It was the first night. Eight women from church were coming over, and even though I was hosting, my nerves felt raw to my fingertips. Snacks were out, candles were lit, and I had strategically arranged pillows and blankets to cover most of the stains on our once-white couches. Theoretically, I was ready, yet I couldn’t quite shake the jitters that came at the onset of new relationships.

My mind was a flurry: What would they be like? Would conversation flow easily or would we have huge gaps of silence? Would I be too much? Not enough? How can I make them feel welcomed when my hands are so stinking sweaty?

The doorbell rang, and I did my best to get my mind off my own swirl of emotion. One by one, the women arrived, carefully hanging their coats, claiming seats, and avoiding too much eye contact. The spots on the outskirts of the room were claimed first, no one wanting to sit too close too quickly. A few chatted quietly while others occupied their hands with brownies and coffee.

The aim of the night was getting to know each other, but the age-old question hung thick in the air as we shifted in our seats: Where do we begin? How do we move from acquaintance to belonging?

In relationships, authenticity is vital, but knowing how to be ourselves with new people is not always intuitive. We can easily think that in order to be authentic we have to reveal all things to all people, to uncover all the couch stains and point out all the crumbs wedged between the cushions.

But authenticity and transparency are two very different things.

Authenticity is being the truest version of ourselves with others, of showing up as fully as we can as we grow to better understand who we are and how we are wired. But we can be authentic without the pressure to bare all our secrets. As my friend and author Amanda Anderson once told me: “Let your guard down. Don’t take your pants off.”

Transparency, on the other hand, is about how much we reveal. We can be authentic from day one, but transparency is best earned with trust over time. There is a gradual descent into connection as relationships deepen and reciprocity is evident. While connection requires increasing measures of transparency, the unveiling doesn’t have to happen all at once.

The tricky part is that we all lean toward either sharing too much or too little. We are inclined either to tell everyone all the things or to paste on a smile even if we’re crumbling inside. Sometimes it depends on who is the room or how long the silence has lasted.

I have been both the repressor and the over-sharer. I have been the one who hasn’t felt safe and lingers in the corner of relationships for fear of being hurt. I have also been the one who feels the weight of grief and isolation, who so desperately longs to have people help carry my hurt that I unload all of it while others shift nervously in their seats.

Neither too much nor too little is good for relationships, and the amount of transparency might vary based on the relationship. There is no standardized recipe. However, the key ingredient to moving closer seems to be in our motivations. Are we considering only what is good for us, or what is also good for the others in the room? What is the “why” behind what we say? How will our words (or our silence) impact the other person? How can we be vulnerable without handing someone the full weight of our humanity?

My mama used to tell me: “You gotta get those arrows pointed outward.” While I rolled my eyes at her words as a moody and broody teenager, her wisdom stayed with me. Relationships require us to look beyond ourselves.

Every relationship will be different. Sometimes, doing what is good for everyone in the room requires setting firm boundaries and minimal transparency, with good reason. We cannot and should not be all things for all people. But also, turning our arrows outward often means taking a risk and being the one who goes first, braving the conversation with vulnerability beyond what’s comfortable.

We will not get it right every time, but the more we move toward each other willing to both surrender our own needs and to share pieces of ourselves over time, the more we will settle into the connection our souls crave.

This post is an excerpt from Between You + Me: Guided Reflections for the Relationally Weary.
(available for free download)

blog cover photo by Vika Strawberrika via unsplash

cover art for Between You + Me adapted from an original painting by Laura Pennington