
• How might understanding your own vulnerability help you show up differently for your children, or the next generation watching you?
• What lessons about emotional honesty would you want them to inherit from you, rather than the ones you were taught?
• If you could model a healthier relationship with feelings, what kind of legacy would that create?
• What would it be like to embody the true spirit of Stoicism, not the modern “don’t feel anything” version, but the original philosophy rooted in self‑awareness, courage, and emotional responsibility?
• How might your relationships change if you allowed yourself to be known, not just respected?
• What parts of you have been waiting for permission to come forward?
• If shame wasn’t steering your decisions, what choices would you make differently?
• What might become possible if you stopped judging yourself for being human?

These questions aren’t meant to be answered quickly. They’re meant to sit with you, gently, over time. Which one would you like to sit with?

Reclaiming vulnerability: a path back to yourself

Reconnecting with vulnerability isn’t about becoming emotional all the time. It’s about reclaiming the parts of yourself that have been pushed down, ignored, or silenced. It’s about learning to feel without fear, to express without shame, and to connect without armour.

For many, this journey begins with small steps:

• naming a feeling rather than hiding it
• admitting when something hurts
• allowing someone to support you
• noticing when shame is trying to shut you down
• choosing honesty over performance

Therapy can be a powerful space for this work, a place where vulnerability is not only allowed but welcomed. A place where you don’t have to be the strong one, the sorted one, or the silent one.

If you're struggling and need someone to talk to right now, please reach out to the Samaritans for free 116123 for confidential, non-judgemental support.