Confidence is hard to find when you've gaslit yourself your whole life. Confidence to tell your truth, holding your story hidden just beneath the surface. Bravery is required to share your thoughts and experiences. I've held mine close to my chest. Judging from the comment sections on various online platforms, some people have no problem negating experiences that aren't theirs. 

Nevertheless, we don't owe each other anything but our truth. 

Sure, gatekeeping certain experiences is wise. Boundaries are good. Not everyone is trustworthy enough to hold our deepest pain. But in sharing, we allow others find their own truths, the ones we purposely bury within ourselves. 

When we share our stories, people are invited to share theirs. We are able to see each other more clearly. More fully. 

Much of history has been told without a world of people commenting and weighing in. This has had its pros and cons of course. Certain stories were purposely not shared or given space to be heard. Whole perspectives shut out and quite literally erased. But the truth has a way of finding its way out. 

Not a truth that adheres to any one group's standards. Not one that benefits any group over another. The one that is authentically yours. That others inevitably share. The truth that sets collective people groups free from the worst lies. "You don't matter", "no one sees you", "you are alone". 

The beauty of sharing is in the liberation it provides us. Our neighbors. Our fellow humans. It's a daunting but worthy cause. To share is to be seen. Maybe not by all, certainly not by those who can't allow their own humanity to be seen. The connection our stories give us to each other is the most potent form of confidence that exists. It's available to each of us, if we'll be a little brave.