I’d like to tell my story but I do not like to share

I am an introvert. That does not mean I shun people or avoid crowds; rather, it means that spending time with people takes energy. For me, being at a party with friends and strangers leaves me drained. An extrovert functions in the opposite way; being in crowds and people energizes them; the presence of other folks and interaction with them nourishes their souls. Introverts need to be alone in order to replenish themselves; their energy comes from private reflection and quiet, solitary contemplation. Perhaps that’s why I would rather hear your story than tell you mine. Whenever I meet people I ask them about themselves, what they like to do, where they work, who they are. It is honest curiosity about them as people. I don’t do it to pass the time or to avoid talking about myself. If folks ask me, I will gladly tell them about myself; I have nothing to hide and don’t mind sharing; it’s just not my first instinct.

Telling our stories matters. Sharing them with one another is important. Letting an acquaintance have a little insight into who and what you are changes the relationship. Sharing stories makes friends out of strangers; it draws us into each other’s lives, uniting us in our similarities and bringing to light the unique things that might keep us from seeing eye to eye. Opening myself up to you as you open yourself up to me builds trust between us; by giving you a bit of myself you come to see that I have confidence that you will respect what I have shared; at the same time, when you offer me something about yourself you are doing so with the expectation that I will in turn respect what you have shared with me. When we share stories about ourselves we share trust reciprocally.

Stories and trust alike aren’t necessarily easy to share; stories require us to be vulnerable, thus they are not always easy to offer. We are afraid of what others might think; they might laugh at embarrassing moment that changed our lives; they might not like us because of something we did that wasn’t quite right, or doesn’t fit into their understanding of the world; they might use what they have learned about us to shame us or harm us; they might take a story told in confidence and broadcast it to the whole world. To share our story means there must be a certain amount of trust between teller and listener.

Strangely, distance can be a source of trust; not physical distance, but emotional distance, the separation between two strangers that allows them to share intimate details about one another precisely because they are so far apart. The woman at the bar shares her story with the bartender because the bartender is anonymous; she does not know her customer, so she can be trusted; as a professional, it would not be in her best interest not to laugh at, and thus offend, the person who is helping to pay her salary. If the bartender should happen to share an embarrassing story the customer shares with her, there are no names; the customer will not be publicly shamed because the story will be anonymous; thus the stranger on the other side of the bar can be trusted; they are safe.

A casual encounter at a party or on an airplane offers similar protection, not only because of the anonymity of the situation, but also because there must be a mutual willingness to share; as they open up to each other in small ways, it is as if they sign a private contract not to hurt each other; I will tell you my story because you are willing to tell me yours; for this moment, in this chance encounter, we have found enough common ground to be willing to share something about ourselves, but there is not enough common ground for you to embarrass me or me to embarrass you because we are the only people in this community. In this moment there is trust because each party finds in the other a willingness and a need to share; the addition of the brevity of the encounter and the small size of the community cements the trust required for full disclosure. It can be easy to share stories with a complete stranger because there is nothing to be gained by either party other than a sense of community and of not being alone in the world. Knowing that another person has shared your plight and understands what you have been through is a great source of comfort. It is a controlled situation with limited potential for fallout. I know your story; I know something of who you are but I do not your your identity, just as you do not now mine. We know just enough of one another to feel comfortable having shared our stories without hesitation.

Sometimes being hesitant to share one’s story is a form of control; I know everything I need to know about you; I can control you because I know which buttons to push; I know the sensitive areas that might alienate you should I touch upon them; I am aware of the triggers that will cause you to bend to my will; I know you and so I have power over you. At the same time you know little about me; you may have deduced a few buttons to push, but you certainly do not know them all; you must tread ever so carefully at all times because you are uncertain of what might push me away; you do not know the triggers that will cause me to follow you; you do not know me, so you do not have power over me. I’d like to tell my story, but I do not want to lose control over you or over me.

That is the big fear in sharing our stories; that in giving away a part of ourselves we also give away some of our control of ourselves. When we share our stories with a group we cannot guarantee it will remain private; in fact, by sharing it openly we have given our story away and entrusted it to not only those within immediate hearing, but anyone with whom our audience might share it. And it will be shared; we will be talked about in good ways and in bad; our story will not only help others understand us or form an opinion about us, it will also shape how we indirectly impact their relationships with others. Our story, once told, becomes public property; there is no way to avoid it. Nor should we hesitate to let others know who we are. We don’t necessarily need to broadcast all of more most intimate details and secrets to everyone within earshot but we don’t need to hold everything back either.

If we want people to know us and trust us, then story-telling should be a reciprocal affair; I will tell you something of myself because you have told me something about yourself. I know your want and likes, you deserve to know mine. You know where to tread carefully with me, I would like to be just as careful with you. In mutual sharing of ourselves we build trust, relationship and community. We find common interests and connections; we know how to help and how to build one another up. We begin to understand the language of the other, how best to express ourselves to them so they will understand us, just as they learn the ways in which to best communicate with us. We even learn the best way to share our stories.

I’d love to tell my story if you are willing to let me share.