In every conversation, we make decisions about how to portray ourselves. To a friend, we might provide messy personal details from a night out, while we might offer an abbreviated or fictionalized summary of our weekends to a coworker. Under the proverbial hood of these conversations, we perform a complicated social calculus. Are we friends with our conversational partner? How long have we known them? Are we in a casual or professional environment? If we share personal information, do we trust them to listen to us, respond positively, and keep our secrets? Even after weighing the variables of our relationships, we still have to manage the mechanics of a conversation: how long do we have to talk? Am I talking too much or too little? Is my language too colloquial or too formal? What about my tone of voice or facial expressions? 

With a lengthy laundry list of social considerations, camaraderie can get complicated quickly. Luckily, many of our interactions follow a predictable script: ordering a coffee, getting into a taxi, and water-cooler coworker catch-ups all tend to proceed in a reliable pattern. But these conversations, while a necessary part of our rich social worlds, rarely provide the deep sense of connection inherent to our more intimate relationships with friends, family, and romantic partners. In times of emotional delight or distress, we turn towards these socially close others for support, for sympathy, and for celebration. This pattern starts when we are infants, turning towards our parents to solve our physical needs; by the time we reach adulthood, we seek out our social networks, who help us make social decisions and provide emotional support.¹ For example, a teenager who has just been dumped by their boyfriend may turn to their friends for both emotional processing and affirmation (“You deserved better than him!”) and advice in their next steps (“Do not text him back.”). 

At the same time, however, some of our most difficult social decisions are made in the context of these close interpersonal interactions. As we go through life, we inevitably face major life events, and we want to share our experiences with others. But determining what, when, and how much to share can be a challenge, let alone with whom. Positive events, such as a promotion at work or a marriage engagement, are often perceived as easy to share, without demanding much of a conversational partner. But other events or even facets of one’s identity might be viewed as weighty emotional burdens. Those who have experienced traumatic events, like sexual assault. domestic violence, combat, or natural disasters, might be hesitant to disclose these stories. Individuals might also keep parts of their personal lives a secret, especially when these traits are imbued with societal stigma or danger, like one’s sexual orientation, immigration status, suicidal ideation, or diagnosis with a mental or physical illness. 

Why do we choose not to disclose a traumatic experience or stigmatized personal trait? Internally, we may feel ashamed, guilty, or afraid to share. In the case of a traumatic event, we might blame ourselves for our reactions, or be so distressed by the experience that we want to ignore or forget it. In addition, once disclosed, personal traits can incur scary political or personal consequences, whether that be changes to how others perceive and interact with us or the provocation of actions outside of our control, like discrimination, deportations, or involuntary hospitalizations. 

When we decide what to share with our friends, we also have to consider how our disclosure will affect the relationship. If we have only recently become friends with a person or are not particularly close, we must decide if it is emotionally appropriate to share intimate information about ourselves—essentially, a social cost-benefits analysis, evaluating the trustworthiness of a friend, the likelihood of rejection, and the potential for comfort and security. Even in a close relationship, we may not know how someone will react to sensitive information or socially taboo topics. Especially for experiences with stigma attached, the potential for negative reactions—jeopardizing a meaningful relationship while increasing our sense of shame—may dissuade us from disclosing, even when that means we lose out on the social safety and emotional support that we need.^2,3,4,5

But if we can overcome these fears, and if our close others respond positively, we may see tremendous rewards in our personal wellbeing and our interpersonal relationships. By sharing our story, we gain control over our self-narratives, giving us a chance for catharsis. For those at risk of developing post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), making the choice to disclose an experience and subsequent positive social support may help buffer against symptoms of stress. Those recovering from PTSD may also see a decrease in symptoms with disclosure and positive social support.^4,6,7 Our friends may also help us challenge the false self-perceptions that often linger alongside traumatic events and societal stigma; their perspective on the situation can reassure us that we are safe, that we are not at fault, or that we no longer need to feel ashamed or scared. Disclosing our experiences can also strengthen our relationships by creating a sense of intimacy, trust, and shared reality.^2,8 Our friends, feeling trusted and having offered support, may feel tacitly encouraged to share their own experiences, whether in the moment of disclosure or in the future.⁹

