Letting the Story Live Outside of Me

It’s been a few weeks since I’ve updated this blog. Turns out marketing a book, planning a launch event, and trying to keep up with social media can consume just about every spare moment. Who knew?

But lately, I’ve been thinking about the strange transition I’m in.

I’ve gone from being practically a hermit to someone regularly putting her face, voice, and most vulnerable experiences on the internet. Voluntarily, even.

When I first started booking podcast interviews, I viewed them as another intimidating undertaking. Public speaking has never come naturally to me, and discussing some of the most difficult experiences of my life with strangers wasn’t exactly my idea of a relaxing afternoon.

But five interviews in, something surprising has happened.

I keep leaving these conversations feeling full. Lighter, somehow. Energized instead of depleted.

Of course, there’s the obvious benefit of what has essentially become extreme exposure therapy for my social anxiety and fear of public speaking. Each conversation gets a little easier. I’m growing more comfortable hearing my own voice, taking up space, and speaking without a perfectly rehearsed script.

But I’ve discovered another benefit I hadn’t anticipated.

My memoir is one look at my life. One story, told through a particular lens, shaped by years of reflection and revision. I spent so long deciding what belonged on those pages, what mattered most, and how to communicate experiences that were often difficult to put into words.

And yet, there’s so much more to say.

Every interviewer brings new questions, different perspectives, and their own curiosities. These conversations allow me to approach familiar experiences from angles I hadn’t considered. Sometimes a question leads me somewhere unexpected, and I find myself making connections in real time.

After years of telling this story privately, first to myself and then to the page, I’m finally getting to experience it as a conversation.

And I think that’s been unexpectedly meaningful.

I don’t want to spend the rest of my life retelling my trauma. I have other stories I want to tell, other parts of myself I want to explore. I’m already looking forward to writing more about my creative life, the art I’ve made, and the experiences that have shaped who I am beyond the hardest chapters.

I don’t want my past to be the only interesting thing about me.

But I also spent an enormous amount of time, energy, and heart writing this book. I want to see this story through. I want to give it the chance to reach people, to start conversations, and perhaps to help someone recognize a little of themselves in my experiences.

I want to let it live outside of me.

So, for this season, I’m learning to be more visible. I’m sharing things I once struggled to speak about, hoping they might offer someone else a little understanding, validation, or companionship.

And I’m learning to recognize that sharing my story can benefit me, too.

Maybe telling my story doesn’t mean I have to stay inside it. Maybe it’s another way of moving forward.