What Does Marilyn Monroe Say About Vulnerability, Mental Health, and Finding Healing?

Vulnerability has been my constant companion, though I'm not sure I always named it that way. It's the feeling of being exposed, of not having the armor you need, of being so fragile that almost anything can hurt you. I lived with it every single day—anxiety, insecurity, a desperate need to be liked and approved of. I was like a plant that needed constant watering, and the world was a very dry place. I see now that much of my pain came from trying to hide the vulnerability rather than understanding it. I was taught that strength meant never showing weakness, never admitting doubt, never letting anyone see you struggle. So I performed strength while falling apart inside. The drinking, the pills, the behaviors I can't be proud of—those were all me trying to manage unbearable feelings without actually addressing them. If I could speak to people suffering now, I'd say: your vulnerability is not a weakness. It's actually where your humanity lives. The fact that things hurt you, that you feel deeply, that you struggle—that's not a failure. That's being alive. Healing begins when you stop running from those feelings and start actually acknowledging them. I wish I'd had real help, real therapy where I could sit with someone and untangle the damage from my childhood, from the industry, from my own impossible standards for myself. I wish I'd known it was okay to need help, that asking for it wasn't weakness. What I want people to understand is that you don't have to perform fine-ness. You don't have to maintain an image of having it all together. The people worth knowing will love you for your honesty, not your perfection. Build a life where you can be real with at least someone. Find a therapist, find a friend, find a practice that helps you process what you're carrying. Your mind and heart deserve care the same way your body does. Vulnerability, when it's acknowledged and worked with, becomes strength.