For the early Christians koinonia was not the frilly fellowship of church-sponsored biweekly outings. It was not tea, biscuits, and sophisticated small talk in the Fellowship Hall after the sermon. It was an unconditional sharing of their lives with the other members of Christ’s body.
Ron Sider
“There’s no better way of building trust with a new congregation than through self-disclosure.”
The speaker is Em Griffin, professor of communication at Wheaton College in Illinois. For him, self-disclosure opens the door to all kinds of relational progress. But there are ground rules. He explains further:
“My idea of an agreeable person is a person who agrees with me. Identification is the name of the game. And if I don’t know you, I can’t identify with you.
“Now there’s always the danger that if I let you know me, you’ll be turned off. For instance, if I share doubts on scriptural authority and you’re high on scriptural authority, that will make trust unlikely. But if I don’t reveal my attitudes, background, and fears, you won’t have any handles to get to know me. Trust is filling in the blanks.”
Em remembers an experience with a pastor friend that reinforced the lesson of self-disclosure.
“I always had a certain amount of respect for him, because I knew he served a difficult urban parish. But I didn’t know him well until we were together at an Inter-Varsity conference. We ended up spending about six hours together in the conference, eating breakfast, riding a bus, even ducking out of a couple of sessions just to talk.
“As we grew closer, he told me about a close friend who had just moved away; he missed the friendship badly. He also told me about a time he was mugged outside his church one evening. Guys were lying in wait for him. When he didn’t have any money, they pistol-whipped him. He shared the fear and bitterness he felt for months afterward.
“Those disclosures immediately drew me to him, and we have formed a very close friendship. We get together once a month for a half-day retreat. Neither of us has the time for it, of course, but we do it to survive by sharing one another’s lives. All this was stimulated by those first disclosures.
“Sharing doesn’t have to be confessional, although it often leads to that. It’s a sharing of story; not history, but intimate thoughts, feelings, and emotions.”
Has sharing always been easy for Em Griffin?
“It’s easy now, because I’ve gotten so many positive strokes through it, and a lot of good things have come to me as a result. I had a prof at Fuller Seminary, Edward Carnell, who first modeled it for me. Toward the end of his life he was really hurting, but instead of hiding it, he talked to his students about it. Although he was a very shy man, you could tell he was making an effort at fellowship. And that’s what it led to. It didn’t come across at all as whining or complaining. It seemed entirely appropriate, and he drew us into his life through it.”
Em Griffin has never forgotten that early experience. He maintains to this day that self-disclosure is an essential step in getting to know people anywhere.
In my first year of high school, I double-dated with my older sister and her boyfriend. We were at a coffee shop when Ralph commented that I looked flushed. As a matter of fact I did feel hot, and headachy as well. Ralph pointed out that during the evening my face had broken out even more than my teenage acne warranted. When I admitted that the lights in the restaurant seemed a bit bright, he announced the obvious. I had measles.
This was a blow. Our family was scheduled to leave on a Florida vacation the next morning. My sister and I knew that as soon as our parents discovered my illness, they would cancel the trip. So we conspired not to let them know. I took aspirin for the headache, covered my arms with long-sleeved shirts, and wore dark glasses outside. I stayed out of the sun and used generous quantities of talcum powder and Clearasil to mask the worst blemishes on my face. My folks never found out.
Although this was an extreme example, it represented my basic philosophy toward self-disclosure as I grew up. Summed up, it would be, “Don’t tell Mom!” Early patterns die hard. Today, whenever I experience strong emotions, my initial impulse is to guard my words and label my feelings Top Secret.
I now feel another pull, however. I am a college professor, youth leader in my church, Young Life national board member, and father. In each of these roles I know the loneliness of leadership, and I find myself uncomfortable adopting a detached stance. I have a strong desire to take others into my confidence and openly report what is going on inside me.
I’m torn, and I find that I’m not alone. The world can be a scary place. We’re hesitant to share our innermost thoughts with others. Some people are willing to commit their hopes and frustrations to the pages of a diary, but the diary has a lock and is stored in a private place. Others share their dreams and disappointments with a dog or favored pet. Unless we make the mistake of spilling our guts to a mynah bird, our secrets are safe with them.
