The Marble Jar and the Ugly Mirror
What Brené Brown taught me about leadership and the lies we tell ourselves.
I was listening to Brené Brown on The Diary of a CEO the other day, and something she said hit me like a punch to the gut:
“It’s not fear that gets in the way of us being brave with our lives and our work. It’s the armor that we reach for to self-protect when we’re afraid. And how that armor moves us away from love, connection, and our values.”
I’ve been wearing armor all year. Heavy, polished…stupid armor. The kind that makes you look like you’ve got it all figured out while you’re quietly falling apart inside.
2025 has been a shitty year.
I moved across continents. I went through the heartbreak and betrayal. I’m about to move houses for the sixth time by the end of this year. I’ve been in a constant state of grief and transformation, which today feels like rebirth, and feels like death tomorrow.
And yet, I kept pretending. I kept telling myself — and everyone else — that everything was alright. That I was holding my shit together. That I was moving forward at full speed, full of life and ambition.
The reality? I was tired of proving and pretending, of self-improving, of fixing things, of changing myself, of staying strong.
But I wore the armor. I polished it every morning. I made sure it looked good in public. I avoided mirrors that reflected the real me. And the real me wanted to sleep, or disappear, or just stop.
The Marble Jar of Trust
Brown talks about trust as a “marble jar.” Every small act of genuine connection —remembering someone’s birthday, checking in when they’re struggling, showing up consistently — adds a marble to the jar. When you need to share something really private and personal, you look for a friend whose jar is full of marbles.
But here’s what I’ve learned: you can’t build trust with others when you’re lying to yourself. You can’t fill someone else’s marble jar when your own is empty because you’ve been too busy maintaining your image to be real.
And the people worth trusting aren’t the ones who make grand, public gestures. They’re the ones who show up with small, consistent acts of kindness, especially when nobody sees them.
Same with leadership. As Brown puts it:
“Leaders believe that in the middle of a crisis … they can just look at people and say, ‘Trust me, here’s what we’re going to do.’ And it means nothing. What matters is the leader that walks past you in the morning and says, ‘Hey — good to see you. How’s your mom’s chemo going?’ Marbles.”
The Cost of the Armor
I thought I was being courageous by pushing through, by staying strong, by not letting anyone see me break. But armor doesn’t protect you — it isolates you. It moves you away from the very things that make leadership meaningful: vulnerability, connection, and the willingness to be seen as you actually are.
“The opposite of courage is armor,” Brown says. “The opposite of courage is self-protection.”
The cost was real. My creativity suffered. My nervous system suffered. I was so busy pretending to be okay that I couldn’t actually get better.
I wasn’t honest with myself. On here, my newsletters were inconsistent. On LinkedIn, I promised to launch Season 2 of the podcast in September, to finish Season 1 in the book, to build my new SaaS I vibe-coded during the Lovable hackathon in public… I was trying to bite more than I could chew, and I was failing. The First-Time CEO project did not go as planned. Damn, my life did not go as planned! And I didn’t dare to face the ugly mirror that was whispering, “Surrender!“
The Surrender
It took me until the end of the year to finally surrender. To face myself and say the ugly truth I didn’t want to hear: I am tired of pretending. I am tired…
So I’ll be taking a break from my creative projects this December: no promises, no pretending, no confusion. I really enjoy my new role at Ability AI as a Flow and Visibility Architect, so I’ll keep doing a good job. I’ll walk by the ocean, hike in the forest, breathe, sleep, bike, and meet with friends. In fact, I’m moving to the coast, since it’s been a healing experience here for the past month, and I don’t want to give it up. I’m happy here, in nature, by the big water.
I’ll launch Season 2 early next year. Until then, I’ll be chilling all the way through the holiday season, celebrating life, relaxing, and expressing gratitude for everything I have today, and for those by my side.
The Challenge for First-Time CEOs
If you’re reading this as a first-time CEO or founder, I want you to ask yourself:
What armor are you wearing?
Are you failing and pretending you’re not? Are you tired and pretending you’re energized? Are you broken and pretending you’re strong? Are you lost and pretending you know exactly where you’re going?
We do this so often. We think we need to have it all together. We think we need to prove we’re capable. We think we need to maintain the image of success, especially when everything is falling apart. But that’s performance.
You can’t shortcut it or fake it. You have to show up, consistently, honestly, and let the marbles accumulate. But first, you have to take off the armor.
The Invitation
I’m inviting you — daring you, really — to look in the ugly mirror before the holidays. Do it today. Be honest with yourself. Face the ugly truth you’ve been avoiding. Confess that you’re failing, or you’re tired, or you’re lying to yourself and others. Admit that you need help, or rest, or space to figure things out.
Take off the armor. Build the marbles, one small act of genuine connection at a time. And remember: When the crisis happens, you don’t need to say ‘trust me.’ You just need to say what’s on your mind.
But first, you have to trust yourself enough to be real.
Let’s Connect!
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