The other night someone told me my boys are good at sharing. My eyebrows went up and I stared at her. Really?
Mostly, I feel like I say, “Boys! Share! Work it out! Be kind!” a million times each day. I’m glad to know they at least apply these things when I’m in another room.
I don’t often fight over sharing my “toys”. (Though my husband will tell you I don’t like to share my water.) But I have an adversity to sharing, too. I keep things to myself. I don’t speak up. I clench my fist around my own thoughts. I declare my story mine, and shovel the words down before they dare rise up.
When it comes to soul sharing, it can feel selfish, but sharing is never selfish.
The more I practice sharing, the more I see it for what it really is. Sharing is working things out. Sharing is kindness. Sharing is maturity.
We’re always meant to share what we’ve been given, even the intangible gift of our own story.