Sharing and oversharing - where’s the sweet spot? Doesn’t it all come down to trust?

In a world where connection is more important than ever, why can it feel so precarious sharing personal feelings? Is it what we share, or the people we are sharing with? Do you ever wish you hadn't?

Here are a few thoughts…

Up and until a few years ago I was an oversharer. I have realised that oversharing is generally viewed as a negative, but on the face of it – I like it. Maybe it’s naive, but I love the thought of being able to sit down and share parts of my life experience in an unfiltered way - and when other people feel they can be that way with me, I feel privileged. The hope, I suppose is a space of understanding and non-judgement; and I don’t know about you – but it feels like that’s why we are here.

I did a little bit of googling and came across a number of posts that all concluded that sharing too much can be seen as needy or can signal mental health issues. Now, I am not qualified to talk about this in any sort of authoritative capacity – but as a person drawing on personal experience, I can.

It got me thinking – why have I historically been such an oversharer and what has changed?

The place to look obviously is my upbringing, and my relationship with my mother. Now, I know she has been featuring quite regularly in my writing at the moment, but I am figuring a lot of things out, and she is my greatest teacher.

I was brought up with no personal privacy. None whatsoever. I didn’t have any personal boundaries, I didn’t know I was allowed to have them, because I wasn’t. As contrived as it feels these days, very little of my life was my just own, and whilst I am very different now, I recognise that the way we are raised can inform a lot of our default ways of being.

My mother was blunt in laying down the law. She opened my post when I started getting it (no texts or emails back in the day), she went through my room regularly, went through my bag. I was actively not allowed privacy, even though as I got older, I tried to fight for it. My rights, as I called them, were not irrelevant she would say. She demanded to know everything I was doing or wanted to do and really there was no point in keeping things from her, because she was unrelenting in her persistence to know.

I had no concept of not oversharing. For me, the cues from a very early age were whether I liked it or not, the people I am close to (and say they like me or love me) could access all areas, even when it felt uncomfortable and in a few experiences in my life – just wrong.

In hindsight this clearly had an effect on my emotional health - being overly open is not always good and not being attuned to the subtle signs of what might be a negative experience took time to learn. It was an interesting dance as I got older and started to hone my own instincts while my mother still demanded an unhealthy level of openness from me.

I also had no true understanding that trust isn’t a given when I was young, that it took time to nurture and importantly not everyone ought to be trusted to the same degree; not because they necessarily had a nefarious agenda, though they might, but because not everyone has to know everything. We get to choose.

It seems silly to admit, but for a long time through my teens and twenties I was not properly equipped with important skills of working out how much to trust someone or a situation, how much to say, let alone truly trusting myself. I believed I was being a good, honest person by telling people everything, after all that was what I was taught. Choosing to be private was bad because it meant I was hiding something.

One day, during the time my marriage was failing, I had told my mother the situation and that I didn’t know how to repair my marriage. I told her about my husband’s behaviour and that we were sleeping in separate rooms. She rolled her eyes and carried on talking about something else. It didn’t even register. I was shocked.

I often look back to that moment and wonder why I shared this information with my mother. By then, I knew full well who she was, how she worked and what our relationship was - but there were times I was looking for support from my mother. I wanted a mother, and it was hard to admit that I couldn’t rely on her. I thought maybe something as serious as wanting to make my marriage work would bring us together.

Later that year, my husband, children and I went on holiday. When we came home, I called my mother to let her know we were back. She said something along the lines of “I hope there was lots of romance on the holiday”. I think romance was her code for sex: I said we had had a lovely time as a family, but that my husband and I slept in different rooms and that we didn’t spend any time just the two of us.

My mother laughed and said, “Well I don’t what you’re doing – but you are clearly doing something very wrong.” I kicked myself - partly because I had shared something that was a source of huge shame and sadness for me and partly because I really wished I hadn’t said anything. That day I decided I would not share anything important in my life with my mother again and I haven’t.

Many people have family as a safety net. Somewhere to be nurtured and nourished and to learn key skills. I did not have that experience, and it is a massive shame to say I have realised time and time again that I couldn’t trust my mother, not with things that were important or precious to me. The positive of this though is whilst it took time, I have learnt to really trust myself and be self-reliant. I have learnt where the sweet spot is – in terms of when to share and when to keep quiet, and who to open my heart to. It has taken a long time and is an endless process - and sometimes, we can be aware and still misplace trust.

Another interaction that comes to mind is an argument in a relationship I had after lockdown. Covid came about a year after my divorce and the way things turned out I was in lockdown alone. At the beginning it was tough. Everyone was isolated and scared. My daughter locked down with her boyfriend and his family, and my son chose to lockdown with his father.

Looking back, I can say that year was transformative for me, but we rarely realise something is transformative when we are in it – or at least I don’t. However, it hurt that my children chose not to be with me. One day I told my then boyfriend how I felt. He seemed to sympathise, and I thought nothing more of it.

A few years later, when the relationship took a serious downturn – he used some of the extremely private things I had only shared with him about my children - in anger. In that moment the trust was broken and whilst I still wanted the relationship to work - there was no way back. For me love stands on the shoulders of trust so once the trust is broken, the love no longer has a solid foundation to live on.

I have a rule. If someone entrusts me with private information, I tell no-one. Not even the person I am in a relationship with. I have had many an occasion where I was told, “oh you could have told him.” I have then replied, “But I am separate person, and you told me not to say anything to anyone. So, I didn’t.”

I also tell my friends that even if we become sworn enemies, if they have asked me not to say anything, I won’t. Secrets I am told get locked in an internal vault forever.

But as life has shown me often - it is worth remembering that you cannot assume anyone else operates the way you do, even if you are close to them and even if they are family. People are unpredictable.

So why did I overshare? Going back to the mental health point and neediness - there was definitely a part of me that overshared because I needed external validation, and it was my default setting. Growing up not having privacy pleased my mother - so it created a strange, contrived pathway in my mind.

Similarly, when I was in a chronically neglectful marriage and my self-worth had been eroded - I needed to fill a void.

However, eventually in my experience, the emotional tides do turn. As I began to understand what was lacking in me and what I needed, I began to redress my behaviour and whilst it is always an ongoing process, I tend not to overshare these days.

The way I was brought up is definitely a reason for how I was - but it doesn’t have to be an excuse. I have much more clarity about where the lines are, and I have finally learnt discernment. Hurray! Though, the cynical part of me might say I have been burned too many times, but that’s not it.

Choice is empowering and knowing how you want to live. Choosing what parts of you and your life you want to share is your right and a gift of connection. I’m still an open person, it’s a big part of who I am, but I am much more intentional about my privacy and who I want to share what with.