. As I’ve mentioned before, I’m currently working on a book, and I’ve shared bits about its content. The process has been incredibly rewarding, but one part keeps tripping me up: writing about my own life. Every time I try to put my personal experiences into words, I hit a wall. It’s not that I don’t have stories to tell; the challenge lies in how to tell them. Writing about my experiences—especially regarding personal relationships—feels like walking on thin ice: risky, uncomfortable, and, frankly, a bit frightening. (Almost sounds like my narcissistic relationships; Sorry couldn’t help myself)

One reason it’s so hard to write about myself is that it exposes vulnerability, and as a man, that’s not always easy. Society holds this stigma that men should be tough, hide their emotions, and keep their guard up. We’re “not supposed” to show our feelings, let alone put them out there for others to read. But the truth is, we all feel vulnerable sometimes, and acknowledging that can be harder than it seems.

Part of my struggle stems from the fact that I consider myself a humble person. I’ve never been one to boast or talk much about my accomplishments. Even when I do, there’s always this voice inside me saying, “Don’t make it all about you.” That humility has served me well in life, but when it comes to writing, it makes opening up harder than I’d like to admit. I often find myself wondering, “Is my story worth telling? Is it important enough to share with others?” Then there’s the fear of sounding self-centered, even though, deep down, I know that sharing my experiences could help not only me but others who might be going through similar struggles.

It’s not just humility holding me back, though—it’s the fact that I’m exposing myself. Confronting my emotions, especially those tied to current and past relationships (Or is it situationships, or the best one; -Friends without benefits), feels like reopening old wounds. While I’m not afraid of others’ judgment, putting those personal stories on paper makes me feel exposed, and that’s where the real challenge lies. Vulnerability isn’t easy for anyone, but for someone like me, who’s spent years in control—both professionally and personally—it’s hard to let that guard down.

Then there’s the emotional weight. Writing about loss, heartbreak, or betrayal means revisiting those memories and emotions. In many ways, I’ve learned to live with them, compartmentalize them, and move forward. But writing about them forces me to relive those experiences, and sometimes that’s the last thing I want to do.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m not overly concerned with what most people think of me. In fact, I’m quite open about who I am and what I’ve been through. Criticism doesn’t weigh me down. But, like anyone, I care about how certain people—those closest to me—see me. If you’re reading this, you might feel the same way. We all have those few people whose opinions matter more than others, and with them, there’s that subtle fear of not being understood or accepted.

What really gets to me isn’t the fear of being judged or misunderstood by others; it’s how I want the person I’m in a relationship with to view me. That’s where things get tricky. I’ve had my share of heartbreaks and disappointments, like anyone else, and while I’ve learned to live with the pain of loss, it’s the pain from relationships that still lingers.

I don’t strive for perfection in the grand scheme of things. I know I’m not flawless, and I don’t pretend to be. But when I’m in a relationship, I want to be perfect for that person. I want to be the partner they deserve, while also hoping they’ll accept me for who I am—imperfections and all. And that’s where I hit a wall.

Why? Because in the past, I’ve felt like opening up wasn’t worth it. I’ve been in relationships where I gave too much and was vulnerable, but in the end, it didn’t feel reciprocated. It made me wonder, “Why open up at all if it’s just going to hurt me in the end?” That’s a tough feeling to shake, especially when you’ve been mistreated or taken for granted in relationships.

Relationships like these—where you give so much of yourself and get so little in return—can lead to self-destructive behavior. I’ve seen this pattern not just in myself but in others as well. When you feel unappreciated or mistreated, it’s easy to fall into harmful habits like drinking, gambling, or other forms of escapism. But let me be clear—those things aren’t inherently bad. It’s only when you turn to them out of spite or pain that they become destructive.

Going out for a drink with friends or spending a night at the casino for fun isn’t the issue. Treating yourself in those ways is normal and healthy. The problem arises when you start doing it to fill a void or numb the hurt caused by a bad relationship. It’s when you find yourself drinking to forget or gambling to feel something that it becomes a deeper issue. Sometimes, I question whether the real self-destruction lies not in drinking or gambling, but in how much I’ve given to others when I shouldn’t have.

Maybe the real issue is how far I’ve let myself go in these relationships, giving and giving until there’s nothing left for me. And that’s a tough realization. How do you know when you’ve crossed the line from being a generous, loving partner to sacrificing too much of yourself? That’s the question I find myself asking over and over, and unfortunately see myself in currently.

Sometimes I catch myself thinking, “Maybe she doesn’t deserve me opening up to her.” That’s not arrogance or thinking I’m better than anyone—it’s about self-protection. I’ve been through enough to know that not everyone will appreciate or respect the parts of you that you share, and it’s hard to be vulnerable again when your trust has been broken.

But I also know that keeping myself closed off isn’t the answer. If I never open up, I’ll never know if someone truly can love and accept me for who I am. It’s a paradox, right? You can’t get close to someone without opening up, but opening up feels risky because of what’s happened before.

It’s not just about finding someone who won’t hurt you; it’s about finding someone who sees you. For me, that’s the hardest part of relationships—not the fear of judgment from others, but the fear of being seen by someone I care about and not being fully accepted. It’s not about perfection; it’s about being perfectly imperfect and finding someone willing to love you as you are.

So, if you’ve ever felt like me—wondering whether it’s worth it to open up, questioning if the person you’re with deserves to see your vulnerable side—you’re not alone. We all have scars from past relationships, and sometimes those scars make it hard to let others in. But the truth is, being vulnerable is the only way to find real connection.

I’m still learning how to do that, and it’s not easy. Some days, it feels like I’m carrying the weight of all my past relationships on my shoulders, and it stops me from moving forward. But then I remind myself that not every relationship will end the same way, and not everyone will hurt me.

In the end, I’m not looking for perfection. I’m just looking for someone who sees me, flaws and all, and still chooses to stay. And isn’t that what we all want—to be loved and accepted for who we truly are?

So, if you’re struggling to open up, or if you’ve been hurt before, take it from me: it’s okay to protect yourself, but don’t close yourself off entirely. You deserve to be seen, heard, and loved. And when the right person comes along, they’ll appreciate every part of you—even the parts you’re afraid to show. Because, at the end of the day, being loved for who you truly are is the most freeing and fulfilling feeling there is.

Ralph