With no shell, no sheath, no skin.
It can be painful, sometimes, to stand bared to the elements. Like this house by the side of a little suburban street, awaiting its spring refurbishing.
To have all your undergirding showing. The feeling, say, when some person infers that you or your work or something else you did has room for improvement. Raw.
All you can do is wait for the next coat of mail, the fresh wood planking, to grow.
Or grow it yourself.