Living out loud
Between my blog, Facebook, and Friday night Shabbat She-Zoom calls with my gal pals, I’m sure I’ve become a gross over-sharer. I’m transparent about it all. My confusion and desire. My failing eyesight. The dog-sized hole in my heart.
Is there anything I haven’t shared? Give me a minute. And there won’t be.
I know sharing isn’t necessary for everyone. Case in point is a Facebook friend who waited six whole months—until her treatment had ended—to share that she was experiencing cancer. I admire her self containment, and I know she had a posse of family and friends by her side. Thankfully, she didn’t have to struggle alone.
But due in part to Covid isolation—HELL, our mouths have literally been covered for HOW LONG ???—most of us can’t make it though a week without bearing our souls. In real life or on social media.
Why do I do that? Why should you?
Encouragement from the peanut gallery gives us strength. When I’m home recovering—from a surgery or a broken heart—it helps to receive healing thoughts. Parents receive hugs after announcing their daughter has become a son. A brother asks for prayers before his sister’s brain surgery. Or this: when a writer announces publication, the thumbs up she receives give her the courage to her sit her ass in the chair and write some more .
Candid connection creates a sense of belonging. When we’re frank about who we are and what we’re going through, we generate momentum that supports our well-being and protects us. I don’t celebrate sobriety milestones or wedding anniversaries of my own, but when others do, I’m inspired. I vow to be stronger. Try harder. Love more.
Our stories give us power. Deep down, I know I’m a bad ass. And so are you. But sometimes we forget. Finding our voice, sharing our stories, that’s how we reaffirm our values. Reconnect with ourselves. Maybe find peace.
Over-sharing can be annoying—even dangerous. Or so we’ve been told. But under-sharing also is a trap of our own making.
If we hide our true identities and emotions out of fear we’ll be judged or rejected, we close ourselves off from true connection.
And I, for one, am desperate for that.