But neither of these routes is completely satisfying. Even prayer doesn’t fulfill our desperate need to be known and loved by other warm human beings. Still we hold back. Why? John Powell answers that question simply in his book Why Am I Afraid To Tell You Who I Am? “Because if I tell you who I am, you may not like who I am, and it’s all that I have.”
I picture a giant Mardi Gras masquerade ball. The couple has been together all evening, and the man is entranced with this mysterious partner. As midnight approaches he pleads, “Take off the mask—that’s all I ask.” She finally complies, and he’s stunned! “Put back the mask,” he shouts. That’s what we fear.
Being a Christian does not automatically make it easier to reveal our true selves. Because we have some God-given standards of what life should be, it may be even harder to let others glimpse the person inside. I heard a respected Christian leader once say there’s more fellowship in the average bar than in the Christian church. He suggested we take the advice of James seriously: “You should get into the habit of admitting your sins to each other” (James 5:16, Phillips).
I was intrigued by the idea of a systematic program of self-disclosure, and I shared my excitement with a fellow student. “Aw, that’s nothing new,” he said. “My roommate and I have a pact. I tell him his sins, and he tells me mine.” This kind of judgment makes most Christians leery of self-disclosure. We’re afraid of getting dumped on. And we have a sneaking suspicion God’s opinion is reflected in man’s judgment. The pastor or Christian leader has an additional worry. He lives in a fishbowl. Won’t it invalidate his ministry if his followers know what he’s really like? It seems safest to merely pray and keep one’s own counsel.
Psychologist Sidney Jourard believes most people have a tough time sharing the deep parts of their lives with even one other person. The body pays the price of silence. Headaches, back pains, ulcers, colitis, high blood pressure are forms of protest. They are tilt signals—indications that something is out of kilter. Jourard sees these and other illnesses stemming from the lack of self-disclosure:
In thinking about health, I like to conjure up the image of a family of germs looking for a home in which they might multiply and flourish. If I were the leader of such a family of germs and had the well-being of my family at heart, I would avoid any human like the plague so long as he was productively and enjoyably engaged in living and loving. I would wait until he lost hope, or became discouraged, or became ground down by the requirements of respectable role-playing. At that precise moment, I would invade; his body would then become as fertile a life-space for my breed of germs as a well-manured flower-bed is for the geranium or the weed (The Transparent Self).
Jourard advocates taking the risk of sharing our attitudes, reactions, loves, fears, and background with at least one significant other. He believes a more tranparent lifestyle will promote intra- and interpersonal well-being. Do I agree? That’s what the rest of this article is about.
Benefits of Self-Disclosure
One of my favorite movies of the last decade was The Sting. Robert Redford and Paul Newman play two Depression-era con men who bilk a big-time New York mobster out of a million dollars. They go to fantastic lengths to carry out their deception. The tension keeps you on the edge of your seat throughout the movie, knowing that one little slip in an unguarded moment will bring the whole ruse crashing down on them.
What strikes me most is the fantastic psychic energy required to live a lie. Honest self-disclosure relieves this tension. I can relax if I don’t need to constantly monitor what parts of my life I have metered out to which people.
Pastors and counselors have known for years that tension release accompanies self-disclosure. Clients come to them for “the talking cure.” They seek a sympathetic ear, not advice. By honestly revealing their inner life, they leave feeling more whole. This is unique in the health profession. I know of no claim that taking a patient’s blood pressure will cure him of hypertension. Yet taking the pulse of the soul not only indicates mental health, but the very act often brings relief. This same release is as available when talking to a friend over coffee as in a professional’s office at fifty dollars an hour.
There’s a second benefit for the person who takes the self-disclosure plunge. He or she becomes known. A high school girl brought this home to me. After leading a Young Life club for a decade, I announced one night that I was in my final year. Laura was in tears after the meeting. She said, “Oh, Em, I’m so sad. Now we won’t get to know each other.” I tried to placate her by pointing out that we went to the same church and I was friends with her folks. I assured her she’d have ample opportunity in the future to get to know me. “That’s not it,” she responded. “I want you to get to know me.”
