Bit of a laugh for you, hopefully, on this May Day bank holiday here in the UK. Every now and then I meet with a couple of poet friends and we talk about organising a local poetry night. We have yet to get around to it, but we came close to it this month and tasked each other to come up with a poem about the Coronation, so I wrote this. I got a bit carried away with myself and had a good chuckle recording it, but I haven’t posted it anywhere publicly, other than here.
I realise that the reason why comes down to the difference between authenticity and integrity. Social media is awash with ‘authenticity’ on steroids; well, it’s not authenticity actually, its something that Brené Brown refers to in her book ‘Daring Greatly’1 as ‘floodlighting’. She says,
‘When it comes to vulnerability, connectivity means sharing our stories with people who have earned the right to hear them - people with whom we’ve cultivated relationships that can bear the weight of our story. Is there trust? Is there mutual empathy? Is there reciprocal sharing? Can we ask for what we need? These are the crucial connection questions.’
Think people sharing videos of themselves crying on social media. I’m not talking about people caught in the moment of emotion, I mean those who post a picture of their tear-stained-selves with the caption: ‘This is what a breakup looks like behind the scenes #authentic #vulnerability.’ To which followers reply with heart emojis or ‘you’re so brave’.
Don’t get me wrong, I am all for ugly face crying. I am even all for ugly face crying and having a quick peak in the mirror to see what you look like when you are ugly face crying, because let’s face it, we are fascinating to ourselves. Crying is great - it releases our inner pharmacy of leucine enkephalin which is a natural painkiller. It’s just the weird leap from being in an emotion and then thinking ‘Ooh, this is a good photo opportunity for my socials, where’s my phone?’
I would argue that when we move from ugly-face-crying-all-alone-hugging-the-carpet to selfie posting we have moved from vulnerability to a form of numbing with a little bit of a dopamine hit from all those #withyou♥️ replies. And yes, we all need to numb a bit from time to time because, I don’t know if you have heard, but being human is brutal; just don’t wrap it up in a big fat bow of, ‘This is me being authentic’.
Authenticity is gained through sharing our vulnerabilities with those who have earned to hear them through their trustworthiness. Brené has a fantastic model which I use time and again with clients when talking about trust. She uses the acronym ‘BRAVING’. The elements of trust are Boundaries, Reliability, Accountability, Vault (confidentiality), Integrity, Non-judgment and Generosity. Vulnerably sharing our hopes, disappointments, traumas and successes with people who have proven these qualities to us through small incremental interactions breeds authentic connection and a sense of belonging.
I think that this is why people can feel left hung out to dry on social media, because they may think that they are being authentic in their #sharing and they may receive #platitudes back, but they are not receiving the cues that we need to feel a sense of connection and belonging; this is done through tone of voice, a look in the eyes, facial expressions and attuned body language. These cannot be translated over the ether in the way our beautiful nervous systems need to feel safe and soothed, which are the prerequisites for connection
The alternative, of course, is that we share our vulnerabilities and they are not met with caring emojis, but ridicule and shame. When we share vulnerably with someone who has not earned our trust and mutual empathy then it is as if we have shone a floodlight in their eyes - something Brené describes as ‘floodlighting’. The recipient’s response it likely to be the same as if a bright light had been shone in their eyes: scrunched up face before they turn it away and wince.
This, I fear, is what happened with Prince Harry when he shared his story at the time and in the way that he did. Clearly having been brought up in an environment where he felt that his reality was negated, doubted, misinterpreted and dismissed, his reaction was to ‘let it all hang out’. When we share our story too soon, before we have have really delved into the nitty gritty of it then we are sharing our hurt before we have fully integrated it into our lives, into our own experience. It can still feel like the hurts own us, rather than we own them.
The greatest description I have found of this integration was from Marian Partington’s2 memoir ‘If you sit very still’. Marian’s sister Lucy was murdered by Fred and Rose West, two people who committed some of the most heinous crimes. She committed years to processing her grief and searching for a way to find some forgiveness. In her book she states, ‘
The day after the retreat ended, I experienced murderous rage…Screaming, and rushing outside, I stamped and clawed at the earth, dribbling in impotence, roaring without words. It didn’t seem to be about anyone in particular. It was just a pure emotion. Until then I hadn’t thought of myself as a murderous person, but at that moment I was capable of killing. Working towards becoming forgiving began with an experience of murderous rage. In other words, I was not so totally different from the Wests as I might wish to think. I have never felt it in this way again. I was faced with the depth of the almost impossible enormity of my vow. From that moment it would not be possible to write off those people who had acted from this place. There was no room for demonising. I realised that we share a common humanity.
I believe that integration happens when we have the capacity, safety and space to go to that site of raw emotion. How that will be for each of us is as unique as we are (although for me, it did include ugly face crying, murderous rage and a visceral energy shift).
I do believe that it will gift us all the realisation of our common humanity. That is what true authentic connection is about; about understanding the light and shadow of ourselves because we have done the work to examine and make peace with both and can then hold space for others in their light and shadow, without numbing. defending, disowning or judging. It’s messy and imperfect, but it is all heading in that direction.
We can then have integrity. The Latin root of the word ‘integrity’ is ‘integer’, defined as ‘an undivided or unbroken completeness’. When we work through our divided parts, the parts that we have exiled through shame and denial, then we can be authentic with integrity.
Which brings me on to why I have only posted the video above to my Substack community. In my profession as a therapist I understand that in order to be trustworthy I need to have boundaries; not over sharing with clients, but also revealing enough of myself to be relatable. Whilst in the above video I am being authentically me, having a laugh and being silly, I think it over steps boundaries of what I would want to see in a therapist. By posting it here, I can share it with people who have signed up to hear from me in the role of The Therapeutic Poet, rather than their therapist. I’d be interested to know what you think.
That’s it for now!
‘Til next time.
Jacky x
PS. PLEASE excuse any typos - I had eye surgery on Wednesday and am writing this through a blur with a very dodgy Apple Mac laptop which is adding letters in all of its own accord! I have tried to edit them, but a couple may have slipped through!
Brown, Brené. Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead (p. 160). Penguin Books Ltd. Kindle Edition.
Partington, Marian. If You Sit Very Still (p. 107). Jessica Kingsley Publishers. Kindle Edition.
Share this post