As a physician, I can confidently say that I fall into the oversharing category. Whether it’s discussing the intricacies of childbirth with a patient in the waiting room or revealing personal anecdotes to colleagues during lunch, I have a tendency to dive deep into my experiences.
Regrettably, this trait hasn’t always worked in my favor. There have been occasions when a casual chat turned awkward, and I’ve been left feeling exposed after confiding in acquaintances who didn’t reciprocate that level of openness. My spouse, Mark, often shakes his head at my candidness. Just last week, at a school event, someone approached him and quipped, “I’ve heard you have an interesting collection of socks.”
“What do you share with people, Emily?” he asked me later, laughing. “Seems like you’re airing our dirty laundry in public!”
One of the downsides of this vulnerability is what Brené Brown describes as a “vulnerability hangover.” It’s that uncomfortable feeling of shame and regret that follows a moment of oversharing, akin to a real hangover in its intensity. When this feeling hits, I promise myself to be more cautious in the future. Next time, I’ll hold back on sharing how I accidentally caused my son to trip during a soccer practice when I was distracted by a phone call. I swear, I will!
But then I reflect. Despite the discomfort from those vulnerability hangovers, I often find myself regretting the moments I chose not to share. I wish I had expressed to my cousin how proud I was of her achievements before she passed away unexpectedly. I regret not telling my former patients how much they taught me during our time together, their resilience shaping my practice more than any textbook could. And as I watch my children grow, I find myself lamenting the times I didn’t stand up for a classmate who was bullied in middle school.
So, the next time I find myself chatting with someone in a grocery store aisle about the struggles of juggling work and parenting, perhaps I’ll share those experiences after all. They might nod in understanding and share a smile, or they may back away slowly, seeking refuge in the cereal aisle! But just maybe, that conversation could resonate. They might go home and share, “I met a woman today who’s dealing with the same challenges I am. It’s reassuring to know I’m not alone.”
As I navigate the complexities of parenting and professional life, I often think about the value of connection. If you’re interested in learning more about home insemination and family-building options, check out this excellent resource: Resolve. And for those exploring the journey of self-insemination, consider visiting Make a Mom for authoritative insights. For an engaging read on similar topics, visit this blog post too.
In the end, while vulnerability may come with its hangovers, it’s the connections and shared experiences that often make it worthwhile.
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