Can Men Be Vulnerable and Still Be Strong?

By Don Owens

Ask a man what strength looks like, and you’re likely to get a familiar picture: stoic, composed, unflinching. He doesn’t cry. He doesn’t waver. He keeps it together.

It’s an image many of us grew up with. Strength, we were taught, means control. Strength means independence. Strength means silence.

But here’s the truth: that image is only half the story. And a half-truth, when clung to tightly enough, becomes a lie.

Men can—and must—be strong. But we must also be vulnerable. And the world has wrongly told us these two things are opposites.

They’re not.

In fact, the deepest friendships, the most courageous leaders, and the most resilient men in history were marked not only by their toughness—but by their willingness to be seen.

The Modern Dilemma: Hidden and Hardening

Many men today live behind emotional armor. It’s understandable. Vulnerability feels dangerous. What if we’re misunderstood? What if we’re seen as weak? What if someone uses it against us?

So we tuck it away.

We talk about accomplishments instead of anxieties. We crack jokes when the conversation gets too personal. We show anger because it’s safer than sadness. We control the narrative.

But in doing so, we distance ourselves not just from others, but from our own humanity.

And slowly, without meaning to, we become men who are admired—but not known. Efficient—but isolated. Capable—but cold.

We become hard.

And hardness isn’t the same as strength.

Ancient Wisdom: Strength With Tenderness

The ancients saw something we often forget: that true strength is not the absence of vulnerability—it is the integration of it. A man who has the courage to expose weakness is a man who has already defeated shame.

David, the warrior-king of Israel, wept openly. He wrote poetry that bared his soul. He confessed failure. And God called him a man after His own heart.

Cicero, the Roman statesman, wrote movingly about the pain of losing a daughter, the joy of friendship, and the strain of moral conflict.

Jesus—the strongest man who ever lived—washed the feet of His friends, wept at the death of Lazarus, and cried out in anguish in Gethsemane. He didn’t hide His grief. He didn’t mask His exhaustion. He invited others into it.

These men were not weak. They were whole.

And wholeness requires vulnerability.

Why Vulnerability Matters in Friendship

You can’t have real friendship without vulnerability. It’s the difference between acquaintances and brothers.

Friendship isn’t built on charm or shared interests—it’s built on honesty. The kind that says, “Here’s where I’m struggling.” The kind that says, “I need help.” The kind that allows someone else to see your doubts, your wounds, and your fears—and stay anyway.

That’s what every man is secretly looking for. But many of us have never had it modeled.

Instead, we’ve learned to be strong alone.

But no man is strong alone for long.

The Cost of Hiding

When men refuse to be vulnerable, we may avoid short-term discomfort—but we invite long-term damage.

We remain unknown. If we never open up, no one ever really sees us. And if no one sees us, no one can truly love us. We live with the constant fear that our image is all we are.

We lose intimacy. In marriage, in friendship, and even with our children, we limit connection when we conceal what’s real.

We stagnate. Without vulnerability, there is no correction. No confession. No growth.

We pass it on. Our sons and younger brothers learn by watching. If we never let them see us open up, they’ll inherit the same chains.

We must stop seeing vulnerability as weakness and start seeing it as a gateway to freedom.

What Vulnerability Looks Like in Practice

Vulnerability doesn’t mean spilling your guts to everyone. It’s not about oversharing. It’s about honesty—with wisdom.

Here’s what it does look like:

1. Telling the Truth About Where You’re At

Instead of answering “How are you?” with “Fine,” try: “Honestly, this week’s been tough.” That’s not weak. That’s real.

2. Asking for Help

Whether it's spiritual, emotional, or practical—strong men ask. It takes more courage to say “I can’t do this alone” than to pretend you can.

3. Confessing Sin or Struggle

James says, “Confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed.” Healing requires humility. Brotherhood requires honesty.

4. Letting People Into Your Joys and Griefs

Don’t just share your successes. Invite others into your losses. Don’t just be there for others—let them be there for you.

5. Listening Without Defending

When a friend speaks truth, don’t retreat behind pride. Listen. Consider. Grow.

Vulnerability is not an event. It’s a posture.

A Strong Friend Is a Safe Friend

When men see you model vulnerability, they begin to feel safe. They realize they’re not the only one who struggles with doubt, fear, or temptation. And suddenly, a deeper friendship is possible.

The strongest men you know are not the ones who never fall—but the ones who let others see them get back up.

If you want to build friendships that transform your life, you’ll have to stop hiding.

The Example of Christ

Jesus was not emotionally detached. He felt hunger, fatigue, betrayal, and sadness. He asked His friends to stay awake with Him in His darkest hour. He wept. He loved. He allowed His heart to be broken for others.

And in doing so, He showed us that vulnerability is not only compatible with strength—it perfects it.

At the cross, Jesus made Himself completely vulnerable—naked, wounded, exposed. Not because He lacked power, but because He was willing to give it up for the sake of love.

He didn’t just model vulnerability—He redeemed it.

Because of Christ, we don’t have to be afraid of being known. Our strength is no longer rooted in our performance. It’s rooted in grace.

Conclusion: The Courage to Be Known

Can men be vulnerable and still be strong?

The answer is not only yes—it’s only in vulnerability that true strength becomes visible.

The man who hides nothing has nothing to fear. The man who is known is finally free to love—and be loved—in return.

So take the risk. Speak honestly. Let someone in.

Because the strongest thing you may ever do—is to let yourself be seen.