Sharing is uncomfortable but necessary

So, I gave my video to someone today. Someone I respect and admire. Someone I kinda have a respectful crush on, but it’s more than that. He was here from “the mainland” to do a talk for us. I had met him last March and he had such an impact on me. His talk and his documentary in fact, was exactly what made me say aloud to my partner, “I am going to make a film. I want to make a documentary.” And within weeks I had made an uber personal film, an autobiographical documentary telling my story, trying to heal myself. It was he who inspired me so I felt it only appropriate that he see it. All too often people affect us in great ways and we never tell each other about it. My film has taught me to reconnect, so I try to practice that when ever possible.

When doing the film, little did I know the massive impact it would have on my life. A few months ago I gave my mom a copy of my film. My brother, sister and father all watched it. I never could have guessed that it would cause my family to lift the 5 or 6 year gag order on “the Julie situation”. I never would have imagined in a thousand years that it would make my parents remember the reality we went through and that they would then force my sister to take responsibility for the hurt she caused. I never ever, ever thought anything could ever make my sister and I be on speaking terms again, but it has. We are going slowly, but we have made promises to the family, each other and I think, ourselves. We have exchanged emails back and forth.

I never ever could have thought that my parents would have apologized for the cruelty they imposed on me. I never thought I would have received an apology for being their scapegoat or for throwing me out of the house.

The day after my family meeting, I was still in shock. I could not even put words to the utter surprise I felt. I think I sat for hours starring at a wall trying to absorb the words shared and spoke. My documentary had done everything I had ever hoped it could have. It brought me closure and healing. It lifted a giant weight off my shoulders. I walked around lighter somehow. Things seemed physically brighter. My parents had had my back. They were not going to put up with my sister bad-mouthing me anymore. They were not going to allow her to push me out of the family anymore. She was made take responsibility. I could not grasp the magnitude of this reality. I was speechless for a full 24 hours, unable to explain things to my partner or my friends. I let my phone go unanswered missing a phone call from my mother. Returning the call, anxiously awaiting some aftermath crisis, I hear my mother on the other end of the phone saying, “I just wanted to tell you that you are the best daughter anyone could ask for”. I’m not kidding. Exact words. I can’t even type that without tearing up.

Here it is, two months later and I’m still in disbelief. This is the first I’ve even written about it.


And back to the situation at hand. I’ve given my insanely personal and rudimentary film to a filmmaker. A great, courageous, accomplished filmmaker, whom I barely know yet greatly respect. Am I mad? There are some powerful butterflies in my tummy that say so. But to paraphrase a theory of Judith Butler’s, to experience real growth and change you have to have to become undone, vulnerable, uncomfortable, unhinged.

Becoming undone. There’s beauty in the breakdown.