Confession, for a few thousand years now, has consisted of entering a closet with a screened window, and telling a stranger with some type of moral/religious authority your sins. But like many things established in religious practice, this form of confession wasn’t explicit in the Bible. The origin of confession in the religious practice comes from the Epistle of St. James: “Confess your sins to one another”. This was then taken to mean, confess to your priest, who, appointed by God, can forgive you of your sins, so you can go to heaven. But I think the original message is much more important than the way it was co-opted as a form of authority and religion, strictly for the gain of an eternal afterlife after you die. What about right now?
I found this origin of confession in a throwaway line in a book on philosophy. While doing a quick check for accuracy, I found the wording a bit different, but the same message: “Confess therefore your sins one to another”. But, directly below that came a footnote from someone else, I’m assuming much, much later:
Confess your sins one to another… That is, to the priests
of the church, whom he had ordered to be called
for, and brought in to the sick; moreover, to confess to
persons who had no power to forgive sins, would be useless.
Hm. This person seems to say that without the promised afterlife you “win” through confession, the act would be pointless. But why the hell should a pure and noble act, admitting our mistakes, be re-purposed solely as a gesture to purchase real estate in a place no one can guarantee exists? Aren’t there good qualities to admitting wrongdoing that could change our lives now, as we live them?
I think so. In the last 3 years, I’ve found that the act of ‘confessing’, to ourselves, to one another, to the people we care about, is an incredibly freeing, valuable, essential exercise.
Calling it confession might weird you out because of the overtones. I didn’t think of it as confession when originally recognizing and thinking about this topic, but confession seemed like an interesting, historical parallel to enter through. The concept’s been around for ages. In our own lives and the way we might practice it though, I think it can more aptly be described as being vulnerable, and sharing your vulnerabilities. Sean and I have tried practicing this through these essays, which can be very freeing to write. Dumping out your inner thoughts and secrets is liberating, and you might end up finding out more than you even knew about yourself. Sharing them online is scary; I’m admitting things I don’t like about myself or past self, and posting them online for anyone to see. But it’s still removed from face to face human interaction. That’s a whole different ballgame, and one we experimented with during our ‘porch sessions’.
These porch sessions came out of the work Sean was doing at Teen Empowerment. Regularly, as part of their work, they’d sit in a circle and answer deep questions honestly. I noticed Sean’s absolute sense of joy after these. He was always raving about the process and how he felt afterwards. He built the porch sessions as a way to extend this to our own everyday lives, with friends, as a way to be social while continuing to explore and learn about mental health and communication. The concept was simple: Sean and I would invite over 3-5 different people we know, and based on 4 or 5 prompt questions, we’d each go around and share our answers. Some example questions include:
Is there a part of you that you don’t think other people see? Or you feel a resistance to showing? What part?
What’s something in your life you want to eliminate? Why? How can you go about doing it?
If you could change something about your relationships with people, what would it be and why?
What’s a hard conversation you had to have, and what happened after?
What’s a long held belief you’ve recently been doubting?
What do you feel most grateful for in your life?
If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?
The power of these simple, hour to an hour and a half porch sessions, were tremendous. Going into each one I’d be a little nervous, a little excited. Not every session was some type of ‘come to Jesus, bare your soul’ endeavor. Usually it was just sharing the little struggles, the habits we’re trying to break or create, the burden of all the shitty news we take in each day, arguments with family or friends. Other times it did get gut-wrenching; hearing about a sexual assault, an illness, or a death in someone’s family. Whatever the scale, and whatever the horror or beauty that was discussed, I always walked out of it feeling like my humanity had been replenished.
The benefits of these sessions were numerous. Yes I felt more alive after each one, yes I felt unburdened, yes I felt invigorated. But more powerful than even the sharing was the power of listening. Recognizing that your own struggles are one of an infinite amount of struggles people face each day is somehow comforting. Maybe because you recognize you’re not alone in all this shit.
When someone shares their story, their real story, we end up learning more about them and how they came to be who they are. Sometimes we’re shocked at how they’ve managed to keep it together after what they’ve gone through. We gain an understanding of the struggles the people all around us face everyday, that our one-mindedness and self-focused lifestyle blocks out from even imagining. We gain empathy.
I can only really speak for Sean and I, but after those porch sessions, I had the feeling that the other participants felt similarly. It was an eye-opening, emotional, fun experience, and it lifted me up every time we did it. But it is fucking hard to do. It made me recognize how lacking deeper conversation is in everyday life. Because it’s hard to get that real on a regular basis. It can be emotionally exhausting. And without that format, or without a trusted person by your side, it becomes easy to go days without saying anything of truth and depth out loud. It’s hard to get deeper when we’re not encouraged to, when we’re supposed to remain on the surface, automatically answering ‘good’ to every ‘how are you’. It’s fucking hard. I’m lucky to have gotten to live with my brother the last 3 years and work on this project with him, and more than that, have a continuous open, honest, free to say whatever the hell we want, conversation. He’s left for a road trip and I’m going to miss having my confidant. But that’s life; it changes. So what can we do? How do we practice sharing vulnerability with others when it’s so hard, scary, and sometimes even frowned upon, to do so? I have a few ideas. They may seem simple, but simple does not mean easy.
