My friend was sitting cross-legged on my bedroom floor, bent over her laptop. I was on my bed, with mine in my lap. It was the kind of study date I love, where you both actually do homework with spurts of conversation in between.
I was catching up on emails and she was working on the application for Carolina United, a program that focuses on leadership and diversity on campus. She read me one of the questions asking applicants to share something they usually keep hidden about themselves.
I know intensive programs like Carolina United want participants who are willing to open up and build tight bonds in a short period of time. But that question made me tense up — is it necessarily a virtue to share difficult, ugly, embarrassing parts of yourself just because someone wants to know? There’s nothing wrong with keeping some things hidden because being vulnerable involves taking risks.
There have been times I’ve sat down to write a column and thought, “What haven’t I shared with the readers of The Daily Tar Heel at this point?” I’ve written about going to therapy and surviving sexual assault. There hasn’t been much that I’ve kept private.
Nobody made me publish those pieces, and I don’t regret sharing those stories, because I think those issues need to be discussed openly. But there is also something wild about knowing that anyone, any co-worker, blind date or classmate, could pick up a paper and know these things about me. So I’ve been sharing less. And it feels good.
I’m worried that for many of us, myself included, personal disclosure can start to feel like currency instead of something that’s earned through trust and love.
For me, disclosure can also be a defense mechanism — if I miss an important meeting I can either say “I’m sorry something came up” or “I was just diagnosed with XYZ and am recovering from ABC and I just can’t make it to the meeting this week.” I’m worried that my friends think that I’m being lazy, and for me it’s easier to open up about XYZ and ABC than to accept that they might be judging me for bailing.
There’s something to be said for the moment you share something with just one person. The hesitation — is this too much? Am I showing my cards? Will they treat me differently if they know? And the relief when they respond — “me too,” or “it’s okay,” or “I love you.” The trust that was already there, made stronger.
Or that moment when you can tell someone is about to open up to you, their nerves, the gratitude that comes from another person putting faith in you.
