I’ll be honest: I am fragile. I am vulnerable. I am weak. And if you are human, so are you.
We all are. It’s part of the deal. It comes with the territory of being alive. But somewhere along the way, society decided that showing this side of ourselves—this soft, tender, and real part—was a liability, a flaw, a deficiency. We were taught that to be strong, we must be impenetrable. That to be successful, we must be stoic. That to be admired, we must never let them see us sweat.
But that’s a lie. And a damaging one at that.
The “strongman” approach to life might work well if you’re a general commanding an army. But for the rest of us—everyday human beings navigating relationships, work, and personal struggles—it’s both unhealthy and isolating. Real strength isn’t about brute force or never admitting fault. It isn’t about talking over others, refusing to listen, or acting as if you are the smartest, toughest, most unbeatable person in the room. That’s not strength—that’s insecurity dressed up as power.
We are drawn to people who are real. We are moved by those who allow us to see their struggles, their uncertainties, their moments of doubt. We don’t fall in love with perfection—we fall in love with authenticity. And yet, so many of us go through life wearing armor, pretending we don’t feel, don’t hurt, don’t break. We think this makes us stronger, but in reality, it makes us lonelier. Less relatable. Less human.
There’s a word that often gets confused with weakness: meekness. We hear it and assume it means being timid, powerless, or passive. But true meekness is something else entirely. It is strength under control. It is power that doesn’t need to be flaunted. It is confidence that doesn’t demand validation. And if we’re being honest, isn’t that the kind of strength we admire most?
So here’s a spoiler alert for life: Pretending not to be weak, fragile, or vulnerable doesn’t make you strong. It makes you unapproachable. It repels rather than attracts. Because the truth is, we don’t admire people for their invulnerability—we admire them for their ability to own their humanity.
Look around at the people who truly inspire you. The ones who make you feel seen, heard, understood. Chances are, they’re not the ones pounding their chests, never admitting fault, never revealing doubt, always trying to sell you something. They’re the ones who aren’t afraid to say, “I don’t have it all figured out.” They’re the ones who remind us that imperfection is not only okay—it’s beautiful.
And as photographers, we should understand this better than anyone.
The best photographs don’t come from perfect conditions. The most moving images aren’t born out of sterile, flawless environments. They come from real life—the raw, the unfiltered, the imperfect. A portrait with an unguarded expression. A landscape that’s been weathered by time. A moment that’s slightly blurred but full of meaning. These are the images that speak to us. These are the ones that last.
So why would we live any differently?
Perfection is an illusion. And more importantly, it’s uninteresting. What makes us compelling—both as people and as photographers—is our ability to embrace the messiness of being human. To let the light in through the cracks. To understand that strength isn’t about being unbreakable; it’s about having the courage to be seen as we truly are.
So take off the armor. Show the world your softer side. It won’t make you weaker. It will make you unforgettable.
Click.
Jack
