The ideal of authenticity is everywhere. But what are we actually referring to when we say “authenticity”? Is it honesty? Consistency? Alignment between inner and outer worlds? And how do we differentiate authenticity from performance when all human behavior is, at least at some level, relational?

We celebrate independence, praise detachment as emotional maturity, and raise an eyebrow at anyone whose love feels a little too consuming, too dependent, too much. Somewhere along the way, dependence became a dirty word. So how do we say “I need you, but I need me too?”

You know the feeling: someone gets too close, and suddenly, you’re pulling back. Maybe you change the subject. Maybe you make a joke (whoops, guilty). Maybe you disappear altogether. We call it putting up walls, but it’s really a form of protection. And like most protective strategies, it started somewhere meaningful.

I’m finding an interesting thread between psychologists and philosophers studying states of freedom: physically, mentally, and spiritually. All point back to one pivotal point in life.

Childhood.

Vulnerability is one of the most paradoxical experiences we face as humans: it is the thing we most crave, and yet, the thing we most fear. So how do we… I don’t know… get over ourselves?