Christians have a special need to be known. It’s natural for someone with moral sensitivity to conclude he’s invented sin. When guilt feelings hit, I have a hard time believing God forgives unless I first experience forgiveness from some warm bodies here on earth. But even that acceptance is hollow unless I’ve been transparent enough to know that people see the real me—warts and all. Otherwise I’ll figure they love me only because they don’t really know how rotten I am. Being open and honest with others gives me the assurance that no matter how people react to me, they’re responding to the genuine article, not some spruced-up version.
Self-disclosure offers a third plus. In the process of letting someone else get to know me, I discover who I am. You’d think it would work the other way around—that I’d first figure out who I am, then let others in on the secret. But the two are often simultaneous. Paul Tournier, the noted Swiss physician, states we can’t get to know ourselves through introspection. Introspection is like peeling the skin off an onion; you remove layer after layer and discover there’s nothing left.
Instead, Tournier claims that dialogue with others is the only true route to self-knowledge. He practices what he preaches. Recently this famous Christian doctor and writer invited a group of college students to have tea. The students were overwhelmed at the time and effort he invested in preparing and serving the food. Couldn’t these hours have been spent more profitably writing or doing something more important? Not according to Tournier. He simply said, “There is nothing more important than honest dialogue between Christians. It’s how we discover ourselves, our friends, and our God.”
Finally, self-disclosure usually draws us closer to those who listen. True, there’s no guarantee it will work that way every time; people can get turned off when they hear too much, too fast, from too many. But a certain amount of openness is a necessary condition for interpersonal intimacy.
It’s not clear why personal sharing fosters attractions. It may be that people discover just how similar they are. Or perhaps it’s a response to the gift of trust inherent in self-revelation. I feel privileged when you let me in on something close to you. It makes for a special bond. That’s especially important for leaders. They tend to be separated from their people by a status gap. Appropriate self-disclosure is a way to bridge that gulf.
I’ve listed a number of reasons for lowering our guard and revealing ourselves to others. These are compelling ideas to me. But there’s obviously another side to the story. Prudence requires that we examine the possible pitfalls involved in openness.
Dangers of Self-Disclosure
Self-disclosure can boomerang. Folks may get a glimpse of what I’m really like and decide they want no part of me. Jimmy Carter dropped ten points in the polls when he confessed lustful tendencies in a Playboy interview. Research findings confirm that overdisclosure can dampen attraction. We avoid the bore who wants to discuss every detail of his latest operation. Perhaps that’s our gnawing fear—that others will find our self-disclosure merely tedious.
Negative reactions hurt. Yet more distressing is the possibility that what we’ve told in private may be leaked in public. When I was in seventh grade, I told a new friend about one of my hobbies—building miniature ballparks. I would lay out the foul lines with chalk, erect the outfield fences with building blocks, and fashion the double-deck grandstands with materials from a steel girder construction set. I copied the dimensions of Wrigley Field and built a replica of Comiskey Park, complete with working light towers. The day after I told Don, it was all over school: Em was doing something weird with Tinker Toys. That hurt.
The professional recipients of secrets in our society are the clergy, doctors, and lawyers. They are sworn to uphold an ethic of confidentiality. Rarely is this obligation violated. But when we entrust our confidences to the lay person, there’s a greater chance of exposure. To some, the value of a secret comes when it is spilled to others.
Another danger of self-disclosure is that people can be hurt by our candor. The term brutal honesty has come to describe the bludgeoning technique of telling others things for their own good. When the offended party objects, the insensitive talker responds self-righteously, “I was only being honest.”
I don’t want to offend others this way. I knew one woman who would say whatever entered her mind. If I walked into the room and she didn’t like my tie, she’d say so for all to hear. People tended to overlook her bluntness as a form of eccentric behavior. But if hurting people is central to self-disclosure, I want no part of it.
