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The Armor We Outgrow: Learning to Let Vulnerability In

  • Writer: Julie Barris | Crisis Counselor | Therapist-in-Training
    Julie Barris | Crisis Counselor | Therapist-in-Training
  • Apr 22

Learning to let vulnerability in isn’t about being weak—it’s about being brave enough to show up as your full self, even when it feels uncomfortable. The path to deeper connection begins with learning to let vulnerability in, gently replacing old armor with authentic presence.

The Armor We Outgrow: Learning to Let Vulnerability In

From a young age, many of us learn that vulnerability equals weakness. We’re taught to “be strong,” “hold it together,” and “never let them see you cry.” Whether through subtle cultural messages or direct experiences of being shamed or ignored when we opened up, we internalize the belief that showing our pain makes us less worthy, less capable, and less safe.


So we adapt. We toughen up. We smile through sadness. We perfect the art of small talk to avoid the heaviness of real talk. And we wonder why we feel so disconnected, even in rooms full of people.


But what if vulnerability isn’t weakness? What if it’s actually the bravest thing we can offer?


What Vulnerability Really Looks Like


Vulnerability isn’t just crying in front of someone or confessing deep secrets. It can look like asking for help, admitting “I don’t know,” or telling someone “That hurt me.” It’s choosing to speak even when your voice shakes, to stay in the moment even when everything inside you wants to run.


It’s also boundaries, honesty, and showing up authentically—even if that means risking rejection or judgment. Vulnerability is raw and courageous. It invites others to meet us in our truth. Without it, relationships become performance pieces, not real partnerships.



Why We Struggle With It


Many of us have very good reasons for struggling with vulnerability. Maybe we were punished or mocked for being emotional. Maybe we were raised in environments where survival depended on hiding pain. Or maybe we’ve been hurt when we dared to open up—and decided never again.



These defense mechanisms helped us cope, but over time, they can become armor that limits our growth. We start avoiding the very things that could lead to healing: hard conversations, emotional expression, intimacy.


The fear of being “too much” or “not enough” keeps us silent. But silence doesn’t protect—it isolates.


Practicing Vulnerability in Small, Brave Ways


You don’t have to rip off the armor all at once. Start gently. Vulnerability is a muscle—it strengthens with use. Here are a few ways to practice it:


  • Name your emotions aloud. Even something as simple as “I’m feeling overwhelmed right now” invites connection.


  • Start with safe people. Choose those who’ve earned your trust. Share something small and see how they respond.


  • Ask for what you need. Instead of waiting to be noticed, try saying, “I could really use a hug right now” or “Can we talk? I’m having a hard day.”


  • Let go of perfection. Show up messy. It’s okay if you don’t have the perfect words—honesty matters more than polish.


  • Use journaling as a warm-up. Write what you’re feeling before you try to speak it out loud. This helps clarify what’s going on inside.


Vulnerability Is a Two-Way Street


Being vulnerable invites others to do the same. When we lead with honesty, we create safer spaces for real connection. That doesn’t mean every person will meet you where you are—but the right ones will. And that’s how true relationships are built.


You may be surprised by the way people soften when they see the real you. Because underneath all our masks, we’re all just trying to be seen, loved, and understood.


Final Thought


Vulnerability won’t always feel safe—but neither does loneliness, disconnection, or the exhaustion of always pretending you’re okay. When we choose vulnerability, we choose growth, authenticity, and deeper bonds.


So ask yourself: What might open up in your life if you stopped hiding how you really feel?


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Love Isn’t the Hard Part: Why Marriage Tests Us in Unexpected Ways

  • Writer: Julie Barris | Crisis Counselor | Therapist-in-Training
    Julie Barris | Crisis Counselor | Therapist-in-Training
  • Apr 21

Marriage tests us not in the grand moments, but in the everyday messes—when we’re tired, overwhelmed, and still choosing each other. From sleepless nights with a newborn to silent dinners after a long day, marriage tests us by asking, will you still show up, even now?

Love Isn’t the Hard Part: Why Marriage Tests Us in Unexpected Ways

Falling in love is pure magic. It’s the part of the story where everything glows. The first dates, the sparks, the feeling that someone finally sees you—it’s euphoric. That beginning phase is full of curiosity and hope, untouched by life’s sharp edges. You wake up excited to see their name pop up on your phone, you replay conversations in your mind, and you begin to imagine a future wrapped around each other. It’s beautiful—and often deceptively simple.


But what we don’t talk about enough is what happens after the fairytale. When routines replace spontaneity, and obligations crowd out passion. The transition from dating to enduring partnership is quiet but seismic. It’s not a failure of love—it’s the beginning of real life. And real life, even with your soulmate, is hard.


