I had an epiphany this week and it seems I suddenly know why I have written a book about my life! I wrote it carefully, as if I intended to publish it, yet I have always felt that publishing it has not been the goal. So it has set on the shelf for years now, incomplete because I haven’t been able to figure out the point of it all.
But keeping secrets has always been part of my life. I was raised in a household where having someone outside our home speak the name of one of my sisters felt like an affront because it was delving too deeply into my personal life! What could they possibly know about my sister to feel so bold as to speak her name?! The secrets of my life have ruled my life, and so the secrets of my life lay written, but on a shelf hidden from view.
This week it occurred to me that the point of writing my story is to stop having secrets. To simply say the things that have been forbidden even if my story is not earth shatteringly important. It’s for me to feel free because I have done it.
Expecting kids to keep secrets is destructive because it forces them to hide who they really are, and to be imprisoned by anothers will where they should instead be free to be whoever they are. Say whatever they want. Keeping secrets is a bad idea. The secrets I have been expected to keep have lasted a lifetime. I am 54, for Pete’s sake, and I am still living under the fears of exposing the truth even though my parents who were the ones most afraid of the truth, are long gone. Maybe now I can finish my story and share it so all the big bad secrets, that are not truly very terrible, are out.
I wrote a book to free myself. To expose the secrets. To face the fear of telling things others don’t want me to. Take a look at the stories under “You’ll Get Over it, Jane Ellen” above, and help me expose the truths that have imprisoned me for decades.
Being honest is better.