Vulnerability vs. Oversharing

Recently, I’ve been watching videos by psychologist Brené Brown on the topic of vulnerability. She has done extensive research on the advantages and disadvantages of making yourself vulnerable and allowing yourself to be authentic as a person.

What I love that Dr. Brown says about vulnerability is that it is "the core of shame and fear and our struggle for worthiness, but it appears that it's also the birthplace of joy, of creativity, of belonging, [and] of love." And also thinking about how people "surrender and walk into it."

Most of the times when we think about not being vulnerable in a performance, we think of being stiff and unexpressive. But there's another way that's even more egregious (in my opinion). And that is oversharing in performance.

I’ve been accused of oversharing - in my Facebook posts, in my personal interactions with people - and sometimes, my accusers are right. I  have given out too much information (hereafter TMI). Perhaps it wasn’t necessary to tweet about how cold the gel was on my body while lying on a table, waiting for an ultrasound.... 

And sometimes, I’m just being honest and it’s their problem that they can’t handle my honesty. I hope. 

So what’s the difference? When do you cross the line from opening up to others and being vulnerable into oversharing? I’ve been thinking about this as far as how it relates to performing. I strive to be an authentic performer, and to teach my students to find authenticity in their performances. 

I think the difference is intent. Vulnerability is a real expression of your feelings, telling a story, telling the truth.  It is an attempt to connect with your listener or your viewer and evoke a response that is also genuine. It is not an attempt to impress but to express. It is an attempt to resonate with your listener or viewer.

Oversharing is selfish. It is an attempt to evoke a response - of admiration, of pity, of concern, of outrage. You are putting something out there that is one-sided, not really looking for a dialogue or gaining an understanding, but just spewing it out to the world and damn the consequences. It may be truthful, but it’s not authentic. It is projecting rather than resonating. Which brings me to a vocal point:

Baritone Thomas Hampson was asked in a master class how he approached projection, and he said [paraphrasing somewhat]: “I don’t like to think of projection. It seems so one-directional. Bullets project. Missiles project. Small children thrown through plate glass windows project. But voices resonate.” 

Perhaps oversharing is the other side of the coin of being afraid to be vulnerable. It's a way of overcompensating.

Here's an example of vulnerability that I witnessed recently. In a recent recital, one of my students sang “Empty chairs at empty tables” from Les Miserables. He sang it beautifully. He was expressive, authentic, emotional, and he made people cry. He said to me a few months later, “Did you notice that I was crying?” and I told him that I didn’t, because it didn’t interfere with his singing and with his story. Often, singers and actors are told, “If you make the audience cry, you’ve done your job. If you cry, you just make the audience uncomfortable.” I generally agree with that - however, in his case, his emotion was so organic and genuine that it did not become uncomfortable. 

Then there's the quintessential demonstration of oversharing that I came across a few years ago, when I judged lower college musical theater women at NATS. A young woman came in and sang her three pieces:

1. “Someone to watch over me,” Gershwin, Oh Kay! She decided to sing this while maintaining seductive eye contact with each of us judges. It was really uncomfortable.  And weird. She had two straight women and a gay man judging her and none of us were interested. The singing wasn’t particularly interesting - it was not as though she was coloring her voice or shaping the phrases to express a longing or a yearning - she was doing it all through contrived gestures and come-hither looks.
2. “Honey bun,” Rodgers & Hammerstein, South Pacific. This involved a sailor hat. And interspersing her singing with shouting, “That’s mah little HONEY BUN!” Now, this song isn’t emotional - it’s a funny song. But the humor fell flat because it was inappropriate vocally and physically. And it depended on the use of a hat.
3. And then the pièce de résistance, “Your daddy’s son,” Ahrens & Flaherty, Ragtime. For this one, she grabbed a blanket and bundled it up to look like a baby. She sang the entire song to the bundle, but as she got more and more agitated - it is a very dramatic song - the bundle started getting out of control and had there been a real baby in the blanket, it would have suffered from shaken baby syndrome. And vocally, she went out of control as well. She began to scream, “Only ANGER AND PAIN, the BLOOD AND THE PAIN, I BURIED MY HEART IN THE GROUND - IN THE GROUND! WHEN I BURIED YOU IN THE GROUND.” The response it evoked from us was not, “That poor young woman, she feels so much grief and guilt,” but rather, “Oh my God, she’s going to have a vocal fold hemorrhage right here in front of us. Blood is going to start spurting out of her mouth.” And then it became funny. Unintentionally funny. On the final chorus, she burst into tears and could barely get the words out between sobs and when she got to the line, “You had your daddy’s hands - forgive me,” which is traditionally nearly whispered, she just screamed, “FORGIVE ME!” and I had to put my hands over my mouth so that I wouldn’t openly laugh.

