Secrets

John Nuck

There is not a crime, there is not a dodge, there is not a trick, there is not a swindle, there is not a vice which does not live by secrecy.
Joseph Pulitzer
Joseph Pulitzer (born April 10, 1847) had a hard time staying employed--he once sold his last possession, a white silk handkerchief, for 75 cents to buy food--but found his calling when he began writing. He left $2M to Columbia University, which later named the Pulitzer Prize after him.

My sisters post reminded me about how we constantly walk on egg shells around mother.  We also learned it was taboo to discuss with other family members, even each other, about what was happening.  We were scolded for tattling or told we were lying.  The secrets I carried from the pedophile down the street were enforced with promises of harm to myself or my younger brother and sister.  I get anxious if anyone asks me to keep a secret.  I ask them if they don't want anyone else to know than don't tell me.  Most people assume I will blab....I might by accident but mostly it makes me so nervous.  One of the blessings, and important part of my integration, was telling all the dark secrets.  All the stuff I was told not to tell.  It wasn't easy sharing my story.  My mind didn't yield those secrets easily.  KavinCoach became frustrated with me when he realized I would rehearse all week what I would say.  I even brought in an outline to keep me on task.  He suggested I just talk.  I didn't know how to explain the problem I had until he saw for himself.  KavinCoach pushed into a subject that was new and I hadn't practiced.  He watched as I opened and closed my mouth but no sound came out.  He watched as the terror crept into my mind when I found I had no voice to tale what he wanted to know.  So he relented and let me practice.  My story needed to be told.  I needed to end ALL the secrets.  However, I learned I didn't need to relate every detail.  Fuzzy was good. I learned that KavinCoach's main task was to let me tell horrific tales and not judge me.  I didn't always shine in the telling.  Out of fear and being a mixed up kid I did plenty of dumb stuff too.  He created a safe environment to unload all the childhood hurts, fears, and secrets.  The confusion I felt since I didn't always know my own story.  There are parts of my story that he still knows more about me than I do.  I had to accept that some blanks in my mind is God's kindest gift that I don't remember.  I once described what I remembered about most of my childhood as objects in a black bag.  I could feel them but I rarely got more than a brief glimpse.  Those minute holes I could see into my past and I could recite vivid, down to the color of the tile floor, detail.  But time before and time after that spot of memory would be gone.  I have almost no soft fuzzy memories to share.  People want to talk about their great experiences and how wonderful their childhood was, I let them talk.  I can listen.  I don't share my stories, not because they are a secret any more, but because my stories can put a real damper on the conversation.  I learned to recount a few stories that are good memories that I can trout out when needed.  Mostly I enjoy listening to others.