Because it’s my life to tell, I could tell some stories that would make you wonder if I’d lost my mind. Though I’ve shared so much of what most wouldn’t, especially on my blog, I’ve tempered my urge to be open against the strains of privacy with which so many people shield themselves.
Most of them have the same common thread: we all have a similar composition no matter how people present themselves.
Careers, family aspirations, doubt. All of it succumbs to the same basic need for appreciation and understanding.
Standing in a kitchen, holding someone.
Waiting in a parking lot, even as the rain quickens and drenches.
The gut-wrenching hurt of loneliness, anger, or misunderstanding.
Looking at the doctor across the desk, holding one’s breath, judging the content of one’s life in the interval between test and certainty.
The litany of thoughts, desires, and jokes people tell in private but fear the knowledge that others might see and hear – and judge.
I’ve peeked behind so many curtains in this last year!
All of them are from the same fabric.
We superficially seem to be vastly different; I know better.
I see your secrets.
I know your secrets.
I am your secrets.