Shut Up. It's a Spiritual Practice.

On oversharing, trust, and knowing who doesn't deserve your feelings.

Blaise Pascal, the 17th-century math whiz and philosopher, said that all of humanity’s problems stem from man’s inability to sit quietly in a room alone. There’s another side to that. It’s not just the practice of sitting in silence—it’s also the practice of keeping our mouths shut when we’re not alone.

Isabella, the cat we recently adopted, tells me (in her own cosmic feline way) that we won’t tell anyone anything until it’s actually happened, and sometimes we won’t even tell them then. That’s one reason I love this dear fluffy feline. I cannot tell you how often not doing that has bitten me in the rear, and I don’t quite understand why I have to keep learning this lesson. I guess it’s because I want to be transparent; I want to trust people. How about you?

It’s funny because I don’t like answering a lot of personal or professional questions. After 44 years in publishing, I’ve just started to talk about it, but I rarely talk about my life as a writer. That’s one reason this Substack is about grief, not about writing. Aren’t there enough Substacks about writing? I think there are.

Anyway, I do tend to share my feelings about other things I’m thinking about. I’m not an oversharer per se; I just realized that sometimes I share the wrong things with the wrong people. We all do. Sometimes I just want to get something off my chest and talk it through. And I have to be careful about who I trust. Do you feel that way sometimes, when you feel betrayed?

Here’s the thing about that: often, when you share your feelings or ask someone a question, two things can happen. One is that you don’t really know who you’re telling—they may have information about what you’re saying to them, and they’re not going to disclose it (I’ve been on the other side of that in professional settings, which is one reason I left office work and its politics for writing—good decision. I have a lot to show for it). That leads to a feeling of humiliation when you find out they knew something they didn’t share with you after you’ve shared with them. That person is not the friend you thought they were. Facts.

For example: I told someone I was going to put myself forward for a volunteer project—I had decided at the last minute—and I could tell by her response that she either didn’t think it was a good idea or knew something about the project. That’s because she had already been selected for the project. Maybe I put her in a difficult position. But the stakes were very low; no, they were nonexistent. She should have told me at the very least, so I wouldn’t have wasted my time, which is pretty valuable, actually. So is yours. I was going to find out anyway. That person and people like that are not good friends.

Consequently, I no longer trust that person, and that’s a good thing, as my friend Martha Stewart used to say. I learned something about this person that will help me in the future. I will wish her well, and we will be friendly, but it’s not a friendship anymore. I don’t even have to tell her. Nothing needs to be said. She’ll feel the shift, or she won’t. I’m okay with it either way. The silent withdrawal is the boundary. Loss of trust is a gift of clear sight. We can now see the dynamic for exactly what it is.

Since my son died, I’ve become much better at accepting the way things are, not how I think they ought to be (so you’d think I’d know better about sharing, right?). Don’t get me wrong, I’m still going to bitch when crummy things happen; I’ll just be more careful about how much and with whom I’m bitching. Those thoughts and irritations are just passing through on their way out the door, but the environment in which they happen still shouldn’t be toxic.

Then there’s the other idea of sharing feelings or fears with people: they often expect you’re doing it because you want advice, even when you don’t. You’re just sharing a feeling to release it. But not everyone is the right listener.

Each of us brings our own feelings and fears to a personal exchange. Often, the advice or lectures we get in return for sharing are confessions about the other person’s anxieties and insecurities and have nothing to do with usable information for us. That’s why the old expression “take it with a grain of salt” still holds. People’s advice comes in a package filled with their own junk.

Knowing when to keep your mouth shut is learning to discern who your trusted people are. It’s also understanding that you don’t have to say anything to anyone anymore. You don’t owe anyone an explanation or any information. You can keep things to yourself, and that’s okay.

It’s not just about what I choose to share. There’s also the issue of people not wanting to tell me things because they think it will hurt my feelings. Maybe it will, but so what? It’s better than being deceived or falsely “protected.”

Grieving people are fragile, so I forgive those who think we need to be shielded from information. But this is a big but: it also makes me not trust those people. Once I learn that they think I’m too fragile to hear something that could hurt—well, it’s a two-way street with that person. I won’t tell them anything either. We can be friends… but it’s not going to be the same because it’s no longer an honest relationship.

Trying to protect us from feelings we will end up having isn’t truly a kindness, even if that’s the intention. It’s worse to know someone thinks we’re so wounded or crazy or whatever that we can’t process the truth. Feelings are part of life, so trying to protect someone from feelings you don’t think they should experience is a fool’s game. People who have lost children have already felt all the feelings, anyway.

Ram Dass’ teaching that we have no right to try to take away another person’s suffering has never been clearer than in these situations. Now there is a caveat: we should not go out of our way to confess something we know will harm another person, but that’s not what I’m talking about here.

Ultimately, some relationships have to be superficial. Those are fine relationships that serve a purpose. Sometimes we learn who those people are when we’re on the shore, and sometimes we don’t learn that until we’re in the ocean with them.

We do need confidants: a therapist, one or two trusted friends, or a partner. The one person you can vent to without receiving unwanted, unsolicited advice, who is honest enough to tell you when you have spinach in your teeth and a booger in your nose. We need to get things off our chest, and we need to deal with reality.

Choose wisely, grievers.

How do you decide who to share with and who not to? Do you feel at peace with the people you’re sharing with? Do they make you feel safe? Admit to yourself that you know who the people are who aren’t symmetrical in what are supposedly meaningful conversations. You really do know who the people are who create more chaos than peace in your mind. Stop exposing yourself to them.

Guarding your feelings is not the same as keeping them bottled up, and the result is spiritually powerful. Sharing too many thoughts scatters your life force and creates doubt in your mind, which grieving people don’t need more of. Not everyone deserves access to your inner world, so setting boundaries around it actually strengthens your life force and purifies your spirit. Quietness connects you to the divine, the source. And that, my friend, is powerful. Holding back on emotional sharing allows you to observe the thought, acknowledge it, and then pass it through more easily.

How do you set up a quiet boundary without drama with those who drain your energy? Breathe. Take a minute before you share. If you still want to share after a short time out, go ahead. Write the letter, but don’t send it—old advice, but it’s still great. Respond to questions with flat, neutral answers. Don’t share emotional hooks like joys, vents, or personal updates. Keep conversations on the surface, like the weather or the price of eggs. Don’t ask them any questions. When you are with them, visualize an energetic field or light protecting you. Finally, drop your expectations—this is where the way things are versus the way you think they ought to be comes into play. Accept that they can’t offer the transparency or emotional honesty you seek.

See how it feels. It might feel very good. Over time, it will feel powerful.

Yes, I’m giving advice. Take it or leave it. You’re precious. You deserve protection. Some people forfeit their right to your confidence. And that’s okay.