silkidelic

VULNERABILITY. I’ve been thinking about this topic because I share my own combination of partial nudity and personal lore on social media.

I also talked about it with my friend Heather Farley (who is headlining the Best Of episode of the RISK! podcast on Oct 3rd, with a perfect example of a personal story that she was ready to tell the world).

Our conversation made me realize, rather than setting an example of pure vulnerability, I want to set an example of self-reflection and self-protection. The lines between personal, public, social, art, marketing, commodity, trauma-dumping, and storytelling have all blurred and you have to know how to stay your course. 

Since the day I could write, I’ve processed emotions through writing. I updated my diary every day and I’ve written fiction for as long as I can remember. 

But the pieces I share are not pure vulnerability. Vulnerability concerns wounds, and I’m not interested in showing my viscera to a digital room of unsuspecting people. I will, however, tell you about my scars. I’m retelling events that I’ve re-framed. Often I’m talking about 20, 30 years ago. It brings up emotions that I can handle. 

The things that I have trouble accepting as real, I fictionalize, and for now, keep close to my vest.

There’s a parallel to burlesque. I’m comfortable stripping because instead of being intimate with the audience, I’m miming an edited, glamorous intimacy. It elicits similar emotions, but in a way that’s relatively safe for all involved. Mini catharsis. Inspiration, not violent revelation. I’m able to offer that because the act of stripping on stage is NOT intimate to me. Nudity, sensuality, even sexuality alone aren’t intimate to me unless I say so. It differs by context.

A photo that I snap of a tree might tell you more about me than a nude photo of me taken by a photographer. A candid photo taken by a loved one is more intimate than a selfie – the wall of self-protection breaks when I look back at them through the lens.

With writing, there’s plenty I keep concealed. I want to put it out there that it’s not the best idea to bare your guts in the town square – not because of judgment from others, never (fuck them), but simply for your own inner well-being. 

As storytellers (or as my dear friend Heather calls us, FABULISTS), we deserve to tell the stories that we’re ready to tell.