Visibility is Scary but It Changed Me

The first time I called myself a writer out loud was on August 14, 2019, and by then, I’d already been writing daily for a couple of years.

Yet I hadn’t shared this much and at the time, uttering those words was one of the hardest yet most transformative experiences in my short writing career. It was nerve-racking yet necessary.

I did this as part of a Visibility Challenge with four other amazing women. I had signed up for the challenge, knowing that I needed a push to feel more comfortable with putting myself out there. At the end of the challenge, we each had to do Facebook Live, granted, only within our private group. It was the first time I’d ever taken a video of myself speaking.

I woke up early and prepared a special breakfast to mark the occasion. I was meant to give myself enough time to get ready at a leisurely pace, but nerves got the best of me, I overestimated how much time I had at my disposal, and by the time I got ready it was two minutes before the session was meant to begin. I’d had a hard time shaking off my nerves and now I grew warmer and sweatier than I already was, but I had no choice. I had to go with it.

I started the session well. I was animated and engaged. I shared my story without having to refer to the notes I’d prepared. I talked about my journey to becoming a writer and why it was so important to me. It seemed like all was going well, even though I wiped away sweat beads accumulating on my upper lip. Without realizing it, I completed the FB live holding a tissue in my fist.

When reached the point in my story where I shared how I felt when I completed the first draft of my first novel, Lonely Dove, I started to tear up. I tried to compose myself but the emotion swallowed me whole. I had cried when I had practiced the session and I thought I had squeezed out all the tears, but there was something quite powerful about sharing my story to a live audience, no matter how small, instead of to the four walls of my apartment. Before long, tears were flowing non-stop.

I managed to get through the rest of the content, but there’s a lot that I left out. I had wanted to share information about my book, and provide a summary or introduction, but I couldn’t. Instead, I finished by staying, “I am a writer.”

Later I got feedback that it was a powerful finish. I am a writer, and it was the first time I had acknowledged it out loud. By then, I was already writing every single day, but I had kept my practice private.

When I finished the Facebook live, my first impulse was to apologize for crying, and I did. Then I rationalized that at least only four people witnessed it. Finally I realized it didn’t matter how many people would have seen me cry.

It was a good exercise for me. I showed emotion—something I don’t do readily. Most importantly, I showed my vulnerability, which is harder still. I was open about what I feel passionately about.

Looking back, I think it was beautiful. It is a big thing for me to admit I feel strongly about something and to cry openly. I am known for going with the flow, being adaptable, having a positive outlook, smiling, and being even-keeled. Outside of that, I rarely show emotion. It’s not that I don’t feel it, but only those who know me deeply or well, experience my full range of emotions.

I was touched by the reactions of the four ladies who were my audience. They were touched by the emotion I shared. I was touched more.

To cry was an accomplishment. To cry and overcome the guilt and shame associated with it was an even bigger accomplishment. I have cried some more since that live session. It turns out there are more emotion I need to release.

It is scary to step into a public forum and dare to be seen. We’re afraid of others’ judgments and of our own. But at the same time, there is nothing more liberating than granting yourself the privilege of showing who you really are.