Wordless Wednesday: Adulthood is Inspiring

Photo of Salvation Mountain by Morgan

The Secret is in the Telling

“Do you promise not to tell?” she asked me.

“Yes. I promise,” I said.

As a child, a secret was something innocent. A crush on a boy, a hidden treasure spot, or stealing a candy bar. But as I grew older, secrets became more serious. My friends stopped whispering in my ear about how they’d talked to their crush that day, or how they had broken their mom’s favorite lamp and blamed it on the dog. Instead, they whispered about other things: sexual encounters, pregnancy scares, depression, drinking and drugs.

And then there were the secrets that they didn’t tell. The ones I always knew but was too afraid to talk to them about. The secrets that left rippled seams, tiny as a stitch--but not invisible.

These were the kind of secrets that involved excusing oneself right after eating an extra large container of ice cream, and then returning with pink vomit on your collar. Like a magnet, my eyes would stare at the vomit: that imperfect stitch that unravels it all. But I dare not look at it for too long, so she doesn’t think I know. It’s a secret I have known for many years, but one that she glosses over with jokes about indigestion. A secret known but never told.

These were the kind of secrets involving a sadness so deep that you can’t speak it because you think no one could understand. “Please just come out and meet me for coffee?” I would ask. “I’m so sorry,” she would say through muffled tears. “Not tonight. I’m not feeling well.” And the next night would be the same. And the night after that too. Until every day and night she was trapped in sadness, and the sadness gripped her so tightly that no one could get their arms in anywhere, even to hug her.

They were the kind of secrets that are held for so many years, buried and confused with guilt and childhood. The ones she can barely tell you because what he did to her over and over again was so horrible. The secret she held on to, through childhood, and into adulthood, until she was out of the house. Away from him.

They were also the kind of secrets about a relationship filled with mean words, name calling, belittling, constant hurt, and the sad realization that she doesn’t want to leave. "I know I deserve better," she told me, carefully balancing the secrets above her head like the heaviest ceiling tiles. "But I love him."

The kind of secrets that were strategically hidden above her skirt on her upper leg and were only revealed on accident when the blood soaked through her gray leggings. “I don’t do it all the time,” she said casually. “Just sometimes, when life gets to be too much and I need to feel something real. They really aren’t even that deep.”

Some of these secrets resolve themselves. A step-father was imprisoned thanks to brave girls. A girl realized she needed support to overcome her anxiety and agoraphobia. And, after a cut a little too deep, a smart doctor intervened.

But some secrets remained.

As a friend, how do you respond to secrets when you do find them out (however they are revealed to you )? How do you help a friend who is too deeply entrenched in their secret to realize that they are loved, they are strong, they are brave, and they deserve happiness? How do you help them realize that unless they are willing to become accountable for their own life, and unless they are willing to face their darkest secret and leave that secret behind, the secret will win?

And letting the secret win means trading your life for a life of pain.

“Promise you won’t tell?” she asked again.

“This isn't an innocent secret anymore. You are an adult now, you choose your path. If you won't change your situation, no one will do it for you. But if you choose to let the secret win, the secret will escalate and the ceiling will fall in. It always does. You will have chosen pain as you wait for that inevitable moment when the ceiling falls in, and even worse pain when the moment arrives. All I can do for you is be here to hold your hand.

The secret is in the telling, but this life is yours to choose.”

Do You Remember the Times?

Today, Michael Jackson passed away. Though I just birthed this blog, I don't think an incident like this can go unnoticed in the blogosphere.

A few ruminations:

I have learned that the fastest way to obtain the most up-to-the-minute news is through Facebook. Forget CNN, BBC, MSNBC, NY Times, etc. In case of incident, injury, or emergency always, always, always consult Facebook first.

Example 1: When there was a small earthquake in LA a few months ago (I didn't feel it), everyone on Facebook was talking about it. I checked the news websites, there was nothing about it. Twenty minutes later, the LA Times and CNN finally reported it.

Example 2: When the metro trains collided in D.C. last week, I was just hanging out on my Facebook when all of the sudden I see a handful of status posts about the metro collision, including one person who was actually ON one of the trains that collided. I checked the news, nothing. Twenty minutes later, The Washington Post, MSNBC, and CNN finally reported it.

Today, I am checking in on Facebook and I see about 5 posts about Michael Jackson's death. I check the usual newswires - all they say is that he is hospitalized. In about 25 minutes, nearly everyone on my Facebook has commented on the death and still not one news source would confirm.

There is power in the ability to report and record events. No longer is it a power reserved for the media, or publishing houses for that matter. We can claim and use information for our own means, and we must! In a small way, this is why I started this blog.

Back to MJ. You know, I wasn't probably cool enough to listen to MJ's music when I was really young (I worked for a children's radio station after all, I am pretty sure Billy Jean was not acceptable programming.) Then, when I reached 10th grade I became buddies with some eccentric friends that loved the 80's. We would drive around Washington D.C. in my friend Meredith's little Ford Tempo blasting all things MJ.


To me, Michael Jackson's music embodies mix tapes and memories. And though MJ faced some tough issues in his life, as an artist he dramatically innovated and invigorated pop music.

How has Michael Jackson's music been woven into the soundtrack of your lives? How did you hear about his death? Do you care about his death, and the hype of his passing when so many people around the world die every day? How does Facebook change the role of the media? Or does it? Have you noticed these same kinds of reporting trends in your social networking sites? Does this access to information empower you, or worry you? Post any thoughts on these or other topics of interest in the comments.

(Photos attributed to the LA Times and Getty Images)