Unravelling... from a vulnerability hangover
To share or not to share — that is the question
When it comes to vulnerability, I don’t usually mind putting my stories out there. I’m a storyteller. A sharer. Some might say an over-sharer. In her book Daring Greatly, Brene Brown warns about "floodlighting" — oversharing with the wrong people — which I try to avoid. I aim for the right balance: open with many, borderline TMI with a trusted few.
As a writer, I’m used to offering pieces of myself to the world. I’ve written about infertility, miscarriage, grief, domestic abuse — I promise, I’m actually a lot of fun! But I’ve never shied away from real conversations. I’m the friend people confide in, the shoulder to cry on in the park, the keeper of secrets. Vulnerability, to me, is a bridge — connecting us in ways that matter.
So, imagine my surprise when I joined a virtual poetry workshop last week with two close friends and froze at the thought of reading my work aloud. The group was small and safe. We had just 15 minutes to write. And yet, when it was my turn, I panicked. Was it because I’d gone last (a choice I made myself), because my friends’ words were stunning, or because I’d written about my mum? Maybe it was the rawness of it all — how exposed it felt to share something so unfiltered. Or creatively, something new. Whatever the reason, I found myself caught in fight, flight… and freeze.
After much cheerleading and gentle coaxing, I finally let the words race out of my mouth — too fast to really let them land. I even switched off my camera so my friends couldn’t witness my utter discomfort. If they had, they’d have been treated to beetroot-red cheeks, misty eyes, and the sheer agony of me stumbling over a handful of lines. Major secondhand cringe avoided.
Did it land like a lead balloon, as I feared? No. My friends were generous and encouraging. Did I spontaneously combust at the end? Also no — though I felt like I was on fire. But was I proud that I hadn’t bailed without sharing? Actually… yes. A small victory. And yet, all I wanted to do afterward was hibernate. Maybe even find new friends!
But, of course, good friends don’t let you disappear. Instead, they created a WhatsApp group — specifically to lean into more vulnerability.
A week later, though, it’s become something unexpectedly magical. We’ve been sharing more of our poems, and the fear has melted away. In its place? Inspiration. Admiration. Celebration. The very next day, I sent them another poem I’d written that afternoon. This time, it felt joyful. It was fun — a complete 180 from the night before. Maybe because the topic was more lighthearted. Maybe because I wasn’t taking myself so seriously.
So, in the spirit of bravery and leaning into vulnerability, I’m sharing them here too. Not for kudos, likes, or comments — just to prove to myself that there’s nothing to fear. Deep breath. Here goes…
I remember when, I used to pop round every Thursday. Did you know things weren't as they seemed? Five years from now this moment will be in my dreams As I lug around the excess stress from the day. I'd put an arm around you and you'd ask me for two, This too shall pass you'd always say, but I feel your words slipping away. How long will I remember what you used to say? Today, I walked an old route but somehow it was new. At school, numbers went up in smoke, vanishing into thin air, I made one and six, but somehow got eight, when I looked again, I still needed four But it's not the numbers I fear, it's words that hurt more. Even if I knew the answer, I would never want to share. Temporary phrases that once were in colour, now faded to black and white. It's been five years. Will I be able to keep your flame alight.
Maybe it's not me. Maybe the unsung heroes are the divas who raised me. India said my worth is not determined by the price of my clothes, Suppose I were dressed in rags, would Christina still tell me I'm beautiful in every single way? In every single way I'm still chasing pavements like Adele, and even when I tripped and fell, Aaliyah told me to try again. Again, and piece by piece Kelly put me back together, stronger, believing Bey that I could run the world. The world is still not ready to be run by a woman. Alicia knew why the caged bird sings And Mariah sung that a hero lies within, you. Is that me, or just your melodies.