The delicate balance of sharing
The Vulnerability and Purpose of Telling the Truth
There’s a vulnerability that comes with sharing my story, especially when it’s rooted in something so personal, painful, and ongoing. Each time I write about my experiences with chronic pain, I feel both exposed and purposeful.
I sometimes wonder who will read it, how it will be received, or if I’ve said too much. Will people ask themselves whether they think I’m a decent writer or focus more on what I’m sharing? Will people think I’ve conquered the pain completely or see me as someone pretending to have all the answers?
I wonder if anyone will think my topics are as relevant to them as they are to me, even though I know there are those who will.
Then, I remind myself that people’s reactions are outside my control. I remind myself of the entire point in sharing this in the first place: to tell my honest truth, to shine a light on a topic too often shrouded in darkness and isolation, and to help others know they’re not alone.
So, I keep coming back to my laptop to write and be vulnerable, because I know there’s someone out there, right now, who needs to hear something I have to say.
Why I Write Through This Lived Experience
Frankly, there’s just not much out there for people with chronic pain. And for those of us who know the struggle to get from one moment to the next, it can feel incredibly lonely.
I recognize the gap in resources written by people actually living with pain. I know that worn-out feeling of being handed one more useless pamphlet at the doctor’s office, full of sterile medical jargon that does nothing to help me get through my days.
I write because I know what it feels like to navigate the maze of the medical system, to feel dismissed and discarded, and to live in a body that is always hurting. I understand feeling hopeful that some treatment will help, then feel deflated when it doesn’t.
I write because I know what it’s like to feel like no one gets it.
And I know the relief of listening to the voice of someone who’s lived it.
I share my journey because I also need the reinforcement of the very things I write about. I write to ease all the frustration and unpleasantness I encountered while self-advocating. I get something out of this, too. It’s meant to be mutually beneficial, mutually healing. A dynamic process of holding each other in support and collective inspiration.
It’s also a way for me to pay homage to my own journey - not just the pain, but the strength, tenacity, insight, compassion, and hard-won sense of dignity that have grown from it.
I write to say, “I’m still here.”
The Cost and the Reward
The act of writing about my journey is both triggering and liberating. How could it not be?
Revisiting difficult moments takes something out of me. It’s not always easy to sit with those memories or to re-open those parts of my story I’ve tried to put behind me. Writing can sometimes feel like reopening old wounds. I have to be extra mindful to protect my peace and know when to pull back.
The truth is, this journey has been hard. There has been much loss, sadness, and grief. It’s been scary at times, and I’ve had my share of darker moments.
However, every time I express myself on paper and move it from that space in my memory into a new context of purposeful sharing with others, the sting ebbs a bit, and I can stand victorious at having made it through each one of those awful times. It lends purpose to the pain, and it lends meaning to the losses.
At other times, it’s from that triumphant place that the writing comes, the place that sings of reclaimed sovereignty and resoluteness. This is the place from which writing energizes me and propels me forward. Yet I always hold in awareness that even this space was born of facing immense adversity and overcoming so much of it.
Why is it worth it? Because I’ve seen people nodding in recognition and understanding when I’ve spoken of grief and isolation. I’ve heard people tell me they’ve learned something about their power to ask new questions and reclaim their lives. It’s worth it because I know it’s making a difference.
Why I’ll Keep Going
There’s a cost to sharing this story, but I’m willing to pay it.
I know what this work requires of me. I have the reserves now that I didn’t have before, and for that fact alone, I’m incredibly grateful. I recognize all it took to get to the place of setting these words down. It wasn’t always the case, I can assure you. By sharing this journey with others now, I can make sense of so much of it.
I’ll keep sharing even if pain isn’t flashy or sexy, because I know it’s about something very real for many people. And I believe this work matters. Speaking about what so many feel too worn down to utter, offering hope and encouragement, and shining light into the dark space so others can find their way…that gives me reason enough to keep going.
There’s a strange kind of relief in telling the truth. In writing what’s real, even when it’s difficult, there is a softening of the sharp edges of those memories. There’s an energy in speaking our truth that heals us, too. And when someone else tells me it resonated with them, that’s when the pain turns into that purpose I’m committed to.
Writing has become a way to remember the person I once was, and a pathway to my current and future self. It’s also a hand outstretched to someone I’ve never met, who might need to hear: “I understand what you’re going through.”
I’ll keep sharing my story, for all the costs and rewards that it brings. I’ll keep going because I’m open to what life is calling me to now, and I’m listening.
With you on the journey,
Julie
*chronic pain healing journey sharing our stories telling our truth self-awareness mindfulness purpose helping others healing through writing