Sharing

Making mistakes is so hard to digest. So little compassion I provide to myself. A recent misstep at work haunts me. Tossing about spreadsheets in my sleep and waking to it fresh and relived on my mind. Work has been extremely stressful this last month. Due to personal issues, I’ve been unable to swim for half of it and that has removed an outlet I usually use to alleviate my stress. Therefore, I can feel it accumulating in my shoulders and the pressure from excessive grinding on my teeth. Agitation sitting so close to the surface. This too I know shall pass. I have to dig deep to remind myself again I am human. With the best of intentions and training, I will still forget things and I will still make mistakes. To a fault, I admit them once I am aware that one has occurred. I admit them to even my business partners who would not have known otherwise. Is this so I can further chastise myself for my faults? I hold that it is for the sake of being honest and for transparency. Whatever it is, it made it more painful. Perhaps it was the right thing, as I truly wish I would have kept this awareness hidden.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what I choose to share. I am more and more realizing that whatever I share then becomes the filter that people see me through. For example, I’ve shared with my manager that I struggle with perceptions and seeing positive intent. Now, this is the filter he sees me through, sees me struggling with this even when I’m not. Calling it out even when my perception is not skewed. It feels like I’ve handed him a weapon to use against me. There are others in my life who feels the same. Again, I’ve typically shared for the sake of transparency and honesty. They are perhaps my core values, however, I am really beginning to understand Brene Brown when she says that people need to earn the right to hear your story. I even have begun questioning whether I should continue publishing my blog publicly. I have not written in a month or so. The majority who read this do not know who I am in real life. So in that way, I feel protected to share my thoughts. However, I do have some in my life who know who I am that read this. Have they earned the right to walk around in my head? Begs the question as to what earns someone the right to hear my story? Food for thought.

Cover Photo by Markus Winkler on Unsplash