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“Weakness is the only way through the walls that separate us from each other.” ~ Brene Brown
Every time I share something deeply personal – an article, a post, a part of my story somewhere or with someone – there is a part of me that lights up with energy. I feel a sense of urgency, a pull to share now. A belief that some people need to hear it, relate and feel less alone. And often, it helps me understand my own experiences. Even if I am not always aware of it, there is a higher reason that guides me.
Storytelling is healing – for writers, storytellers and readers. Raw, human-truth experience has power.
And yet… after pressing “publish” or opening my heart to a friend or loved one, after sharing, something familiar comes.
a wave an intensity. Pressure in my chest. A sinking feeling in my stomach. Second – guess.
Did I say too much? Have I overshared? Was it brave—or careless? Would I still be loved and accepted if I were seen like this?
I remember the first time I shared something deeply raw in a public post. I wrote about a moment from a yoga retreat when our group was hiking through the Australian rainforest and came upon a small creek that was waiting for us. The water is clean, fresh, and completely inviting. Neither of us brought swimwear—swimming wasn’t part of the plan.
That hasn’t stopped some women. Feeling free, embodied, and deeply connected, they disembarked and swam naked in the creek. I stood there in quiet awe of their courage and bravery.
I was hesitant, caught between wanting to join and the voice of my conditioning: my body wasn’t perfect, not thin enough, I didn’t shave after motherhood…
Finally, I gave up and partially undressed. I stepped into the stream, letting the water embrace me. In that moment, I felt a release I didn’t know I needed. My skin feels the soothing, cooling effect of fresh spring on my being. My body—with its newfound curves, suppleness, and life—is a miracle, a vessel for experience, not a source of shame. I feel so alive.
I excitedly “revealed” into the story. Immediately after the revelation, the waves came: a ball in my stomach, a knot in my solar plexus. shame Embarrassed Have I revealed too much? Was I a female coach talking about naked bodies while struggling with my own insecurities? What will my clients think?
Still the response was great. As the women wrote back, the story resonated. Some remember those magical days. Others recognized their own struggles body image. Some felt inspired. That first act of vulnerability—raw, imperfect, human—planted the seed outside of my own awareness.
This experience taught me something essential: the intensity we feel after sharing doesn’t mean we did something wrong. It means we have touched something true.
Now, I share more of myself: my perceived failures, hopes, insecurities, and the knowledge I’ve gained from experience. I continue to push the edges of my comfort zone, recently on very personal topics such as mine ADHD diagnosis And, more recently, my strong opinions on patriarchy and current social issues.
Every time I step into a space outside my comfort zone, I feel it again: the nervous system response, raw and real. But every time, the intensity softens a little, and I meet it with more patience, compassion, and understanding.
Vulnerable sharing is still an act of truth, trust and connection.
No one talks about the hangover of weakness
What I learned is that this emotional aftermath is incredibly common. Some people call it a vulnerability hangover — the return of emotion that follows openness.
When we share something real, we get out from behind our protections. Let us see ourselves. And once the moment has passed, the nervous system asks a very old question:
“Am I safe now?”
This question can manifest as sadness, anxiety, shame, regret, fear of rejection, or an urge to pull back and hide. That doesn’t mean sharing was wrong. It means we’re human—and wired for belonging.
Oversharing vs Conscious Sharing
For a long time, I thought this wave meant I would overshare. Now I see it differently.
Oversharing isn’t about how much you reveal. It is how and why you express it. Oversharing often occurs when:
- we share Control our emotions Instead put ourselves first.
- The wound is still bleeding, not gently forming a scar.
- We seek reassurance, validation, or relief from others.
- We share regardless of container or relationship.
- We feel depleted, ashamed or fragmented afterwards.
Oversharing isn’t a failure—it’s a signal that a part of us needs more support before it can be met
Conscious sharing on the other hand:
- Comes from self-connection rather than a need for emotional control.
- Happens with desire and choice.
- respecting time, borderand context.
- Leaving us tender but still intact.
- Uncomfortable but feels aligned.
Both can be emotional. Only one respects us.
How I divided the questions changed
Now before sharing—whether written or spoken—I pause and ask myself these simple questions:
“Am I sharing from the whole, or am I asking to hold back?”
There is no judgment in the answer. Both are deeply human.
If I’m asking to be held, I know sharing may be more appropriate for a private, resourceful space—therapy, close friendships, journaling, or simply sitting with yourself.
If I share from wholeness—even a gentle wholeness—I trust it more.
“Who needs to hear this, and what really needs to be said?”
This question invites me to get out of making it about i am and in service of the message—the deeper intent and goal of the story.
If the honest answer is that I’m talking to a specific person I’m upset with, then I know a private conversation will be more aligned.
But if the answer is that it’s for women who are living with self-doubt or navigating similar experiences of silence and loneliness, then I believe the story. I believe it carries knowledge, it can be healing and it is meant to be shared.
While the after-filling still comes
Even conscious, aligned vulnerability can leave you feeling raw later. Feeling exposed doesn’t mean you’ve overshared. It often means you touch something true.
for Sensitive, compassionate people-those who feel deeply and care deeply -vulnerability activates the nervous system. And the nervous system doesn’t speak in logic – it speaks in sensation.
This is why how we take care of ourselves after sharing is as much about the sharing itself.
How I nurture myself after weakness
I learned not to be in a hurry to meet the next event with grace. Inner river of love.
Here’s what helps me after I share some weak posts:
1. Mark the finish
I consciously block out the moment – closing my laptop, putting my phone face down, washing my hands.
I say quietly“What needs to be shared is shared.”
2. Return to my body
A hand on my heart. A deep breath. A deep breath. A gentle stretch.
No analysis—just presence. I imagine the intensity of feeling that I feel as I breathe in, being enveloped by an inner river of love.
3. Witness my courage
Rather than rehash the story, I acknowledge the act:
“It was brave.”
“I didn’t give up on myself.”
“I choose to stand up for myself.”
4. Restore my boundaries
I visualize my energy returning to me and repeat the following:
“What is mine, I keep; what is not mine, I let go.”
5. Ground in general
A hot tea. A shower. A walk. Something simple and human. Life goes on. i am safe
I have come to believe the deeper truth
For a long time, especially women, we were taught to call telling the truth “oversharing.” Not because it was wrong but because it made others uncomfortable.
The goal is not to be less honest.
We don’t need to soften our stories, hide our feelings, or edit our truths to make others comfortable. Honesty is not the problem – it is the path to connection, healing and self-understanding.
The goal is to be more loyal to ourselves.
Being submissive means sharing out of alignment, taking care of our own boundaries and tending to ourselves afterwards.
It means knowing the difference between an open wound that needs more internal support before sharing and a scar that can be safely held in the hands of others.
When we are true to ourselves, vulnerability becomes a gift—for us and for those who accept our stories—because we remain intact, grounded, and whole, even as we see deeply.
Some stories heal us in private.
Some heal collectively.
Some seeds are planted silently, we never see how they grow.
And sometimes, the intensity after sharing is the nervous system learning that it’s possible—and still safe—to watch.
A mantra I return
When in doubt, I repeat:
“I share from wholeness, not hunger.”
“I trust the part of me that chose to speak.”
And I would be enough of that.
