Have you ever checked out a book so riveting that you couldn’t bear to put it down despite your list of things to do? Some books are simply that: captivating and deeply satisfying to read. There are others, however, that go beyond leaving the reader mesmerized. Some books, those who were bravely written in hopes of truthfully telling stories so terrible and real, render readers speechless. Simply because these are stories too real and too painful to absorb and accept – stories that aren’t just to be “taken with a grain of salt.”
What if you discover a place that lets you “check out” a person with a story that’s deeper and darker than any book you’ve ever read? Would you muster enough courage to go through with it, to sit through the story?
The Anne Arundel County Public Library held an event inspired by The Human Library, a worldwide non profit group that urges people the world over “unjudge someone” by promoting a healthy environment for sharing real-life stories and struggles. Just like in any library, the event came with an extensive range of non-fiction titles.
Human Library’s initiative brings honesty and vulnerability together. Share anything. Ask anything. Maintain eye contact, connect, and learn. How many of us can actually pluck out the courage to ask burning questions to someone who’s just laid out the most terrible details of his or her life? How many of us can sit and listen intently for fifteen straight minutes without the urge to mumble a poor excuse and leave, because the weight of the story is just too difficult to bear?
Susan Trial happened to be in the library during the exercise. She was curiously leafing through a binder that contained different stories, all of which were equally raw and detailed. After skimming through some of the accounts in the binder, she decided to give it a go.
Participants of the exercise sat patiently, each one prepared with objects that they hoped would add clarity to the stories they were to share: artwork, photographs, decorative objects, etc. Each table where the human books sat had a box of tissues ready.
The room was filled with conversation: Soft. Low. Honest. Unfiltered. It was brimming with honesty, curiosity, and vulnerability. Erin Berg, another “human book” whose title was “Autistic Gay, but so much more” was asked what compelled her to take part in the exercise. Berg’s profound, straightforward answer was, “I just wanted to impress upon people that I’m not just a label; I’m not just one thing.”
Each conversation between “reader” and “author” resulted in one reaction: tears. Some confessed that the entire experience was just too draining and overwhelming, with one man saying, “I feel like I need all day just to process the two conversations I had.”
Like Susan Trial, most people who participated were set on hearing stories that would put things into perspective, end prejudices, and make room for open-mindedness and empathy. It wasn’t just about listening to someone’s story and understanding differences. From it stemmed conversations on shared struggles, just like Susan Trial and Caitlin Smith.
Caitlin Smith was a woman with complex PTSD. Armed with self-help books on coping with parental abuse, Smith’s choice of visual aids unknowingly reminded Trial of her own past. It was the same for both women: feeling unloved, being ignored, punished harshly, and slowly shrinking away as a defense mechanism. When their thoughtful exchange shifted to healing, they shared strategies and written work that both believed aided in managing pain and trauma. When their fifteen minutes were up, the two women hugged.
The exercise took an unexpected turn for both women. Susan went back inside, headed towards Caitlin’s table, and handed her a business card. Despite the difficult conversation that served as a release for them both, Susan felt that their connection didn’t have to remain confined within the exercise. Perhaps from it would stem a beautiful friendship.
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