There Is A Reason Why I Overshare

When talking about social media or my writing, I sometimes jokingly say, “I’m an over-sharer.” But it’s not a joke. Not really. I’m aware that I share intimate details of my life. That I’m sometimes a little too vulnerable, or honest, or raw.

I promise you, there is a reason for it.

Maybe there are many reasons for it. On the surface, it’s nice to write something and have others read it and appreciate it. That’s affirming to me. When so much of my work with narration is sent into a black void and I never really hear feedback on my performance, it’s nice to create something and have people acknowledge it.

But the real reason I over-share is deeper.

I was raised in a really dysfunctional home. One of the signs you’re in a dysfunctional family (or relationship) is there are many unspoken rules that you know in your core being, and you have to follow those rules or your safety is at risk. You don’t behave certain ways, you control your emotions, you don’t feel things. It all protects you. Maybe the biggest rule of all is that you DON’T TALK ABOUT THE DYSFUNCTION IN YOUR HOME. (You don’t talk about Fight Club.) 

If you talk about it, if you tell someone, maybe your parents will get in trouble. Maybe others will know you need help. Maybe they’ll shame your parents, or take you out of your home and put you in foster care. If you talk about it, you’re holding someone accountable, and you don’t hold a parent (or partner) accountable. You just don’t.  It’s a huge pressure, to not name or acknowledge the danger you’re in. So you don’t. You get really good at being strong and quiet, of tucking feelings so deep inside that you not only can’t feel, but you don’t know if your feelings even exist anymore. 

When I went to college and started life on my own, I made a couple of promises to myself: 

1)     If I had kids, I would never let them be put in harm’s way physically or emotionally.

AND

2)    I would talk about the things you don’t talk about. 

Thankfully, I’ve followed my #1 rule. It’s led to some hard decisions, but my kids are living healthy, normal, teenage lives. 

But I have struggled with rule #2.

***

This “don’t talk” rule/pressure has followed me throughout my life, and I have fought with wanting to talk about things, but feeling I shouldn’t because I’d hurt someone’s feelings, or shame them, or put my own safety at risk. I have sometimes fallen into a pattern of silence (see the two-year gap in between blogs), and I’ve struggled with the pressure of silence in relationships. 

This is why: 

 If you don’t talk about the problems you’re having in your marriage, then things will get better, right? Because once you talk about it, you give it power and it destroys everything. If you don’t acknowledge the problems that you have in your family or with your parents, then you look like you have a great life and people will admire you. As soon as you tell the truth, that fantasy disintegrates. 

I’ve lived like that for a while on and off, in the land of not talking about it, but then I get strong, I’ve had enough, and I speak all the words. 

Writing for me, then—my truest, rawest, most vulnerable writing—is an act of rebellion. 

***

I talk about the things you don’t talk about. When I’m mad, I’m mad. I say so. When I’m hurt, confused, ashamed, I talk about it, I write about it, I question it. When I’m in a relationship, I tell them what I’m feeling (You excite me, I feel so relaxed with you, You fill my cup) but I also challenge who I’m seeing with questions: 

Why did this happen? 

This is how I’m feeling. Do you understand why I’m acting the way I am? 

You say one thing, but your actions say another. Why? 

I don’t understand what’s happening. Can you explain it to me? 

These can be uncomfortable conversations, but they’re so important. When we talk about what we shouldn’t talk about, we figure out ways to heal. That’s how you solve problems. It’s not ignoring problems that makes them go away: it’s shining a spotlight on them. 

I write about things that are personal because it does a couple of things for me: it helps me figure out my life and maybe, just maybe, it helps someone reading it to see that what they’re experiencing has happened to someone else.

 ***

I’ve realized over the years, that naming The Crazy, or naming The Troubling, doesn’t give it power. It actually disarms the power. When you can talk about hard things, tell true feelings and struggles, you start to have some control over what’s happening to you. You make it real, acknowledge it, and then you’re better able to figure out how to deal with it. Talking about what’s true, helps to normalize your struggle and suddenly options you didn’t know you had start to come into focus. 

I try to live an authentic life. I try to be as true as possible. Sometimes, that’s a wonderful thing, and sometimes it’s brutally painful. But here’s the other thing that I’ve realized: living a true life is deeply human. It helps me feel connected to others. And it gives me agency in my life to make the changes I need to in order to thrive.

But, yes, I also like the surface affirmation. I’m an artist at heart and, really, couldn’t we all use a little more love in our lives? A little validation? 

It’s nice to have others say, “I see you. I hear you. I understand you.”

I feel like through writing this blog, I can honestly say, whatever you’re going through: I see you. I hear you. I understand you.

Here’s to living a life with less bullshit and more honesty. Here’s to acknowledging that our lives are not shiny Instagram feeds, but incredibly complex and layered. Maybe in the sharing of that truth, we can all feel a little less alone. 

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-Tanya Eby-