Why should we share our stories?

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about sharing stories. No doubt, it’s because I started this blog a couple of weeks ago and, so far, I’ve shared some intensely personal things. Things other people might not be comfortable sharing with family, friends, or complete strangers on the internet.

I’ve let readers see some of the inner workings of my mind, my heart, and my soul. It’s been a little scary. Scratch that. It’s been terrifying. Putting myself out there not only with my writing, but also with my personal experiences, along with the thoughts and feelings that accompany them. What if I get rejected? Or ridiculed and attacked? What if I’m misunderstood and I get kicked out of everything?

What if writing this blog, sharing this personal content – what if this is completely nuts? What if instead of doing something healing and beneficial for me (and hopefully for others facing similar challenges), what if what I’m really doing is putting myself further at risk of harm, but I can’t see it because I’m actually having a nervous breakdown?

It could be true.

Anything is possible.

But what if it’s not true?

What if I’m not having a nervous breakdown? What if writing this blog is massively therapeutic for me?

What if?

I’ve let those two words define my life for far too long. I've let them stop me from trying new things and from taking growth-producing risks that could have made my life immensely better. I've let them paralyze me.

What if they don’t like me? What if I do it wrong? What if I fall flat on my face? So what? Who cares? Why does it matter? What is the worst that could happen? (Yes, I asked it, and no, I don't think I've just jinxed myself. Well, probably not, anyway.)

I'll ask it again: What is the worst thing I can imagine happening because I posted a blog?

I might offend someone.

Maybe, but I’m not telling anyone else’s story, so how could I really be hurting someone else? I suppose I could trigger someone’s memories of trauma and, if that happens, I apologize. My hope is that the trigger warning notice I post at the beginning of these blogs is seen by those who need to see it.

People might start to view me differently.

It’s possible. Does that mean it’s a bad thing? How am I supposed to find other people like me if I’m constantly trying to be normal? I want people to see the real me. I want people to know the real me. I’m not interested in superficial relationships. I don’t want to talk about the weather. (Unless it’s about what we can do to combat climate change.) I don’t want to talk about what you’re making for dinner. (Unless it’s a really excellent non-meat recipe you think I’d like to try.)

I want to have deep conversations about real issues. (Poverty, homelessness, inequality, racism, what it means to be morally good, and so on.) I want my soul to connect with your soul. Do I like the person you are behind the mask? Do we have things in common? Am I safe with you?

How do you know if you want to spend time with someone if you don’t know who they are underneath the role that they’re playing? How do I know if someone really likes (or loves) me if they don’t know the real me?

I might get hurt.

There are many ways that this could happen. Someone might hate my writing style and tell me I’m a horrible writer. Someone might make fun of the way I look or the way I think. Someone might use my truth against me in some way I haven’t foreseen. People might treat me differently. They might treat me like I’m broken or fragile. (I’m not.) There’s a number of ways I could be hurt. I can’t predict them all and, even if I could, I wouldn’t necessarily be able to prepare for them or stop them from happening.

So where does this leave me? It leaves me with the truth of who I am. I’m a survivor. I’m resilient. Somehow, I always seem to make it to the other side of whatever challenge or hurt I’m facing. I may be a bit banged up by the time I get there, but the point is that I get there, alive and breathing. I've made it through massive storms in the past, I'm making it through a gentle rainstorm now in the present, and I know that I will continue to make it through whatever the weather brings my way in the future.

Also, whether I do or I don’t, I’m going to inevitably get hurt anyway. Bad things happen to good people. Life comes with ups and downs already baked in – you can’t have one without the other. I know that no matter how good I am, life’s inevitable randomness will find me. That’s life. I get that now. To be alive and to really live, we must risk the possibility of being hurt in some way, whether it’s a scraped knee or a soul-deep trauma. I've decided it's worth it. It's worth risking the chance of trauma tomorrow for the joy of living life as fully as I can today.

So, back to my original line of thought, the one on the merits of story sharing through blogging, and the one about my current level of sanity.

Maybe I’m having a nervous breakdown, but maybe I’m not. Maybe sharing this blog will cause more trauma for me, but maybe it won’t. Maybe I shouldn’t be sharing my truth and my stories, but maybe I should.

The point is I can’t know for sure until I do it. It’s usually in hindsight that I find my answer to whether something was or wasn’t a good idea. In the end, does it matter? If it wasn’t a good idea, then I’ll have learned some valuable lessons about what not to do in the future. If it was a good idea, then hopefully something good will come from it.

Right now, today, I think story sharing and telling the truth is important. It’s through story sharing that we learn, and we grow. It’s through story sharing – from one generation to the next and so on – that family dynamics begin to change, that society begins to change, and that the world begins to grow in a forward direction rather than standing still or going backward.

We need to evolve. If we want to see a better tomorrow, then we need to be better today than we were yesterday.

I want to evolve.