How much of your soul should you expose as a writer?
The notion of pouring your heart out onto paper is terrifying. Mostly because of who may see it and potentially use it against you. You publish your work online and you are officially the only one that can be held accountable for the rude exposure of your soul. The alternative and confronting truth may involve figuring out a few things that you have been hiding for a very long time. Even from yourself.
I have questioned since the beginning of my time on Medium why my first article received such an incredible response. I had no followers. I had no experience publishing my work. I didn’t even technically know how to write, did I? I had no degree in journalism. I received a less than ideal enter score in high school. Once however, in my year 11 English class, we were allowed to write a ‘creative’ piece. I nailed it to a point that I’m pretty sure my English teacher wanted to frame that shit and hang it on her toilet wall. And it’s thanks to writing from the heart. Being honest in your writing can involve exposure of the dark, awkward and very unglamorous variety. And for some reason, people seem to like it. Most probably because we are all a little dark, awkward and unglamorous at times. Its relatable and comforting to know there are so many others just like us.
The notion of publishing to a world of strangers is exciting. Maybe I will be discovered by a semi famous writer. Maybe I will inspire someone. Maybe people, anyone will simply be entertained by my writing. Being ‘read’ by the people close to you however is a different story. If I exposed all of my stories in great detail my Mum would fall off her chair, My dad would shut his laptop and suffer a mild cardiac arrest and my colleagues would wonder who this faux professional was walking around the place from 9–5. One day I will however. And they will have to learn to deal with it.
It was a rude awakening when recently an ex boyfriend along with a familiar face I see every now again on the dancefloor, told me they had read my work. Although its confronting to think about who in fact is keeping tabs on your life when its out there in ‘print’, we are all human. Sometimes we are winning at life and sometimes we are blatantly failing. Why hide it from anyone? The failures tend to be more interesting to everyone anyway. I do however suggest refraining from publishing anything whilst emotional. Write by all means, but edit and read more times than you can count on a day you feel normal. Because once its out there, you cant get it back.
In a world of social media addicts and the narcissistic epidemic turning the younger (and possibly my own) generation into self absorbed zombies, we all need to advocate for a little honesty. I had a really shitty week. I looked as if I was suffering from severe hay fever from an unnatural amount of crying that took place for no real reason other than my relentless case of irrational over thinking. I forgot to meet some crucial deadlines at work and nearly throttled the doctor when she said my appointment wasn’t long enough to develop a mental health plan which I clearly needed, urgently. I managed to get about 5.2 hours of real sleep across 3 nights and completely isolated myself from any comfort or support from my abundance of friends. So I suffered in silence and wrote about it. Partly for my own source of therapy (cos my dick of a doctor restricted me from seeing a real therapist) but also to let others know that I refuse to post pretty little happy photos of my smiling face on facebook all the time, out of fear that people may otherwise think I am weak. Being honest publicly (at times, and maybe pick the right ones) not only helps ourselves but it might even help someone else too. Writing from a real place flows easier and people can sense it. Otherwise what’s the point?
The fear of exposure can be threatening. What if something I write about restricts me from getting a job in the future? What if people judge me? What if the new randoms I date come across it and dislike me for it? What if my parents are disappointed? Or alternatively what if none of those things happen? What if the people that were clearly going to get to know me eventually for being exactly this person find out who I am from the very beginning? Chose to leave, or stay based on initial authenticity. Wouldn’t that be one giant tragedy?
I’ve read about drug addicts, criminals and those suffering grief beyond belief. I’ve read about people suffering bipolar disorder and woman losing their children. I’ve scrolled through painful anecdotes from those that have suffered family violence and breakdowns who have finally found peace after years of self destruction and overindulgent antisocial behaviour. I was inspired by every one of them partly because of their stories but mostly because they have had the courage to demonstrate pure sincerity in an often judgmental world.
I may learn the hard way that I have in fact exposed too much. Every time I post something I take a risk. But it’s all part of the experience. Some of the greatest things in my life have eventuated all because of a major fuck up that I have eventually learnt, grown and thrived from.