It Starts With You
Each porch session, especially the early ones, would start off a little bit slow. People were hesitant to speak and share personal stuff right off the bat, understandably so. But, when someone dropped something real, it opened everybody else up. When you talk about a parent’s death, or a substance addiction you struggled through, or feelings of resentment towards a loved one, that takes courage. And when people hear and see that, they can recognize that their own problems, fears, and shame are valid, universal feelings. This goes back to a principle I wrote about when we just started doing this: Give to Receive. Essentially, if I share something vulnerable about myself, you are more likely to then share something vulnerable about yourself. Maybe this doesn’t always work, but I’ve seen it happen naturally dozens of times on the porch. Just one person can share something scary or uncomfortable, and then everyone else is sharing their own experiences. Then it branches out into more serious and honest discussion.
I encourage you to start this chain reaction. If we really want to see more of this in the world, we have to take responsibility and action. I’m still scared to do this, and it took me awhile to begin to open up about my own shame, guilt, fears, and struggles, but once I did, life got better. And it can be incredibly simple as well. It doesn’t have to be your deepest personal trauma; it could just be letting your guard down and opening up about the simple everyday things you struggle with.
Write It Out
First things first though: you need to know what you think and feel. Sometimes that can be done through conversation, but it’s very useful, and much easier, to simply write it out first. You could do it in a journal that you keep or on some scrap paper that you throw away. It’s pretty damn illuminating to actually lay out what you think (or what you think you think), how you’re feeling, and why you might feel that way. If I’m in a bad mood, I don’t just go to Sean and rant about it (usually). I open up my journal and let it flow. It might not give me answers or solutions, but just the process of writing out how I’m feeling always makes me feel better. Doing this might allow you to stumble onto deeper issues you weren’t fully aware of, or knew deep down but were scared to admit openly, even to yourself. A journal is a safe place to do so.
I brought this up, writing as a self-soothing practice, with a retired cop once, and then he shared his own practice with me. A few years ago he was involved in a shootout, and part of his therapy for PTSD afterwards involved writing out the incident, over time, examining how he felt each time, focusing in on different parts of the process. It was so effective and powerful he’s kept a journal ever since. In the past I’d be hesitant to share much about myself, especially something as personal to me as my writing. But after sharing that, I got a much deeper story in return.
Ask Questions. Listen.
I consider questions to be the source of a superpower we’re all capable of. The person who asks the best questions will most likely get the best result. The power of the porch sessions came, in part, because we provided a basis of structure with the questions we asked. We didn’t say ‘come over, we’re gonna talk about life for an hour or so’ and just free-flow from there. We had a handful of questions that jump started the conversation. The questions are the first step. But the next step is even more important, and is usually fumbled. Someone shares what’s happening in their life, and 9 out of 10 times we immediately try to provide a solution to their problem. I know, I do this all the time. But this completely misses the point. Usually the other person knows they need to do x or get off y. If it was that easy, it wouldn’t be the problem it is. All they probably want, and all they probably need, is to share it with someone, to express it, and to be listened to. If they really do need help, ask more questions. Don’t tell them what to do (unless, maybe, they ask). They can usually get there themselves, especially if you ask useful, non-judgmental questions. Most advice is autobiographical anyways; it’s what we wished we did, or what we would’ve done. The answer to someone sharing a vulnerability with you is not an answer: it’s listening. And then, maybe, if appropriate, sharing something of yourself.
Listening can be extended to simply paying attention. Notice how someone’s speaking or behaving. Humans are incredibly intuitive. If we can stay off our phones and instead be in the moment, we might notice our loved one/child/friend/co-worker seems a bit down today. Maybe we can ask them what’s up, and if they choose to share, we can listen.
Conclusion
I can make two guarantees: you have flaws and life will fuck with you. We are all imperfect and we all suffer. I couldn’t tell you exactly why, but when we share what we feel deep down to be wrong with us and with life, we somehow end up feeling better. We might feel worse first, but it starts us on the path to feeling better. That’s because forgiveness of our faults, and improving them, both start here: admitting to them. It doesn’t have to be shared with someone else, but it usually helps. It could be done with a pen, with a friend, with a therapist or a priest. It could be done anonymously, or you could post it online for everyone to see. The important thing is, I think, getting it out. Because if we trap it inside ourselves, we will rot, and grow angry, bitter, and sad. Open yourself up. Tell the truth. And listen.