While both friends, in a disclosure conversation, stand to benefit from increased emotional intimacy and trust, it is true that sharing sensitive information is not a decision to take lightly. Without a prior personal connection, sharing intensely traumatic experiences can be seen as a violation of an implicit social contract, forcing an inappropriate and perhaps unwelcome intimacy. The term “trauma dumping,” popularized by social media, refers to this phenomenon in everyday occurrences, whether it’s university admissions committees’ encouragement of traumatic personal stories in undergraduate applications or students raising their hands in lecture halls to vent about parental divorces or horrific breakups. In a modern-day world, where strangers share their most intimate moments online, the flaunting of social boundaries with what appears to be an emotionally vulnerable cry for help is just as often met with suspicion as it is with sympathy. Though asking for help is, of course, exactly the right course of action for those struggling with a traumatic event or seeking support, the increasing trend of sharing these stories in the public forum might raise the eyebrows of a cultural critic. Do we share our saddest stories online because we want to find community, because we can’t find social support in real life, or because we want attention in the form of views, likes, and follows? Do we write our traumas in college applications to show our resilience, or to guilt admissions officers’ into admitting us? Is oversharing with near-strangers a way to microdose intimacy when long-term supportive relationships seem out of reach? 

When we experience these violations of disclosure norms, we might feel more than a little uncomfortable. Others’ disclosure of personal experiences may lead to pressure to disclose information about ourselves, attempting to bridge the gap in emotional intimacy. We will likely feel obligated to help, to listen for as long as we can, or to put our own feelings aside in order to be emotionally present. Therefore, in the face of trauma-dumping, our first reaction is likely sympathy. We might not feel comfortable sharing our own stories, but we may feel that it is only right to provide at least a small semblance of support, whether that be a kind word or a hug. But when these experiences repeat seemingly ad infinitum—when every video on our feeds is a cry for help, when every essay professes pain, when every stranger seeks our sympathy—we may find ourselves growing cynical, weary, and unwilling to participate in an uneven emotional exchange. Moreover, in our own close friendships, we may find ourselves suddenly wrong-footed. As our own boundaries raise in response to increasing demands of our emotional attention, when we go to share personal experiences with our close, intimate friends, we may find ourselves questioning whether we, too, are violating a boundary. It may then feel easier to find another route to catharsis, whether that’s turning towards the anonymity of the internet or relying on professional supports like therapists and crisis hotline workers. When navigating through social space stops being a rewarding, exciting chance for interpersonal connection, and starts being an invisible laser maze of mortifying self-consciousness and potential social missteps, we may choose to forego social support altogether and turn increasingly inward, creating a self-perpetuating cycle of disconnectedness and isolation. 

While I have, in a moment of meta-cynicism, painted a picture of an increasingly demanding, lonely world, this isn’t necessarily the case—or, at least, it doesn’t have to be. Instead, what if we are becoming more empathetic, more accepting of other perspectives? Perhaps, by perpetuating a more permissive etiquette for trauma disclosure, social stigmas have begun to lift, and resources for help have become more accessible. Would the #MeToo movement have been possible if we weren’t at least a little willing to hear strangers discuss their traumatic experiences? Did the rise in confessional college essays lead to a rise in university mental health support centers and resources for students in economic crises? When our friends disclose their experiences to us, are we more accepting, more patient, and more helpful than we would have been twenty years ago? 

Even if we are more exhausted, more exposed to difficult or burdensome social information, are these just markings of a society becoming more aware of trauma and more accepting of disclosures? Is it the very lack of societal boundaries which is leading to an increase in understanding of personal boundaries and triggers? Maybe our social contract is changing. Maybe we are moving towards a society which, revolutionarily, suggests that if we share in the same society, the same social media pages, the same lecture halls, then we too share in the same societal problems, which allow catastrophe, abuse, and inequity to persist without adequate resources for survivors or resistance to hate and violence. And if we all share in the same problems, then we should also all share in social support. 

I say all these things with caution. We, of course, are creatures with limited resources, with a time ceiling of 24 hours in a day and a plethora of biological needs. It is impossible to be friends with everyone, and it is highly likely that there will be people in our lives who we find annoying or insufferable. There is no need to grin and bear it through every awkward social interaction we have. Nor am I suggesting that we are obligated to listen to everyone’s traumatic story. Even in listening to the disclosures of those closest to us, we still possess our own triggers and the capacity to be upset by disturbing or violent things, especially disturbing violent things happening to those we love.¹ In any circumstance, maintaining our personal boundaries and ability to intrinsically emotionally regulate is crucial. When we know that we have close members of our social network who may seek our support—and who we may seek support from—understanding ourselves, our boundaries, and our own emotions is even more important. 