The Myth of Easy Love


We’ve been conditioned by stories to believe that love should be easy if it’s right. Fairy tales, romantic comedies, and even Instagram captions subtly convince us that love is only valid when it feels effortless. But sustainable love? The kind that weathers seasons and storms? That kind of love demands energy, intention, and uncomfortable conversations.


Many couples hit a wall not because their love was a lie, but because they expected love to do the work for them. But love isn’t a cruise control button—it’s a practice. And when both partners are overwhelmed, distracted, or emotionally unavailable, that practice gets neglected. We start to mistake distance for incompatibility. We start to wonder: “Should it really be this hard?” The answer is: sometimes, yes. Love that deepens over decades is forged, not found.


The Baby Effect: How Parenthood Shakes the Foundation


No stage tests a marriage like the early years of parenthood. Suddenly, you’re not just partners—you’re co-parents, sleep-deprived teammates trying to keep a tiny human alive. You’re stretched thin in every direction. Conversations turn into diaper duty negotiations. Physical touch becomes practical—feeding, burping, changing—rather than romantic. And emotional bandwidth? Practically zero.


It’s not just exhaustion—it’s identity loss. You may no longer recognize the version of yourself you’ve become. Your partner may feel more like a coworker than a lover. And through it all, you may silently grieve the life you used to have—while also feeling immense guilt for feeling that way. These are real, raw experiences, and they’re more common than we admit.


Love after a baby requires deep patience and even deeper communication. It asks both partners to evolve—and to hold space for one another’s needs without keeping score. Because it’s not always 50/50. Some days, it’s 90/10. And that’s okay—if you both agree to take turns carrying the heavier load.


Why Keeping Love Alive Takes Effort


Passion isn’t self-sustaining—it requires fuel. In the early days, novelty keeps the flame burning. But once the newness wears off, love has to be fed through shared rituals, physical affection, emotional check-ins, and simply showing up. It’s far too easy to slide into coexisting, especially when you're juggling careers, children, aging parents, or financial stress.


Love is often drowned out by survival mode. We assume our partner knows we care, but affection becomes scarce. Conversations get reduced to logistics. Sex might feel distant, mechanical, or even forgotten. The truth is, the everyday demands of life—especially with children—quietly erode intimacy when we don’t actively protect it. Keeping love alive is not about grand romantic gestures—it’s about creating a million small moments of connection amid the chaos.


It Can’t Be One-Sided Work


Here’s the truth that can sting: love will not thrive if only one person is doing the work. One partner can’t carry the emotional weight of the relationship while the other coasts. Emotional labor, communication, vulnerability—these must be mutual investments. Otherwise, resentment begins to take root, and connection begins to unravel.


After a baby, the imbalance can feel even more extreme—especially if one parent becomes the default caregiver while the other stays immersed in work or other responsibilities. Even well-meaning couples can fall into harmful patterns where one partner feels abandoned, unseen, or taken for granted.


A strong relationship is not about who’s giving more or who’s more exhausted—it’s about shared ownership. Both partners need to lean in, take initiative, and actively support each other’s well-being. If only one person is fighting for the relationship, then the balance is already broken. Love demands partnership—not martyrdom.



The Reality of Two People Changing


Time changes people. Not all at once, and not always in obvious ways, but inevitably. You may find that your partner’s priorities shift, that their outlook matures, that the way they give or receive love evolves. Sometimes that change is sparked by trauma, growth, a new career, or becoming a parent. And sometimes, it’s you who changes, leaving your partner feeling confused or left behind.


The hardest part? Change doesn’t always happen in sync. One partner might be diving deep into self-discovery while the other is just trying to stay afloat. What worked five years ago—or before kids—might not work now, and it’s easy to feel like you’ve become strangers. But growth doesn’t have to be a threat to the relationship. It can be an invitation to re-meet each other. To stay curious. To fall in love with new versions of the person you once knew.


So… Why Do We Do It?


Despite the challenges, many of us still choose marriage—not because we’re clinging to tradition, but because we believe in the promise of being deeply known and loved through all versions of ourselves. There’s something sacred about shared history. About building a life with someone who’s seen you break down, who’s seen you unfiltered, and stayed anyway. That kind of connection, when nurtured, becomes a sanctuary.


Marriage can be a mirror that reflects not just your partner’s flaws, but your own. It forces you to confront your triggers, your defenses, your expectations. And in that process, it can help you grow in ways that solitude never could. The work is real—but so is the reward.


How Do You Keep the Flame Alive—Even After Kids?


It starts with presence. Not just being in the same room, but actually being with each other. Eye contact. Laughter. Gratitude spoken out loud. Ask questions you haven’t asked in years. Schedule dates, even if they’re at home with takeout. Kiss longer. Touch more. Be willing to say, “I miss us,” without assigning blame.


