There’s secrecy in some relationships and it’s not always a terrible thing.
Perhaps it’s the true number of partners, or the fact that you once got arrested.
Sometimes you hide because you’re ashamed, sometimes because the fear of that shame is unbearable.
I have secrets I’m not proud of. Though, truth be told, there can’t be that many left.
Many of the things I share with you here, I would be traumatized to share with friends and family, the people who are supposed to love you, no matter what. Because they wouldn’t understand, because it doesn’t fit with their image or perception of me.
There are deep dark secrets inside everyone. Though what’s dark to one is fluff to someone else.
How do you know when you trust someone enough to tell it all? To lay everything on the table, and let the chips fall where they may. When does the anxiety of keeping silent outweigh the need to protect yourself, the urge to keep hidden, keep it quiet?
Do you confess your inner demons?
Will the person hearing this confession understand, empathize, listen? Or will you face distrust, misunderstanding, hatred, fear, anger, disappointment?
I like to think I’m the kind of friend people tell everything to. That they can trust me with their secrets when they can trust no one else. This is both a blessing and a burden. But, I listen and trust that they’re telling me because they have to. Because no one else can listen and still accept them.
One thought on “divulging secrets”
I don’t share much with my family and friends. I share the easily digestible bits, not the chunks of toxicity that would choke. But I love the idea. The only one I feel vaguely close enough to tell things to is my paramour – because he already knows the worst thing I’m doing. But that’s part of the trap, isn’t it?
I like the idea of being the friend to whom one can tell secrets. Because nothing is so horrible that it can’t be understood.