diary of a chronic oversharer

I’ve always been an open book. In a way that’s seems can be painful for others to bear witness, based on the secondhand embarrassment written on their faces.

I don’t blame them, we aren’t socialized to tell the whole truth to anyone who asks. It’s a confounding, rebellious, addictive habit.

It was my outlet, my “art”- poems about my teenage angst. Developing a new idea of myself, growing and creating myself as an individual. A blossoming sexuality, unrequited love. It wasn’t that everyone else wasn’t experiencing the same trials and heartaches- I was just one of the few brave enough to publicly share my writing about it.

I continued to unlearn habits of socialization. In mundane social interactions, I stopped answering questions with fake cheer and used each opportunity as a prompting to check in with myself- “how AM I really doing today?!” I still catch myself slipping into stale, fake answers (“I’m great!!!!”) and will quietly add, “actually, that’s not true. It’s been a hard day.”

I began sharing inconsequential details with strangers for my own amusement, how much I love X product or how I’m buying Y for a friend. Every interaction is a possibility for a genuine human connection, as long as I’m a willing participant.

Of course not every stranger is a mutual participant- but that is fine. Everyone deserves their own time and space to share, or opt not to share. And of course, every invitation for conversation doesn’t necessarily yield a deep musing on life but I’ve heard some great stories, learned a lot of secret tips, recieved dozens of worthy recommendations, and each time favored these unpredictable anecdotes over blinking and waiting in silence.

Even I’m not at a place where I share EVERYTHING- everything is not solely mine to tell. There is a comfort in privacy- in knowing that there is always a choice involved in what to share and when to share it. But there is a bravery in sharing, a beauty in finding another person who says “I felt that way too” or “knowing you’ve experienced this makes me feel less alone.”

I feel a strange pull towards my oversharing tendencies. It’s a way of being that’s hard to explain- like not baring my innermost thoughts and struggles is somehow a denial of my true nature, a betrayal to the others it’s an opportunity to commune and connect with. I judge myself for my own compulsion to share, punish myself into silence. It weighs on me like obligations of unfulfilled promises- a facade and charade of the person I truly am.

I’m learning that I don’t want to continue to exist within this world where I am expected to be a different person in each facet of my life. I’d rather fully display all that I am- even when it’s messy and ugly and unfavorable.

It’s the place where the hard stuff and the magic cohabitate, and it’s where I choose to reside.