When conflict arises, fight for clarity, not control. Make it safe to be honest, even if the honesty is messy. Apologize when you’re wrong. Offer forgiveness even when it’s uncomfortable. And never stop checking in: “How are we doing?” “Are we okay?” These small acts are the stitching that holds the relationship together—especially when you’re busy keeping small humans alive.



One Last Question:


If you’re pouring everything into your marriage—but feel like you’re parenting alone, loving alone, or holding all the emotional weight… how long can one heart carry what was meant for two?


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Rewiring the Blues: How to Gently Train Your Brain Out of Persistent Sadness

  • Writer: Julie Barris | Crisis Counselor | Therapist-in-Training
    Julie Barris | Crisis Counselor | Therapist-in-Training
  • Apr 20

Persistent sadness can feel like an invisible weight—subtle but suffocating. You get through your daily tasks, meet responsibilities, even manage a smile when necessary. But underneath, there’s a quiet ache, a low hum of emotional heaviness that doesn’t lift. It’s not quite depression, not quite contentment. It’s the in-between—and many people are living there without realizing how much it’s draining them. But here’s the light at the end of that long tunnel: if your brain learned this sadness, it can also unlearn it.

Rewiring the Blues: How to Gently Train Your Brain Out of Persistent Sadness

Our brains are creatures of habit. Think of yours like a record player: the more a particular song is played, the deeper the grooves get. When sadness becomes a regular emotional response—due to trauma, stress, or even childhood experiences—your brain memorizes it. Over time, these patterns become the default. Thoughts like “I’m never enough” or “It won’t get better” may play without you even realizing it. This isn’t a personal flaw—it’s your brain trying to keep you safe in familiar territory. But there comes a time when we need to break the loop, and that’s where self-conditioning comes in.


What Is Self-Conditioning?


Self-conditioning is the intentional act of retraining your brain to respond differently. Similar to how Pavlov taught dogs to associate a bell with food, we can teach our brains to associate certain activities, thoughts, or environments with better emotional states. It’s not about pretending everything is fine—it’s about gently creating new associations that help the brain feel safer, calmer, and more open to joy. You’re not forcing yourself to be happy. You’re giving your nervous system new options.


How to Start Rewiring Your Emotional Default


Interrupt the Pattern Gently:


The first step is awareness. When you catch yourself sinking into sadness, don’t scold yourself or try to suppress it. Just notice it. Say to yourself, “I feel heavy right now.” Naming the emotion helps create space between you and the feeling. It’s not who you are—it’s just something you're experiencing.


Create Small Positive Associations:


Look for ways to pair neutral or positive experiences with simple sensory cues. Light a candle and say a comforting mantra. Play music while doing dishes. Sit in sunlight and breathe deeply. These tiny pairings help the brain associate mundane moments with calm and safety. Over time, these experiences rewire your nervous system and help create new, more hopeful grooves.


Use Micro-Rewards:


The brain responds well to even the smallest rewards. Every time you do something that’s good for you—like getting out of bed, stretching, responding to a text—acknowledge it. Say “That was brave,” or check off a box. It may feel insignificant, but celebrating the smallest wins teaches your brain to associate effort with success, which builds resilience over time.


Practice Thought Swapping:


When a negative thought appears, try adding a gentle follow-up. If you think, “Nothing will change,” you can add, “…but some things already have.” This isn’t about denying hard feelings. It’s about creating space for multiple truths. Your sadness might be valid, but it doesn’t have to be the only voice in the room.


Schedule “Emotional Rehearsals”:


Take 2–3 minutes a day to visualize yourself feeling safe, joyful, or peaceful. Imagine yourself smiling, laughing, or walking confidently. The brain doesn’t distinguish much between imagined and real experiences—so this practice helps it rehearse new ways of being. These emotional rehearsals build memory and readiness for real-life moments of peace when they arrive.



Why This Works


All of these practices are based on the brain’s natural ability to adapt, known as neuroplasticity. The same way your mind learned sadness as a survival response, it can now learn calm, confidence, and lightness. You’re not erasing sadness—you’re just showing your brain that there are other emotions available, too. And as these practices grow into habits, you’ll notice small changes: moments of stillness, easier breaths, thoughts that don’t spiral so fast. Those moments are the building blocks of healing.


Affirmations to Rewire the Mind


  • “This moment isn’t forever.”

  • “I’m allowed to feel good again.”

  • “I can learn a new way of being.”

  • “My brain is learning peace.”

  • “I am more than what I feel right now.”


Repeating affirmations may feel strange at first, but they serve as small anchor points for your identity and healing. Even if you don’t believe them yet—say them. The belief can come later.



Final Thought


What if your persistent sadness isn’t a flaw in who you are—but a habit your mind is ready to outgrow? And if that’s true… what’s one small, loving cue you could offer your brain today?


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