It was the worst performance I’d ever seen at NATS. Or pretty much anywhere, for that matter. Worse than someone standing and doing nothing. It was not an authentic performance. It reeked of, “Look what I can do! I can be sexy, I can be funny, I can break your heart - just watch me!” What she should have been saying was: “I’m lonely and need someone to love me,” “I’m in love with a real peach of a gal - let me tell you about her,” and finally, “I hate myself for what I did, and I have no excuses - except this.”

She did not resonate with her audience. She projected her emotions - more like projectile vomited her emotions all over us. And like projectile vomit, we couldn’t wait to wash it off. (Was that too much? Probably.)

Tell a story. Tell the truth. It’s not about you as a singer/actor, it’s about the story that you have to tell. What is the core truth of it? What can telling this story offer your audience? What can it offer you as the storyteller? 

Don’t hold back. Give your audience as much as you can, but make it real. Tell the truth.  Be real. Invest yourself fully and not on a superficial level of “watch ME!” or “listen to ME,” but “hear my story.”

Only the names have been changed ...

"The story you’re about to watch is true, only the names have been changed to protect the innocent...."

That line used to open the old TV show, Dragnet. It’s been running through my head lately as I’ve contemplated how to start myself anew in Baltimore, after 17 years (!!!) in Milwaukee.

When I left Milwaukee the first time, I was married to my first husband, and went by the name of Christine Thomas. I loved that name. If I’m honest with myself, marrying Whatshisname Thomas had a lot to do with the fact that I hated my birth name, Christine Bojic. It was a name that was said with a sneer when I was a fat, awkward child and preteen, and was associated with a very painful part of my childhood. I dreamt of being a writer and taking on a pen name, something French sounding like Michelle Monteau. (I also liked alliteration.) There was no question that when I married, I would take my husband’s name - at least as long as it wasn’t worse than “Bojic.” (There are a few names that are - Anthony Weiner, for one.)

I was Christine Thomas for a long time and when we divorced, there was no question of my taking back my birth name. I had 1000 headshots that said, “Christine Thomas, Mezzo-Soprano” across the bottom of them. What was I supposed to do???? Besides, I had already done roles in Milwaukee and Washington as Christine Thomas. That’s how people knew me. And it was a great professional name. It was strong and confident sounding, and not more than a little WASP-y sounding, which for this Estonian/Slovenian First Generation American was extremely appealing.

And besides, a lot of people kept their first husband’s names when they made their careers. Susan Sarandon was married to Chris Sarandon briefly in the 70s. Demi Moore, married to musician Freddy Moore. And since I never intended to remarry, it was okay.

But I did remarry, much to my surprise. And I wasn’t sure if it was okay to keep using my first husband’s name if I was married to someone else. Bill said he didn’t mind, but I didn’t know. Then I ran into my ex-sister-in-law’s best friend, who informed me that Whosis was back living in Wisconsin with his parents. And that he wasn’t doing very well. 

At that point, the decision was made for me. If I’d kept his name, he would probably see it as a sign that I wanted him back. And with him in the same metropolitan area? No thank you.

Most of you know that my performing career pretty much dried up in 2004, after doing the second production of A Cudahy Caroler’s Christmas. Those two seasons, playing Wanda Kazlakowski, mark the only stage work I did as Christine O’Meally. I did some concert work, but not a lot. All my major credits were as Christine Thomas. And that is how people know me.

A couple of years after my remarriage, I ran into someone who said, “Chris - you’re still here? I thought you’d moved!” And I always wondered - did my name change work against me? Did people stop seeing Christine Thomas in print and wrote me off as having left the area? 

So after talking it over with my husband, I’ve decided to reclaim Christine Thomas as my professional name - as a performer. As a teacher, I’m probably better known as Christine O’Meally, and a lot of people know me by that name because of my membership in NATS, as a Somatic Voicework™ teacher, and as an active contributor to national and international vocal discussion groups. So I’m going to hyphenate for teaching purposes -  at least for now - and be Christine Thomas-O’Meally.

This does not mean a change in my marital status. I am still legally Christine O’Meally and will probably stay that way unless I find it causes financial confusion. 

I’m really excited about reclaiming the identity that I had during the time that I identified myself as primarily a performing artist. I feel like I’m taking back my power (if not my innocence.)

What’s in a name? Everything. 

Christine Thomas

I'm gonna like the way that looks.