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I spent a week at the beach recently, and as always, I collected a lot of shells. Some flawless, some broken, some weathered, and some that looked like they’d been through something. As I walked the beaches of Panama City, I started reflecting on the metaphors we use about shells and ourselves. And I realized something important.
When people talk about loss, depression, or hardship, they often say that they have become a “shell of themselves”, as though hardship hollows us out, leaving behind something empty and diminished. I’ve heard it dozens of times. And I’ve come to believe the metaphor is incomplete.
Shells, by definition, are shaped by their lives. Each one carries a different story, molded by different experiences, hardships, and exposure to various environments. Every shell is utterly unique in its journey and purpose in the ocean. Some are broken. Many are weathered. And they are all still beautiful.
A shell without texture, without cracks, without variations of color marked by vulnerability, that’s not a realistic shell. That’s a fictional ideal. Shells show what they’ve been through. It speaks to the waves that it has weathered, the sun it has endured, the creatures it has sheltered. When a shell loses its luster from exposure or pressure, it doesn’t become less of a shell. It becomes a shell that have lived.
And here’s what moves me most: shells protect. Some shells house creatures that retreat inside when the world becomes too much, taking refuge within those carefully constructed walls. Some shells over protection to fish hiding from predators Some shells once nurtured small beings into better lives. Shells aren’t empty. They’re purposeful too.
Consider, too, that shells come in infinite variations. Some have multiple layers of protection. Some have spikes. Some are covered in color; others are subtle and pale. Some are delicate, while others are impenetrable. No single shell is more “sight” than another. They are simply different, designed for different lives, purposes, and seas.
I think about this often when I sit with the women I work with, women who are navigating work stress and body image struggles and grief and caregiving and relationship strain all at once. Some are also processing one of those things while protecting the other. Women who feel fragmented because they’re holding multiple complex truths simultaneously. Women who wonder if they’re falling apart when really, they’re just showing the beautiful complexity of a life that has been survived and lived.
You are not a shell of a person. You are a shell that has weathered your particular ocean. You are a shell shaped by what you’ve survived, what you’ve protected, what you’ve nurtured. Your cracks are not flaws. Your weathering is not a loss. Your complexity is not a fragmentation.
You’ve continued to navigate life.
Here’s my invitation to you: If you’re carrying struggles, stories, seasons all at once; if you’re looking for someone who understands that you’re not just one thing, but a nuanced whole, I’m here. What would it feel like to have a space to explore your story, without oversimplifying it?
Shells have lived, just like you
June 16, 2026