Why Being Vulnerable is a Good Thing.

He said my story was horrible. I shared it anyway. Because sometimes, the thing that scares you to say is exactly what someone else needs to hear.

The body that built them — and rebuilt me. (2016) Photo by Natalie McCain for The Honest Body Project. Used with permission.

“A book about how childbirth destroys a woman’s body? That sounds like a terrible idea.”

That’s what my then-boyfriend said after I excitedly shared that my personal essays, published in The Honest Body Project, would be read by yours truly at an upcoming bookstore event. (FYI: This dates back to about nine or ten years.)

The book — the passion project of Florida photographer Natalie McCain — is a collection of photos and essays that candidly capture women’s raw and vivid thoughts on motherhood. All the ways it changes a woman, both physically and emotionally.

It was lauded by The Huffington Post as “an empowering collection of photo series that feature moms in a stripped-down state, discussing parenthood and body image.”

It was an opportunity to connect with other women who felt similar things. To express how women are more than their pants size or stretch marks.

I had been so excited to play a part in this.

Until Captain Killjoy opened his yap.

I stood there, deflated. Hurt. Questioning what I had done.

Did I go too far?

The book’s author, McCain, had encouraged me to participate after I wrote a story about her viral success when I was a news reporter. It was a big step for me — I’d struggled with my post-baby body, especially my C-section “shelf,” and the depression that followed giving birth.

It was vulnerable but essential. A way to connect with others and let them know motherhood, while wonderful, can be pretty tough too.

Something I wish someone had told me.

But Captain Killjoy? He saw it as a disservice.

I still went to the reading. I still shared my truth.

(Spoiler: that relationship? It crumbled about a month later. Go figure.)

There were deeper cracks between Honest-Body-Hater and me, but that moment — the time before COVID — paired with some recent events in my life, left me wondering:

Is being vulnerable and authentic a good thing or a bad thing?

Back to those “recent events”… I’m not ready to talk about them publicly yet. They’re still fresh. And raw. I’m cycling through grief.

Someone dear to me kindly said, “Sara, you don’t have to put everything on Facebook.”

I agree.

But isn’t being authentic a part of what truly makes you who you are?

I’ve been writing stories since I could scribble. I spent more than 20 years in journalism, including a stint as a parenting columnist. I wrote about the ups and downs of raising kids.

Some columns were serious. Some funny. Some snarky. All real.

Like what you do when your kid hides from you in public, sending you into sheer panic. Or how you respond when your 6-year-old greets strangers by face-planting on the floor. (Yes, this was common. But that 6-year-old is now 18, well-rounded, and has a horde of thespian awards to boot. Guess he was practicing his acting chops back then. Well done.)

Writing is cathartic for me.

Being authentic makes me feel good — when something I write connects with someone or sparks an “aha!” moment, I feel a sense of satisfaction. I feel like me.

Because that’s who I am.

I don’t share every detail of my life publicly. But the issues that are universal to the human experience?

That’s where it’s at.

Vulnerability at Its Best — and Funniest

The We Do Not Care Club on Facebook is a perfect example.

Under the handle @JustBeingMelani, Melani Sanders has started a movement. She posts simple videos for women experiencing the, um, joys of perimenopause, menopause, and post-menopause.

Hair tucked in a cap, two sets of reading glasses stacked on her head, an airplane pillow slung around her neck, Melani has been the shot of sunshine I didn’t know I needed.

As she tears off the tip of her yellow highlighter with her teeth, Melani reads from a list of reader-submitted items, all deadpan, followed by a zinger of truth — complete with a close-up of her face.

The gist: World, we simply do not care anymore. And you are officially on notice.

Some recent gems:

“We do not care if we sneeze and happen to pass gas at the same time. We are concentrating on not peeing ourselves. Can’t have both.”“We do not care if we’ve asked you the same question 13 times. We do not remember the answer. Say it again.”“We do not care if we clean our cell phone screen by rubbing it on our boobs. It works.”“We do not care if our eyes are shut. We are listening to that program. Don’t touch the remote.”

Yep. Melani’s on to something.

She’s real. She’s relatable. And her voice is sorely needed.

Her following has exploded — 1.3 million and counting — spawning copycat groups, a product line, and even a People magazine feature after her book deal.

All from being authentic.

With roughly 75 million U.S. women in perimenopause, menopause, or post-menopause, honest conversations like these matter.

They connect us. They heal us. They remind us that we’re not alone — or crazy — for feeling all the things.

I’m realizing what I suspected all along: Candid conversations can be the catalyst for serious change.

So, to that ex who once told me my written words about motherhood were a bad idea?

I’m channeling my inner Melani and offering my own WDNC take:

“We do not care if our stories make you uncomfortable. We’re too busy telling them.”And besides…We weren’t talking to you anyway.”

This article on why being vulnerable is a good thing was originally posted on Medium.