At the same time, however, the psychological literature makes it clear that disclosure in our intimate relationships results in intimacy, trust, and a shared understanding of each other. Accordingly, it may be that, as our society becomes more accepting of disclosures, we also become a society that is more trusting, more accepting of individual differences, and more willing to put ourselves in others’ shoes—to extend support even to strangers. 

But when we tell other people about ourselves, we’re likely not thinking in terms of overarching, 21st century sociocultural trends in acceptance and stigma—we’re thinking of the very basic question, “Do they like me?” Or, more importantly, “will they still like me?” We may be thinking that we are sharing too much, that we aren’t close enough to say our true feelings, that maybe our social calculator is broken, that we aren’t maintaining our relationships correctly, that we are doing it all wrong. The truth is we might be. There is no HR-sponsored training that tells us how much is appropriate to share in real life. But, in the reverse, there is also no training on how to be a good friend or how to respond to a traumatized stranger. Every interaction we have requires that we modify our social abacus, that we update our interpretations of our relationships and our selves. Our social decisions are not and cannot be mathematically precise. There is no single equation that tells us just how much intimacy we need, just how our friends need to respond. Instead, there is a constant friction between emotional vulnerability and personal boundary, a push and pull between close and far. Luckily, we don’t need to find the perfect social connection. We only need to find something close enough. 

1. Calhoun, C. D., Stone, K. J., Cobb, A. R., Patterson, M. W., Danielson, C. K., & Bendezú, J. J. (2022). The Role of Social Support in Coping with Psychological Trauma: An Integrated Biopsychosocial Model for Posttraumatic Stress Recovery. Psychiatric Quarterly, 93(4), 949–970. https://doi.org/10.1007/s11126-022-10003-w
2. Ahrens, C. E., & Aldana, E. (2012). The Ties That Bind: Understanding the Impact of Sexual Assault Disclosure on Survivors’ Relationships with Friends, Family, and Partners. Journal of Trauma & Dissociation, 13(2), 226–243. https://doi.org/10.1080/15299732.2012.642738
3. Frey, L. M., Fulginiti, A., Lezine, D., & Cerel, J. (2018). The Decision‐Making Process for Disclosing Suicidal Ideation and Behavior to Family and Friends. Family Relations, 67(3), 414–427. https://doi.org/10.1111/fare.12315
4. Ennis, N., Wagner, A. C., Hart, T. L., & Monson, C. M. (2023). Social interactions in trauma disclosure: A multi‐informant and multiconstruct investigation. Journal of Traumatic Stress, 36(2), 457–464. https://doi.org/10.1002/jts.22919
5. Omarzu, J. (2000). A Disclosure Decision Model: Determining How and When Individuals Will Self-Disclose. Personality and Social Psychology Review, 4(2), 174–185. https://doi.org/10.1207/S15327957PSPR0402_05
6. Maercker, A., & Horn, A. B. (2013). A Socio‐interpersonal Perspective on PTSD: The Case for Environments and Interpersonal Processes. Clinical Psychology & Psychotherapy, 20(6), 465–481. https://doi.org/10.1002/cpp.1805
7. Charuvastra, A., & Cloitre, M. (2008). Social Bonds and Posttraumatic Stress Disorder. Annual Review of Psychology, 59(1), 301–328. https://doi.org/10.1146/annurev.psych.58.110405.085650
8. Bedrov, A., & Gable, S. L. (2024). Just between us…: The role of sharing and receiving secrets in friendship across time. Personal Relationships, 31(1), 91–111. https://doi.org/10.1111/pere.12527
9. Levesque, M. J., Steciuk, M., & Ledley, C. (2002). SELF-DISCLOSURE PATTERNS AMONG WELL-ACQUAINTED INDIVIDUALS: DISCLOSERS, CONFIDANTS AND UNIQUE RELATIONSHIPS. Social Behavior and Personality: An International Journal, 30(6), 579–592. https://doi.org/10.2224/sbp.2002.30.6.579
10. Bedrov, A., & Gable, S. L. (2024). Keeping and sharing secrets at the interpersonal level. Social and Personality Psychology Compass, 18(2), e12942. https://doi.org/10.1111/spc3.12942
11. Kimbley, C. T., Cox, D. W., Kahn, J. H., & Renshaw, K. D. (2023). Feeling pressured to talk about trauma: How pressure to disclose alters the association between trauma disclosure and posttraumatic growth. Journal of Traumatic Stress, 36(3), 567–578. https://doi.org/10.1002/jts.22930