I’m the quintessential oversharer. You might find me chatting with strangers about everything from childbirth to my latest parenting misadventures while waiting in line at the grocery store. It’s a habit I can’t seem to break, and it hasn’t always worked in my favor.
There have certainly been moments when casual conversations took a turn for the awkward. I’ve learned the hard way that some people I thought were friends were not quite as trustworthy as I had hoped, leading to those regrettable moments where I bared my soul unnecessarily. My husband, Mark, has his own share of tales about my oversharing escapades. Just the other day at a school function, someone approached him and quipped, “I hear you’ve got a lot of socks!”
Later that evening, he turned to me and said, “What do you tell people, Rachel? Do you really need to share our dirty laundry?”
And then there’s the “vulnerability hangover,” a term coined by researcher Brené Brown that perfectly encapsulates the shame and embarrassment that often follows an episode of oversharing. It’s a bit like a real hangover—painful and lingering.
Every time I find myself grappling with this uncomfortable feeling, I promise to be more reserved next time. I tell myself that I’ll wait until I really know someone before I share that time I accidentally gave my son a black eye while trying to teach him to ride a bike. But then I come to a realization: as unpleasant as these vulnerability hangovers can be, I find myself regretting the things I didn’t say much more than the things I did share.
For instance, I wish I had told my cousin how proud I was of her at my sister’s wedding before she tragically passed away a few months later. I also wish I had expressed to my former students how much they impacted my life; they taught me lessons I carry with me every day, yet I’ve lost touch with most of them. And now, with my daughter heading into middle school, I often think about how I wish I had stood up for a classmate who was bullied back in seventh grade.
So maybe the next time someone strikes up a conversation with me in the beauty aisle at Target, I won’t shy away from sharing my struggles with balancing personal and professional goals. Perhaps that person will glance at me with confusion and move on, or maybe, just maybe, they’ll smile and feel a sense of connection. They might think, “I’m not alone in this,” and that’s worth the risk of a little vulnerability.
Every now and then, those moments of openness can lead to unexpected comfort for both parties involved.
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In summary, while oversharing can lead to its own set of challenges, the connections formed and the memories made often outweigh the potential embarrassment. Embracing our vulnerabilities can create bonds that remind us we are not alone in our struggles.
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