And Now Back to the Secret Comments...

I just shared an email exchange with a friend. The details aren’t really relevant but the over-arching point is. In the email, I described a thought process that I frequently have, one that sensitive people tend to have, and one that I am, in the spirit of self improvement, always trying to adjust. I’m not proud of it, but I am not necessarily ashamed either. Somewhere in between, I guess.

My friend responds that she can relate entirely to my thought process. Her sentiments exactly. It’s the whole secrets thing, all over again. It’s not that she wants to keep these thoughts a secret (or me, either, as we will both divulge if we feel “safe”) because revealing them would be like offering people an instruction manual on how to deal with us. But neither of us are quick to share these sort of things, for fear of judgment or ridicule or alienation or differentness (at least, that is my reasoning, as I can’t really speak for her).

It’s not that we have to broadcast every last detail of our inner thoughts or all of our dirty secrets or all of our secret burdens. But it was reassuring to her to know that she isn’t the only person who thinks that way, and it was reassuring for me as well. Isn’t that alone worth the anxiety of sharing and the fear of judgment? Intellectually we all know that we are not alone, in thought or in action or in spirit, but I think we all need to be reminded of it from time to time.

The Secrets post comments is up to *44* (and growing!) and I am intrigued. I get so excited to log on and see if anything new is posted. I know the secrets will dry up soon, as I have a limited amount of readers here, but I want them to keep coming. I can’t stop thinking about all of these stories, and the layers and drama and sadness and pure juiciness which envelope them. There are the secret events (for example, I cheated on my wife) and the secrets behind the events (I no longer love her, so I cheated), both nuggets of such raw, human truth. We are a messy species. Perhaps it is time to revisit evolution. Opposable thumbs, good; the power of thought, overrated.

In some of the comments, you could feel the hurt and pain, it was that palpable. There is the woman who said so has SO many regrets. She didn’t elaborate, just repeated that sentence twice. I want to hear them. I think about the woman who used donor eggs to conceive, and is scared that her child will not think of her as her real mother. It makes me think of a woman I knew a while ago who had a hard time conceiving and when she did years later (with IVF) and had a daughter, I commented how she looked nothing like her. Now, I see how callous was on my part, a cavalier, off-hand, way-before-infertility-knowledge comment to a woman who probably used donor eggs. (In my defense, I know better now, and I know there are many, many paths to a family and all are equal. But remember wheh we all thought we were in control of our fertility?)

There is woman who is afraid of getting pregnant and, conversely, the woman who is afraid of not getting pregnant because her partner doesn’t want to have children. And the woman who had an abortion, and punishes herself every day for that decision.(God, I hope she knows she is not alone, and I hope she can forgive herself.) And the woman who lost faith in her marriage and husband. And the several people who mentioned sexual dry spells, which really has to be MUCH more common than most people admit. People don’t like to admit to sex issues, even to the closest of friends. Hell, if I was polled on the street by a complete stranger I would probably lie, too, and that is the truth.

All of these secret admissions, I want them expanded on and described in painstaking (sometimes literally) detail. I want to know the who’s and what’s and when’s and where’s and why’s and the for how long’s. Is there a way to share more of these stories? A way to create a secret blog, where it is safe to share and explore and lean on others. I feel like this is what blogs used to be for. Hmm…

It goes back to that self-editing thing. People, in general, don’t like to talk about things like jealousy or neediness or insecurities or abuse (sexual, physical, verbal) or relationship concerns (Is this forever? Is this a placeholder relationship? Am I really happy?). Or drug issues of chemical dependences or alcohol issues. Or rages or depressions. After all, I didn’t like to talk about the Dark Days of TTC and a miscarriage that landed me in my tub, fully clothed, crying, cutting myself with a razor blade (oh, how the secrets tumble out when I have achieved a safe distance from the events). I have my secrets and my issues and I am working hard of sharing them, for the right reasons. A goal, in my life, in general, is to bridge the distance between who I really am and who I pretend to be. By sharing, I know I will get support and encouragement and help and the all-important “me too.” It is just a question of getting to that sharing point.

Pictured above, alas, the Little Blue Box is not a secret. I saw this in Nicole’s desk drawer and my heart thumped as I thought “Oh! A Valentine’s day gift! For me!” and then I realized that it is a gift we got for her mom a while ago, which we will give her when she visits in February. Below, my view from bed each night. It is no secret that these books will need to be shipped out to my mom’s house soon, as they are a danger to the girls and in the way of what will soon be a dreaded bedroom television.