Vulnerability Online

I try to decide what to share online through this lens:

“If I heard someone say this, would it help me navigate my own story?”

If the answer is yes, then whatever I’m writing gets posted.

I’ve grown accustomed to the ensuing panic. The self-hatred. The, “what are you thinking? Nobody cares” from my inner critic.

I’ve grown accustomed to picturing the loved ones who like to hide from pain and darkness with shields of smiles and laughter and working hard. I know they are inwardly cringing, wishing I wouldn’t speak so openly.

If only they knew all the things I have yet to share.

I try to decide what to share online by thinking of other trauma survivors. I want to reach into the darkness and confusion that envelopes them. I want to tell them, “Me too. Me too, friend.”

But the well-meaners cry so loud. Their dismissive, “that sucks you had a bad experience” rings echoing through my body, drowning out the desperation to make them see.

I fight against the inclination to believe, surely they will understand once they hear this.

Because I know, there are some who do not want to see.

So I turn away from them and towards the ones like me. The ones who feel their way blindly through a marsh of bitter silence, surrounded by those who do not understand.

The ones who feel the need to hide half of their life.

I know how much strength it takes to keep a whole half of a life hidden.

I now know how much strength it takes to let that hidden life be seen.

Both require strength, and it takes strength to wish I could live one life that doesn’t require it.

I share my heart and my pain with a world of strangers, hoping it lands on those who need it most.

Because I needed it, but when I looked, I found only smiles on a screen.

I’ll admit, I still like seeing those smiles.

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Photo by Jo San Diego on Unsplash