When Sharing Your Story Is Courage

How to know when and if fear guides you.

We’re reading The Gifts of Imperfection by Brene Brown right now in WILDD Hearts, and during a recent conversation, something interesting surfaced.

A few women questioned Brene’s stance that sharing your story is necessary. They didn’t think that it was something they needed to do in order to heal and move forward.  

I didn’t feel the need to persuade anyone. Everyone is different. But I did feel myself paying attention.

Because over time, I’ve noticed something. When someone is very certain about not needing to share their story, it usually tells me something about where they are. Not something wrong or lacking in them…at all. Just something true about their current relationship with themselves.

And let me say this clearly before we go any further.

I do not believe everyone has to tell their story.
I do not believe sharing is a requirement for growth.
And I do not believe vulnerability means saying everything out loud.

But I also don’t believe that silence automatically equals wisdom.

Sometimes it does.
And sometimes it doesn’t.

That distinction matters as we move forward.

There are people who are quiet because they are still listening. They are integrating new information. They are letting their experience settle before they give it language. They understand that naming something too soon can shrink it or harden it before it’s ready. That kind of silence has substance. You can feel it.

There are also people who are quiet because they have discernment. They know not everyone earns access to their inner life…and they’re right. They are thoughtful about where their stories land and who carries them with care. They don’t confuse privacy with secrecy. That kind of quiet is rooted.

But there is another kind of silence that doesn’t get talked about much.

It often sounds confident.
It often sounds self-sufficient.
It often sounds like, “I’ve already worked through that.”

And underneath it, there’s avoidance…possibly from fear, anger or shame… or judgement (of course!)

I know this because I’ve lived it.

There was a time in my life when I sat in a circle of women I trusted. Not strangers. Women who had shown up for me in small, consistent ways. We were asked a simple question. Nothing deep or invasive. Just an invitation to share what was weighing on us.

When it was my turn, I often passed.

It wasn’t because I didn’t have words…I’ve got plenty
Not because I wasn’t safe…I would have left.
But because if I spoke, I knew something would shift.

I remember feeling it in my chest. That tight, familiar comfortableness. I told myself I was being thoughtful. Private. Wise.  Self-contained. Been there, done that. But later, alone, I had to admit the truth. I wasn’t protecting myself from them. I was protecting myself from hearing my own voice say what I already knew.

That moment didn’t mean I was wrong at all. It didn’t mean I had failed. But it did show me where I was. I wasn’t ready yet. And that honesty mattered much more to me than any performance of strength.

That’s what story does. It clarifies. It pulls things out of the fog and gives them edges. And once something has edges, it has weight.

Many of us don’t fear judgment nearly as much as we fear clarity.

Here’s where conversations about vulnerability often miss the mark. 

Vulnerability is not disclosure. It’s not confession. It’s not emotional unloading. Vulnerability is telling the truth with intention and boundaries. 

Oversharing is not courage. 

Silence is not automatically strength. 

Both can be armor.

So if you are going to tell your story, the real question is not “Should I?”

The real question is “Why, how, and now…or not?”

This is where a framework helps. Not rules, pressure or a bunch of stress. Just an honest orientation.

Before sharing anything personal, there are a few questions worth sitting with.

• Why am I telling this? What’s the purpose?

• Is it to be seen in a certain light?

• Is it to get relief from discomfort?

• Or is it because I’m ready to let this be witnessed, even if nothing gets fixed?

Who am I telling it to?
Not everyone is a safe listener. Safe doesn’t mean endlessly supportive. It means grounded. Someone who can listen without correcting, minimizing, or making it about themselves.

What part of this is mine to keep?
Some things are private because they are still tender or sacred, not because they are shameful.

And finally, what happens if I don’t tell this to anyone?
Sometimes the answer is nothing.
Sometimes the answer is a quiet loneliness you’ve normalized.

That answer tells the truth.

Sharing your story does not guarantee acceptance. It does not promise understanding. It does not protect you from being misunderstood.

What it does offer is this.

• You hear yourself.

• You feel the truth land in your body.

• You stop carrying it alone.

• Your story stops holding so much power over you.

And for the introverts, the quieter ones, the women who would rather stay on the edge of the room. This is not about volume. Courage doesn’t require an audience. It requires at least one place where you don’t have to hide.

Sometimes that place is a therapist.
Sometimes it’s one trusted person.
Sometimes it’s a page you write and read back to yourself without softening it.

So no, you don’t have to tell your story.
But if you’re honest, you will know why you’re not.

Are you quiet because you’re listening?
Or because you don’t want to hear what might come out if you spoke?

Only you can tell the difference.

And that question is worth your time.

Love is ALL there is,

Diana