Being vulnerable in writing
I would consider myself a rather closed off person. I am careful as to what I share with others, making sure it doesn’t dive too deep in what I consider to be personal.
One of my modules in university this term has been Creative Nonfiction. My class joked that our three hour weekly sessions were “group therapy” because of how much people would share in their writing. I would be shocked at the levels of privacy some of my classmates would share, and it would make my writing about a memory of a forest from when I was eight seem obsolete. I’d say that it was a very intimate class; though many of us had been strangers at the start of term, we all grew a bond and a respect for each other and our craft.
My final assignment of the year for this module was reciting my Tinder experiences last year, where I had gone through a break-up from a long term relationship (my boyfriend had moved back to Canada during the last crawl of Covid restrictions) and I wanted to experience hookup culture. I may post that essay a little later on. Even though I wasn’t so keen on talking about this part of my life, and not because I was ashamed but I was literally describing an intimate part of my life, I decided to go with that anyway. I sort of half-assed it at first, not putting in anything too racy or NSFW. But what struck me was when my lovely seminar leader told me though she loved how vulnerable I was being, she wanted me to put in MORE scandalous things because she could sense I was holding back. She suggested looking at articles on Brevitymag.com. I found one by Abigail Thomas (https://brevitymag.com/craft-essays/vulnerability-is-strength/), where she talks about how vulnerability in writing is strength, and that it’s the hard parts of life that make it interesting. Thomas’ article spoke to me, and made me realise that hard truths just make me more human. So, with my essay, I went for it. I’m still awaiting the grade of it though, sorry to disappoint.
It can be easy to feel like you’re whining on when you’re talking about your life. It can be especially disheartening when you don’t get many views on your writing, or many followers, but the thing is about passions is that if it makes you happy it is important to keep doing it. I have faith that maybe one day my ramblings and cussing and obscenity that is my life will somehow get some attention. Could this be because I didn’t get enough of it as a child? Potentially. But I’m attempting to follow what I love because of the simple fact I love it. It’s no different to Instagram influencers snapping hot pics of themselves in the mirror- they love the attention they get and it gives them a sense of gratification. A sense of purpose.
Being vulnerable in my writing gives me a sense of purpose. And perhaps one day, I’ll have something to show from it.
