Mistaking oversharing for vulnerability cost me a relationship
And learning the difference between the two saved me another.
Last year, eager for post-vaccine reunions, I met up with someone I admire. Pandemic disrupted the natural rhythms that held us together before, and I was relieved that we remained connected. I was excited to spend time together and I treated our conversation like one with a best friend. I shared intimate details about my depression, loneliness, and heartbreak. But—
this wasn’t a best friend.
The moment we parted ways, a flashback of our conversation barreled through my brain. Oh no. No, no, no. I already regretted most of it. I didn’t regret my honesty, but I did regret how much I shared. I knew right then that our relationship would never recover (it never did). I placed an emotional burden on someone who never signed up to carry it—and who I would never expect to carry it in the first place. I simply got carried away in the situation.
Last Thanksgiving, I read Brené Brown’s Atlas of the Heart. My “oh shit” moment came early, on page 14 of 273, in Places We Go When Things Are Uncertain Or Too Much:
It also takes discipline and self-awareness to understand what to share and with whom. Vulnerability is not oversharing, it’s sharing with people who have earned the right to hear our stories and our experiences.
What, in another context, may have been considered vulnerability, in my context, was oversharing—I shared the wrong stories with the wrong person. Brené Brown’s Daring Greatly delves further into these distinctions.
Using vulnerability is not the same thing as being vulnerable; it’s the opposite – it’s armour. […] Oversharing is not vulnerability. In fact, it often results in disconnection, distrust, and disengagement.
When I overshared with that friend, it was because I wanted so desperately to be closer to them, after all that time apart. In my effort to forge a more meaningful bond, I instead pushed us apart.
I pride myself in my courage to be vulnerable. My strongest relationships are with people who share that same courage, and the skills and trust to be vulnerable with me. We as humans all experience the same complex emotions, and the ability to share our experiences of them with others is a magical form of connection.
But as I reestablish closeness in this post-pandemic world, I’m running up against the bounds of my own vulnerability. I find myself assuming (wishing, even) that we are all now kindred spirits after experiencing this world-altering event together. I fill in others’ pandemic stories with the story of my own, the same way our brains fill in the second half of a sentence because we think we know what words to expect.
Now more than ever, I’m treading the line between vulnerability and its evil twin, oversharing. I’m teaching myself to distinguish the opportunity for vulnerability from the risk of oversharing. Though my overshare story was with a non-best-friend, there is a line between vulnerability and oversharing even with a best friend.
Last December, a childhood best friend and I rekindled our friendship after a hiatus. Before the break, she was a friend I could tell anything—and I told her everything (financial struggles, family drama, relationship stress, anxiety, insecurity, depression). During our time apart, I coincidentally started going to therapy, where I realized that so much of what I previously shared with my friend was never meant for her, or any friend, in the first place. I wasn’t sharing, I was emotionally dumping, with unfair expectations for how she should respond.
In this current iteration of our friendship, my contribution is different. I can still tell her anything, but I choose not to tell her everything. I’m honest, raw, and vulnerable, but I know what belongs in our friendship, and what belongs with my licensed therapist. And our friendship is better for it.
A few weeks ago, during a work dinner, a colleague asked our team, “Those of us who haven’t purchased homes, I’m curious, why not? I’m sure we could all afford it.” Silence overcame this table of people that I lead professionally. Eyes came my way. My team knows me to navigate challenging work conversations with authenticity, but I immediately recognized this wasn’t that.
I didn’t jump in to share my truest reasons—ones that are better suited for my partner or my financial advisor. Instead, I paused to consider what I wanted the people at this table to know about the experiences that shape me. I finally answered, “I think I’d need to figure out where I want to settle down first.” Notably, I wasn’t required to respond, even if people expected me to, but I am still proud of what I offered to the table and what I didn’t bring to it altogether. I was open, without oversharing.
I’m still nauseous when I think back to that overshare experience from last year not only because I overshared, but also because I didn’t realize I was doing it. I thought I was being vulnerable, but I was actually using vulnerability to force myself closer to someone I look up to. I wanted to “fast track” our relationship, with a sort of childhood naiveté that in one sitting, I would rise to the top of their friend list. It wasn’t the first time I’ve done it, but I hope it was one of the last.
We all want to form deeper connections, especially, perhaps, as we come out of a time that depleted us of them. Being vulnerable with our people is the only way to get to the deepest, most interesting type of any relationship. It takes time, mutual trust, courage, discernment, and commitment. But even vulnerability has boundaries. And it never means unloading all our emotions onto someone else. In fact, I’m finding that you feel lightest in your relationships when you hold on to your heaviest baggage (especially if you unpack it with a therapist too).
Oversharing Checklist from Brené Brown’s Daring Greatly.
I don’t want the fear of floodlighting to stop anyone from sharing their struggles with the world, but being mindful about what, why, and how we share is important. […] We’re all grateful for people who write and speak in ways that help us remember that we’re not alone. If you recognize yourself in this shield, this checklist might help:
Why am I sharing this?
What outcome am I hoping for?
What emotions am I experiencing?
Do my intentions align with my values?
Is there an outcome, response, or lack of a response that will hurt my feelings?
Is this sharing the service of connection?
Am I genuinely asking the people in my life for what I need?
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As a classic Sagittarian oversharer, this resonates with me. I have learned this vulnerability the hard way myself. But I feel fortunate that I could stay open and have boundaries for myself. It is important to maintain the balance because it can model healthy discourse and openness with others who might struggle with vulnerability or struggle with boundaries.