Others balk at the idea of voluntarily giving away what they consider their greatest personal resource—privacy. South American Indians object to being photographed, believing the camera robs them of a portion of their essence. Greta Garbo voiced the desire of many when she said, “I want to be alone.” Seclusion became an obsession for Howard Hughes. Although not many go to such extremes, a significant number of people regard solitude as healthy. They figure there’s a good chance they’ll regret tomorrow the careless words bestowed today.
An attack on the whole concept of self-disclosure comes from Christians who are suspicious of the philosophical roots of humanistic psychology. They look at some of the leading proponents of openness and honesty in human relations—Carl Rogers, Erich Fromm, Rollo May, Abraham Maslow—and see these men advocating such things as:
• Unconditional acceptance, which seems to be ethically bankrupt.
• Self-love, which they label narcissistic and/or idolatrous.
• The basic goodness of man, which plays fast and loose with the concept of sin.
And thus these people reject self-disclosure as a practice tainted by the humanism of the Me Generation. Other Christians don’t want to toss out the idea of transparency, but they’re disturbed by the cult of confessionalism that is very willing to report sin but makes little effort to repent of it.
I hope by now you’re convinced that self-disclosure is neither an unmitigated blessing nor an automatic curse. That’s too simplistic. The question of whether to reveal personal history, private thoughts, and hidden emotions is not one of either/or. Rather it’s one of appropriateness.
Appropriateness can be viewed from three angles. One has to do with the recipient of your openness—the who. It makes sense to differentiate between those who will lend a sympathetic ear and those who can’t handle intimate discussion. The timing of self-disclosure is a second consideration—the when. The right time and place makes both parties feel more comfortable. Finally, there’s the matter of how much honesty—the what. Some things may be best unsaid. Others need airing. How can the who, when, and what aspects of appropriate self-disclosure work together to maximize the benefits of openness while minimizing the drawbacks?
Who Will Be the Few?
We’re easily fed up with the game playing, masks, and phoniness in the world. It’s tempting to react by throwing our hands up in despair and committing ourselves to spill our guts to everyone. But we can’t. It’s impossible to establish a meaningful relationship with a toll collector—the result would be a monumental traffic jam.
Most of our relationships are destined to be governed by roles—the social lubricant that makes normal interaction possible. We can and should play things straight with all people, but intimate self-disclosure needs to be reserved for the few. We have only so much time and psychic energy.
Whom should we choose? Someone we trust. It would be folly for a player in a high-stakes poker game to show his hand, since the other players are out to do him in. By contrast, there are people, often part of the Christian community, who have our best interests at heart. They feel forgiven, are comfortable with themselves, and aren’t eager to persuade us to change. Slow to judge, they unconditionally accept us for who we are, even if they don’t agree with all our actions. Any time you run across a person radiating this kind of warmth, it’s worth taking the self-disclosure plunge.
Confidentiality is part of trust. You’d think that getting burned on the disclosing end would make us doubly careful not to violate the trust implicit in a shared secret, but reality compels us to recognize we often get sloppy in holding a confidence. Discretion is a cultivated response—it’s not innate.
Returning to the poker analogy, prudence dictates that we not bet more than we can afford to lose. This means placing a tentative trust in a person and checking how he handles it. If he violates that trust, we will be sadder but wiser. If he respects our privacy, we can then entrust him with more. It’s reminiscent of Christ’s statement: “He who is faithful in a very little is faithful also in much” (Luke 16:10, rsv).
There’s a well-known fact of sharing called the “bus rider phenomenon.” People often prefer to bare their soul to a stranger rather than to a lifelong friend. The reason is obvious: There’s no risk involved. Although this kind of self-disclosure affords some catharsis, it doesn’t give us any of the interpersonal benefits. And, it’s risky. How do we know that person isn’t a friend of a friend? Often this temporary relief is overshadowed by doubts and embarrassment the morning after. It’s much more satisfying to select a listener with whom we have an ongoing relationship.
I’m fortunate that my pastor is my best friend. We’ve been close for ten years. Every week we spend an hour and a half in the steam room at the local YMCA. Our continuing friendship means the intimate details of my life that swirl together with the vapor are heard in the context of mutual responsibility. My pastor’s lucky, too. Although I’m active in the youth program of our church, I’m not an elder or deacon, simply an unofficial “steam room committee member.” He can use me as a confessor, cheerleader, or sounding board. Because we have a history of many soggy hours together, neither of us feels on stage with each other.
