Secrets are riddled throughout our society. Everyone has secrets. They are the things that you don’t want other people to know, so you bury them deep inside. We put these things in the dark to hide, not wanting to acknowledge them.
Secrets destroy us from the inside out. They weigh on your soul, eat away at you, working slowly like a poison administered over time. They kill relationships. They kill individuals. They break families and societies apart.
How much more healthy would we be, would our relationships be, if we didn’t have secrets? It is scary exposing the grime of our lives to the light, but it dries out and loses its power once it is no longer in the dark, like gross, moldy gunk that shrivels up when left out in the sun.
Maybe what scares us is what we fear that secret will reveal about us, or maybe we want to protect someone else. If people knew the things we go out of our way to conceal from the world, would they look at us the same way? Probably not, but they might not respond the way you expect them to either. There is no real way to know how anyone will respond to anything.
I have kept secrets, and I have been someone’s secret. Neither of these are fun, and I don’t recommend either of them. The aftermath ate me alive. Now, it is not so much of a secret as it is a closely guarded piece of my life that few know. However, those that do know have this information solely out of necessity. They needed to know for my protection, and others (like my therapist) needed to know to help me keep my sanity. There are many people in my life that have no clue. It hasn’t come up, and it hasn’t needed to. It simply doesn’t apply to our relationship. But, in some ways, it still feels like a secret.
Maybe one day I won’t be so afraid to speak the truth, but for now, I am going to work on my own self acceptance before I tell my story to the world.