Facing the Fear
Yesterday I was a guest speaker at a mental health panel in Brooklyn. I was one of four people invited to speak about our trauma experiences with mental health professionals, and as I looked around the room, I couldn’t help but think, “How on earth did I get here?” To say I was nervous was an understatement.
It was small and intimate. The kind of space where we talked about the things most people spend a lifetime trying not to. Trauma. Healing. And what it actually feels like to live inside a mind that hasn’t always felt like the safest place to be.
And somehow, I was the one invited to speak.
Sharing My Story
I’ll be completely honest: part of me felt proud, part of me felt terrified, and another part of me was already mapping out the nearest exit (classic CPTSD move). For so long, survival meant staying quiet, staying small, and staying out of the spotlight. So to suddenly find myself in a room, being asked to share the very things I once buried, that was surreal.
But once we got rolling, something shifted. Sharing my story in that room, among peers who understood, didn’t feel like a performance. Rather, it felt like connection.
Finding Connection in the Room
People nodded like they’d been there too. They laughed at the awkward jokes I toss out when I don’t know what else to do (hey, nervous humor counts as a coping skill). They leaned in when I admitted that healing isn’t neat, pretty, or remotely Instagram-worthy most days. And for a little while, it felt like the whole room was on the same page. We weren’t just talking about mental health, we were living inside the rawness of it, together.
Why Open Conversations Matter
That’s the magic of talking openly about this stuff: it interrupts the silence. It breaks through the isolation. Suddenly, the heaviness we’ve been carrying alone doesn’t feel quite so unbearable when it’s carried as a group.
Walking out of that room, I thought about how many years I spent hiding my story because of shame. That very shame told me that if people really knew what I’d been through, they would back away. But yesterday was proof of the opposite, that those same stories, when spoken aloud, can become lifelines. They can be bridges instead of walls. And can remind someone who still feels alone that they’re not.
The Power of Shared Stories
That’s the part that stays with me. Yes, I got to share my truth, but I also got to witness others share theirs. And in the overlap, in the nods, the laughter, and the silence that landed heavier than words, there was a kind of collective strength that made me glad I hadn’t rejected the invitation or bolted for the door.
So yeah, Brooklyn gave me more than just a good bagel this week. It gave me a reminder that vulnerability is never wasted. That speaking up, even when your voice shakes, matters. And that sometimes, the very stories we think disqualify us are the ones that connect us the most.
And who knows, maybe I’ll be asked to do future guest speaking. After yesterday’s event, I think I’d jump at the chance.
Photo by Dylan Gillis on Unsplash