My wife and I experienced this same accountability at a marriage retreat. Six couples shared struggles of faith, vocation, sex, money, conflict, and parenting between themselves and among each other. Self-disclosure wasn’t cheap. Material shared during the weekend was still known by significant others a week later. It placed emphasis on authenticity.
Appropriateness dictates that we have a sliding scale of disclosure. Jesus revealed much about himself to the multitudes, but a great deal was unsaid or masked in parables. The disciples heard more. But only the inner circle of Peter, James, and John viewed Jesus on the Mount of Transfiguration. We also need to be sensitive to those who hear our disclosure, and to the times when they can’t handle our truth. “I have yet many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now” (John 16:12). This is not the despairing cry of a rejected leader but the discerning observation of one who’s attuned to others.
When to Take a Chance
A poster on my office wall pictures a long-necked turtle. The caption reads: “Behold the turtle, who makes progress only when he sticks his neck out.” Many advocates of self-disclosure use a turtle as an example of what not to be—retreating into his shell because he’s afraid to expose himself to others.
But I see this funny-looking creature as a model of appropriate disclosure. Picture two turtles—face to face—with their heads almost completely hidden. One turtle extends his neck just a bit. If the other turtle responds in kind, the first one ventures out some more. In a series of minute movements the first turtle ends up with his head in the sunshine, but only if his counterpart follows his lead. At any time he’s prepared to slow the progression, come to a complete stop, or even back off.
There are a number of salient features in my turtle picture. First and foremost is reciprocity. At best, self-disclosure is not a solo act. There is a quid pro quo: You tell me your dream, I’ll tell you mine.
Research confirms that the healthiest form of self-presentation is just slightly ahead of the norm. I’ve tried to capture this idea in the image of my first turtle. He takes the initial risk. He’s always a tad ahead of the game—testing, probing, hoping. But at the same time he’s constantly monitoring the other’s response and is ready to pull back when confronted with indifference or hostility.
Reciprocation is a crucial indication of the other’s internal state of mind. It signals that he’s not offended by my initial revelation, and even more important, it shows a willingness to be vulnerable. There’s a parity of risk: I’ve got the goods on him just as much as he does on me. Reciprocation also reveals a readiness to proceed to deeper levels of intimacy.
The turtle model also focuses on the gradual nature of appropriate self-disclosure. It takes time. Stress conditions can accelerate the friendship process, but the normal pattern is one of slow growth.
The tortoise imagery doesn’t address the question of public self-disclosure. Is there ever justification for a leader to spread his or her life out like an open book in the pulpit, classroom, or office? If my own experience is any indication, the answer is yes. In 1976 I published a book called The Mind Changers: The Art of Christian Persuasion. I included many personal examples to illustrate my points. I’ve received a number of letters from people who’ve read the book. The theme of the correspondence is invariably the same: “Thanks for being willing to reveal who you are.”
Groups often place their leaders on pedestals. Self-disclosure helps them come down from that position and become warm human beings who laugh, sweat, fear, and go to the bathroom just like everybody else. It’s a trade-off. What they lose in status, they gain in approachableness. When a leader’s authority is in question, self-revelation is counterproductive. But when competence is recognized, vulnerability is a strength.
I’ve taught an intensive, two-week wilderness seminar in group dynamics. After dinner each night, one of the eight participants takes from thirty mintues to an hour to present the significant past events that have shaped him or her up to now. We call it “This Is Me.” There’s no question that this exercise does more to leapfrog the group into an intimate knowledge of one another than any other activity we do.
