TMI? Exercising Wisdom in the Sharing of Our Stories
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I’m glad social media wasn’t around when I was a child. What kind of posts would I find on my mother’s timeline? Would she have shared that embarrassing picture of me on the potty? Would she have vented when I said something rude to her? Would she have bemoaned on an Instagram post how many times she had to get up with me in the night? Or maybe she would have only cute pictures of me dressed up in floral dresses and videos of me learning to walk.
As I edited a photo of my son a few months ago for my Instagram feed, I wondered about this. How would my son feel if he ever took the time to scroll through my social media posts? What if he read all my articles where I used him as an illustration? Would he cringe? Would he groan, “Mom, why did you have to write that?”
We all have stories. Some are meant to be shared to encourage and give voice to others’ stories. But some are meant to be kept close. I’m learning that perhaps some pictures aren’t meant to be shared publicly but enjoyed in my quaint home on a lazy Sunday afternoon with close family members. I’m also learning that not all stories are meant to be proclaimed on the internet, but some are meant to be shared in my living room with trusted friends. There is power in a picture and strength behind a story, but sometimes it’s more important to protect those I love, including myself. Discerning the difference isn’t always easy. It takes the wisdom found in being slow to speak and asking the right questions before we share.
It is wise for us to be slow to speak.
We live in a social media world where we can post a story or thought the moment it comes to our minds. We can open our website and type up a blog post and publish it whenever we like. In some ways this is good, but in other ways it has eliminated that slow, restrained, careful trepidation with our words.
Whoever restrains his words has knowledge,
and he who has a cool spirit is a man of understanding. (Prov. 17:27)
Pastor and theologian Matthew Henry (1662-1714) commented on this passage:
A wise man will be of few words, as being afraid of speaking amiss: He that has knowledge, and aims to do good with it, is careful, when he does speak to speak to the purpose, and says little in order that he may take time to deliberate. He spares his words, because they are better spared than ill-spent.[1]
To help us slow down, here are a few questions to ask ourselves before we post that next raw story we have on our hearts.
Have I considered the freshness of my wounds before posting?
You’ve made it through a fiery trial. Your body is worn out and your lungs are burnt from smoke inhalation. You’re still limping. But there is another fire burning in your heart with a story to tell, because you want others to hear how they can survive this kind of scorching suffering, too.
It is a common temptation to want to share our stories too quickly—while the wounds are still fresh, the words are still stinging in our cuts, and the flames of suffering are still smoldering beneath us. Though we survived the suffering, we don’t know what the recovery process will look like—perhaps not just spiritually but also emotionally, mentally, and physically. We need to take time to recover, not just for our readers’ sakes but also for our own selves; we don’t want to rush our own healing so that we can quickly get our story on Instagram, Facebook, our blog, or in a book. Healing takes time and patience and sharing during that time might be a hindrance to the process—for yourself and for others.
“By sharing our stories, we can find others who are suffering and encourage one another. God created us not only to rejoice together but also to suffer together as well (1 Cor. 12:26).”
When we share our stories publicly, we must be ready for the critiques and criticisms that will follow. Are our hearts ready to endure that, or are the wounds too fresh? Do we have answers for those going through the same kind of suffering, or are we still learning how to heal? Are we far enough along in the healing process to discern the good advice from the bad that will show up in our comment feeds? Are we just adding to the noise of the internet, or have we learned something of value to say to fellow sufferers?
Have I considered the context of my story?
Our world thrives on vulnerability. The articles and posts that often get the most likes are the ones that are deeply raw and real. It makes sense; we have lived in a social media world where people can curate a picture-perfect life. Some have grown tired of that and want to hear that the people they follow are ordinary and struggle and suffer like we do. During our suffering, we also want to know someone else has already walked this path. By sharing our stories, we can find others who are suffering and encourage one another. God created us not only to rejoice together but also to suffer together as well (1 Cor. 12:26).
Yet, in our desire for raw vulnerability, I wonder if we have crossed a line. Have we told stories that were meant only to stay within our homes? Have we told stories too intimate to be shared between anyone other than close friends? Have we told stories that weren’t ours to tell? Are we sharing to air our grievances (which can be good in safe, intimate contexts) or to encourage another sufferer?
I am in no way encouraging people to cover up stories of abuse and mistreatment. These stories should always be told to the proper authorities, and those at risk should be alerted. But what I am wondering is that maybe we have become too open in such a public space about our lives in ways that are less than helpful.
There are stories in my heart that only a handful of you know because you’re my dear friends. There are stories in my heart that none of you know—only my husband and counsellors do. There are stories that I believe can be used by God, but I have chosen to share them only in one-on-one discipling opportunities or to encourage a friend. It takes discernment and love in tandem to discern when to share—a skill I’m still refining and learning.
People can—and do—steward stories faithfully off the platform.
I think of my friend Mia, who suffered for years in a lot of silence. She never shared her story on social media.[2] She never wrote a book about the trials she went through (though she probably could, and it would sell). Instead, in her suffering she sought to be faithful to God each day—whether that faithfulness was caring for her children, lamenting in prayer, washing dishes, or sitting up late at night considering what she should do to best love her family in a situation that she had never faced before.
“Whatever your story, find hope knowing that God will use it—even if you never see the fruit of it.”
Years later, I began to go through a similar kind of suffering. The few friends I shared it with were just as confused as I was. None of them had experienced what my family was experiencing. But one of them knew Mia and her story. She connected me with Mia, and Mia became a refuge of a friend. I cried to her; she comforted me. I was angry; she listened and directed me. I was hurt; she reminded me of my perfect Savior, who would never harm me. She became a lifeline to me, and God used her story in a way no book, conference, or social media post ever could.
God will use your story for good—even if you never see the fruit from it.
It can be hard to hold our stories inside. We want to see fruit from our suffering. I did. But as my friend Brianna beautifully writes,
As much as we wish, we may never see a two-to-one or even one-to-one ratio of good results to our grief. We may never get to write a book that encourages millions, be interviewed on a podcast, or form an advocacy group. God may decide the world doesn’t need our stories, but instead one or two saints do. This is no less of a victory … Perhaps you’ll only share God’s work in your life with a handful of people in your local church. Or maybe, like Job, you might never even see the fruit of your suffering while you are alive. Whatever the case may be: God’s promises remain true, and we can know that nothing is wasted (2 Cor. 4:17–18). Somehow, in God’s infinite wisdom, he has already used whatever affliction you have been through to prepare you an eternal weight of glory.[3]
Whatever your story, find hope knowing that God will use it—even if you never see the fruit of it. You don’t need to feel the pressure to share every raw story. Maybe you’ll write a viral blog post or bestselling book that will reach millions. Or perhaps you’ll be the hand that holds up one sibling in Christ as she undergoes the same fiery affliction you once did. One is no greater than the other.
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Notes:
[1] Matthew Henry, Zondervan NIV Matthew Henry Commentary, ed. Leslie F. Church, Dr., 2 vols. (Grand Rapids: Zondervan Publishing House, 1992), 795.
[2] Names have been changed and the story remains vague to protect someone else’s story.
[3] Brianna Lambert, “The World May Not Need Your Story,” Gospel-Centered Discipleship, November 9, 2020, accessed December 5, 2021, (https://gcdiscipleship.com/article-feed/world-may-not-need-your-story).
