The bell struck one-o'clock. I pressed my shirt down nervously, checked my reflection in the mirror, put on some fresh chapstick. The portal window opened, and the women poured into the room.

There I was, leading a brand-new group of people who didn't know each other, on a topic that would scare the pants off of most humans: telling the truth, out loud.

And we had just 90 minutes to do it.

Telling the truth — to ourselves, to others — can be a risky move.

There are so many layers: our own shame not wanting to hurt other people’s feelings, not being ready to address our stories, not knowing ourselves in this moment. We also don't know how others will respond.

But telling the truth is how we figure out who we really are, what we really want, and where we want to go next.

And it’s our life, asking us to listen.

I’ve found that gathering groups of people together, where we're all in the room to do the hard things — that's where we can really grow.

Telling the truth, especially to the right people, is very powerful. It’s healing, it’s connecting, and it’s liberating.

We forget how much weight we carry around when we hide our stories away from each other.

“When a woman tells the truth, she is creating the possibility for more truth around her,” said Adrienne Rich, poet and essayist.

Each time we tell the truth, we carve out more space for ourselves and each other. Part of our work is to listen to ourselves and each other more deeply. “Responsibility to yourself means refusing to let others do your thinking, talking, and naming for you; it means learning to respect and use your own brains and instincts; hence, grappling with hard work," says Rich.

But we've falsely come to believe that we might be the only ones—the only ones that feel like a failure, that don't know what's next, that got lost along the way. And so we hide these truths away from each other out of embarrassment.

You are not the only one.

And if we don’t let them out, the weight of all we're carrying becomes a larger and larger burden.

These whispers, these truths, they come to us, asking us to pay attention.

Which brings me back to the room, the women in the circle.

Before we can tell the truth, we must establish trust, safety, reciprocity. We must establish a sense of camaraderie and shared giving. This is my role as the facilitator.

And we do this work, slowly, and then quickly.

One of the most important pieces of this is making sure that everyone has plenty of time to talk. That’s what a Salon is about — shared conversation, shared contribution, being together, being witnessed.

Towards the end of the session, I introduced the concept of the tiny red dragons.

They’re the whispers, the nay-sayers, the truth-canons that we are all carrying around — in our socks, in our purses, in our pockets. But we 've been given these instructions todo everything we can to make sure these dragons saty hidden from view. We act as though there are no dragons in the world. We must not speak of the dragons.

But here’s the truth:

We all have dragons.

So I invited the women in the room to name a dragon out loud.

We broke into pairs, and I asked them, one by one, to take a turn naming one of their tiny dragons.

→ (Picture me, pantomiming pulling a tiny dragon out of a giant purse, introducing it to the room, and then petting it softly on its back. "This one right here is Backgammon, and she's the pain I feel in my back every single day, that I'm afraid to talk about too much.")

Then, after you name it, the other person says hello to your dragon.

How nice it is to meet you, tiny red dragon!

Then it's their turn, and they pull out one of their dragons and introduce it to the room.

We went back and forth for two minutes before returning back to the main group.

Opening up and sharing your dragon can be a scary act, but it's easier to do when you're part of a group, and when you're calling your scary feelings and truths "tiny red dragons."

These are the rituals and conversational games we play in my rooms.

Each 90-minute session is sequenced with clear guidelines, confidentiality, and expectations. I teach people how to respond to each other, what kinds of words to use, and we talk about what it's like to share with each other.

At the end, I asked people how they felt about sharing their dragons. They said:

"Working with you is helping me realize that I won't get as much growth if I'm always trying to be the strong one, the one that's always put together."

"It's so powerful to recognize how many other women are in the world that are really, a lot like me."

"It's been a remarkable experience, just this journey of these 90 minutes. Can't believe it's already over."

"This is a great reminder for me to continue to put myself in spaces like this. Telling my truth, asking for help, this is the work I need to do more of."

We name the dragons, and then I let people tuck them back into their bags as they leave. We don't eliminate them, we don't try to squash them.

Instead, we recognize that when other people know they exist, it can make carrying them around a little easier.
​
​This week's idea:

Everyone has stories, feelings, worries, insecurities.

You are not alone if you are feeling lost, overwhelmed, confused, jealous, scared, irritated, worried, or more.

​You're a human being.​

Everyone has dragons.

— Sarah

Read this:

• ​You're allowed to have the bad feelings.​
• ​Be honest, you say.
• ​Sun dry depression on the line.​

Watch this:

• ​When you judge yourself harshly​

Join me:

• ​Accountability group meets every Monday morning at 11am eastern.
• ​Writing group meets every Mondays at 1pm eastern.
• Our next Salon is coming up! Join the conversation here.​
• ​Book club on Wednesday, October 14th!