The success of this sharing is partially due to the fact that I go first. Since disclosure begets disclosure, I try to model a comfortable depth of sharing that encourages others to do the same. Another factor in its effectiveness is the distinction between history and story. History is a recitation of facts. If I tell you, for instance, that my older brother died of pneumonia before I was born, that’s history. It’s quite possible you would voice a mental So what? But if I tell you my parents were deathly afraid I’d catch cold and therefore overprotected me by dressing me in a snowsuit when it was 45 degrees, that’s the beginning of story. It’s even more helpful when I tie this in with my present casual disregard for preventive health measures. I’ve interpreted the facts and told how they’ve affected me. Story is a big part of what self-disclosure is all about.
Emotions and Self-Disclosure
Feelings are the great leveler of human existence. You may be from a farm, have earned the Ph.D. in theology, vote Republican, and enjoy golf. I may be a product of the inner city, drive a fork lift at a box factory, agitate for social reform, and be a bowling nut. We disagree in starting point, method, and conclusion. Yet we both taste the fear of rejection, the surge of sexual attraction, the weariness of responsibility, and the warmth that comes with affirmation. Since we all are equal on the gut level, feelings are the common currency of self-disclosure.
Emotions are also like the ocean surf—powerful, exciting, and often scary. Thus, we naturally tend to self-inject a mental Novocain that will numb our passion, dampen our fear. That’s too bad. I agree with John Powell’s approach: “Emotions are not moral, neither good nor bad in themselves. If I am to tell you who I really am I must tell you about my feelings whether I will act upon them or not. With rare exceptions emotions must be reported at the time they are being experienced” (Why Am I Afraid to Tell You Who I Am?).
This is easy to say but hard to do. I was in a sharing group with students in my school when I felt a stab of bitter jealousy toward another professor. I was caught in a dilemma. Intellectually I’m committed to Powell’s advice, but green-eyed envy isn’t a socially acceptable reaction in my fellowship. My discomfort was compounded by the fact that the teacher’s wife was a member of the group.
I don’t know what tipped the balance, but somewhat haltingly I reported my feeling. The reaction was immediate. She laughed, but not in derision. That very morning her husband had confessed to her how he coveted my ease with students. My jealousy vanished immediately. Wouldn’t it have been sad if I’d held it in and nurtured a grudge? It would have been even more tragic—and sinful—if I’d given in to resentment and cut him down in front of students. Prompt reporting of the emotion was the better part of wisdom. My goal is to act as wisely in the future.
The jealousy I just spoke of was my problem, not his. But what if someone does things that are irksome? Perhaps he talks with his mouth full or boasts so much about his accomplishments that others are turned off. Does honest self-disclosure involve sharing our irritation?
The answer, I think, depends on the nature of our relationship. My standard is this: I stick to compliments unless the other person has in some way contracted for negative feedback. I have no right to pop somebody’s balloon unless he’s indicated a willingness to hear my criticism. Of course, there may come a time when actions go beyond the point of being merely bothersome. If through ignorance or malice someone starts to hurt people, simple human justice requires that you speak out.
A person can signal in a variety of ways that he’s up for negative feedback. Close friendship is one. The other day I told my steam room friend that his breath smelled of garlic. He thanked me, and he meant it. The trust we’ve built with one another took the sting out of my words.
A direct request can also give permission. I read the first draft of this article to my class and asked for comments, stressing my desire for criticism so I could improve it. After an awkward pause one fellow said, “Well, as long as you asked …” and initiated a string of helpful suggestions.
In all of the above cases, it’s important to state our opinion as just that, not as truth thundered down from Mount Olympus. “You’re a prude!” is not nearly as helpful or loving as “I get the impression you’re embarrassed when we speak of sex.” A certain tentativeness is appropriate. We may be way off base. Sharing our perceptions is more loving than announcing our judgments. God’s first call is not to worship honesty but to love.
Keeping quiet is not usually our problem. Most of us err on the side of nondisclosure. We constrict our circle of confidants, fail to recognize situations where openness is appropriate, and censor thoughts that would be quite acceptable. It’s natural to be cautious.
But we of all people have reason to open more of our lives to public view. Our transparency can reveal the love of Jesus, which reaches out in concern to others. Our self-disclosure may bring about a reciprocal relation with someone who needs to know Christ’s love personally. Through all of this, with Jesus as our model, we may find our lives considerably enriched.
Copyright © 1985 Christianity Today
