For most of my life, I built emotional walls.
Not out of cruelty or coldness. It was just how I learned to survive.
I wanted to fit in.
I wanted to be successful in a pretty judgy society.
I wanted to protect myself.
Like a lot of people, I got very good at playing the part. Husband. Dad. Provider. Sales Professional. Speaker. CEO. Friendly guy who knows everyone. From the outside, it all looked pretty good. Honestly, from the outside it is pretty good.
But inside, I was always busy stacking bricks.
I had fears and no idea where to put them.
I didn’t feel like I had anyone I could really share them with.
I felt a responsibility to put my wife and kids first, which somehow translated in my head into “your feelings don’t matter as much.”
I worried constantly about what people thought of me, what they said about me when I left the room.
None of this is a unique story. A lot of us, especially men heading into our late 40s and 50s, have lived this way for decades. We build a life and, at the same time, we quietly build a fortress around our heart.
Then life catches up.
A few years ago, I had a real mental health crisis. It wasn’t just “a rough patch.” It was bad. Only my therapist knows how lost my soul felt during that time. The pandemic didn’t help. It derailed a career I deeply identified with. When speaking went away, it felt like I went away.
But if I’m honest, the crisis wasn’t just about the pandemic. That was the trigger, not the cause.
Underneath were years of:
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Self doubt
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Imposter syndrome
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An inability to confide in anyone at a deep level
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An overwhelming dose of loneliness even though I had family and friends around me
Let me say that again: loneliness with people in my life. That’s a special kind of ache. You can be surrounded by people who love you and still feel like you’re living behind glass.
Now, as I push 60, something has shifted.
My ego is smaller. That part feels like progress.
I can see I’ve done some things really well.
I can also see where I’ve messed things up.
And I’m finally admitting that these walls I built to protect myself are now the same walls that keep me from fully experiencing my own life. They keep me from seeing what others see when they look at me. They keep the most alive, playful, open parts of me locked in the basement.
I wish I could tell you I had one big breakthrough moment and the walls came crashing down like a movie scene. I wanted that. I prayed for that.
But the walls held steady.
And, strangely, I’m starting to think that might be a good thing.
Because inside those walls are a lot of conflicting parts of my soul:
- The kid who was scared.
- The teenager whose mom got cancer and died
- The young man who wanted to impress everyone.
- The dad who didn’t want to fail his family.
- The speaker who tied his worth to a calendar full of events.
- The middle aged guy who started to wonder if his best days were behind him.
If all of that came pouring out at once, I’m not sure I could process it.
So instead, I’ve made a quiet agreement with myself:
I’ll remove one block at a time.
Not the whole wall in one dramatic gesture.
Just one piece. Then another. Then another.
That looks like:
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Telling the truth in therapy, even when it’s messy or embarrassing.
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Being more honest with my wife about how I really feel, not just how I think I’m supposed to feel.
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Letting close friends see behind the “I’m fine” mask.
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Admitting when I’m lonely, even if I’m not physically alone.
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Allowing myself to want more out of life after 50… not in terms of money or fame, but in terms of joy, meaning, and connection.
It’s slow work. Some days I feel like I’m making progress. Other days I’m just staring at the wall, tired of my own patterns. But I keep coming back to this idea:
If I keep taking out one brick a day, eventually I will meet 100% of myself.
Not the curated version. Not the “stage Thom.” Not the LinkedIn profile.
The whole, flawed, hopeful, still-growing human who is allowed to exist even when he’s not “on.”
If you’re over 50 and any of this sounds familiar, I want you to know: you’re not the only one walking around with a nice life on the outside and reinforced concrete on the inside.
You can be grateful for your life and still admit you feel walled off from it.
You can love your family and still feel lonely.
You can be successful and still feel like you’re pretending.
None of that makes you broken. It just means you built walls that once served you, and now they don’t.
So here’s the experiment I’m running as I move toward 60:
I’m giving myself permission to take the walls down gently.
To meet myself slowly.
To stop waiting for a dramatic transformation and instead look for tiny shifts.
One conversation.
One honest admission.
One brick removed.
Life over 50, for me, is no longer about proving anything. It’s about becoming someone I actually enjoy being with when the room is quiet.
If I can keep doing this work, I honestly believe that at some point in this next decade, I’ll get to stand in the open, look around, and say:
“Hi. There you are. All of you. Nice to finally meet you.”
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Thom Singer is launching a coaching program to help others make age 50 to 75 the best years of their lives. He has a YouTube Channel called Prime Time: The Season of Significance. Email Thom to set up a call to see if he is the right guide to help you navigate this stage of life. thom @ Thomsinger.com