It went really well. 

It was a great experience. 

It was fun, and I’m really glad to have done it. 

You know what? Screw it.

Instead I will tell you this: I got up in front of a theatre full of people I don’t know – people from my local community who I might very well see on the street tomorrow – and told my story about postpartum depression and how blogging, with brutal honesty, about my breakdown not only helped me but helps others. I shared some excerpts from my posts here. I cried – not a little, a lot.

Here’s how it went: I got a standing ovation. And I am really damn proud of that.

I wasn’t sure what to expect from the event and I certainly wasn’t sure about my place in it. I was honoured and totally excited to be asked to speak, and I was less nervous than you’d think about telling my story. What I did worry about was whether people would connect with it and whether I would be able to offer something for them to take away.

The organizers were supposed to give me time cues and they chose not to, so I went, er, slightly beyond my allotted six minutes. Judging by the response, the people – including men – in the audience who were crying, and the incredibly generous comments I got afterwards, I think I can safely say I managed to get my message across.

That’s not the only reason I’m proud of how it went. I’m proud because I did it in a way that was true to who I am. I knew I was going to cry – I couldn’t figure out any way around it. And I actually didn’t worry about it. My story, and my message that it’s okay to be a little bit vulnerable, it’s okay to remove our masks and be honest about our struggles, and that, in doing so, we might actually make the world a better place – that’s an intense sort of topic. You want people to be emotionally invested in what you’re asking them to do? Make them cry.

Making people cry wasn’t my goal, obviously. Making it okay for me to cry was my goal. Because that’s what happens when we open ourselves up to people and share the stories about the hard stuff and reveal that maybe – just maybe – we’re better off for having dealt with something difficult. We allow ourselves to be vulnerable. I was never okay with that before. I am SO okay with it now.

Those of us who put our words to these pages – who tell those hard stories and reveal our tears – know there’s beauty in the breakdown. We know we’re not alone. We know we will get support and that those who don’t support us perhaps just don’t understand.

I’ve seen this countless times on other blogs. My friends’ blogs. Your blogs. I’ve seen you share stories about hard things I never would have suspected had you not written about them. I’ve seen you be bravely, beautifully honest and then, just when I think all your cards are on the table, you lay down your hand and say, “This is what life dealt me. It’s not the hand I’d have chosen, but there’s no point hiding it so I’m going to play. I’m going to stay in the game and play, and if you care to read along with me I’ll share my strategy and you’ll see that you can win even when you get dealt a bad hand.”

That’s why I believe bringing together writing and technology is more than “blogging” and think those who dismiss what we do here underestimate the power of this art. This art has the power to break down barriers and borders. It has the power to make life better. It has the power to make lives better.

You know it, and I know it.

And I think it’s an idea worth spreading.

[Update: The video of my talk is now available.]