I am a former gossip junkie who previously spent too much time whispering about other people’s issues over too many glasses of wine.
A lot changed for me during my dad’s illness, including the way I share and take in stories. When my dad was sick, I learned how easy it was to identify which inquiries about him came from a place of genuine compassion and which were digging for a story to share later. I also started paying more attention to the stories that were being told to me. I started listening to second-hand accounts of someone else’s hospital stay or fight with a spouse with new ears. And I started to ask myself this question: If the person being spoken about is not the person sharing the information with me, how is this any of my damn business?
Anyone who’s been through/ is in the lifetime process of going through a big grief can tell you how much things change. You don’t just lose a person. The way you carry yourself in the world changes. The way you identify yourself changes. The way you socialize with other people changes.
I became very careful when my dad was sick. I made sure not to reveal certain details to certain people and I felt very protective of my dad’s story. Something I repeated to myself often during his sickness was this Brene Brown quote:
“Our stories are not meant for everyone. Hearing them is a privilege, and we should always ask ourselves this before we share: ‘Who has earned the right to hear my story?’”
—Brene Brown
I kept a mental list of people who had not earned a right to this story. This included those who told me about other people’s health issues in hushed, conspiratorial tones. Those who revealed way too much about other people’s private moments of pain. I learned too much about not just people that I knew, but strangers as well: friends of friends, so-and-so’s cousin’s girlfriend, the relative of a family member unrelated to me. Which just kept bringing me back to that same question: How is this any of my damn business?
I have never once shared a piece of private information about myself with the hopes that some day, that same information would be whispered about at a dinner party attended by one person I know and a whole bunch of people I don’t. But that’s exactly what happens.
Did you guys hear about Doug’s brother? He has not been well for some time. I heard that when he went to the doctor …
Oh, what illness are we talking about? Yes, I know someone who had that. This is what happened to them …
Infertility, you say. Boy, do I have a story about that! My nephew’s babysitter’s sister-in-law …
I used to think gossip was fun, but now I think it’s gross. What’s a story to someone is a life to someone else. I have no interest, and I mean none, in hearing about your uncle’s hospital stay, your cousin’s weight loss, your friend’s gambling addiction, or your colleague’s divorce. I have no interest in hearing what you know about our mutual friend’s mental health.
It is none of my damn business.
What is my business is when someone reaches out to me personally to share a part of their story. And when that happens, I feel like it’s my responsibility to do everything I can to a.) listen, b.) make myself available as a source of support, and then c.) tuck the story away, knowing it’s not mine to share.
Normalize not talking about other people’s shit. If you need a story to share, tell one from your own life.
In grief and with love,
KrissyMick
Photo Credit: Kristen Forbes