I watched her take the podium in the nicest room of my alma mater, a small book of poetry tucked beneath her arm. She opened it to a slip of blue paper, flattening it with both hands before beginning to read.

I felt a surprising urge to pull her from the podium—to shield her from the room. What do these people think of her as she bares her soul, details the trauma that was her divorce? Do they think she’s crazy? Do they see this woman I respect as the insane ex-wife, unable to move forward and incapable of healing?

As the reading ended, she began taking questions. Writing students shot their hands up, eager to speak with someone who had achieved the nearly impossible feat of traditional publishing. I realized respectful colleagues and followers of her career filled the room. No one thought she was crazy.

I had projected my own fears and reservations onto her. She wasn’t crazy for standing in front of that room. She was brave.

I questioned if I could find the strength to share my own traumas and joys and dreams. Could I be that brave?

Shaking her hand at the end of the night, I decided I would like to be.

But I still had fears. I worried readers might assume a piece written about a feeling from years ago was current and think I hadn’t moved on. I worried they might guess the subject of a poem. My biggest reservation was that the poetry might embarrass or hurt its subjects.  

I searched online writing communities for guidance and found most authors believed sharing to be a very personal decision. They did warn that the goal of sharing should never be revenge or to cause pain. 

But I know with certainty these are not my motives. My goal is to share something I’m proud of and poured energy into, hoping someone might relate with it. A reader feeling validation or peace because another person has had the same feelings they do is the very best scenario I can imagine. And of course, I hope someone enjoys the poetry.

So I’ve decided my personal decision is to jump off the ledge and share!