Undercover sister

This is not about Whoopi Goldberg in Sister Act, although it could be ... it’s about, well, you’ll find out if you read on.

(But just in case you want to know whether you have the time or not – this is about keeping secrets. There, the cat’s out of the bag.)

Right, where was I?

Ah yes, the undercover sister.

I guess many families have secrets. And we may never know about them because ... they’re secrets. I think that’s self explanatory really, however, I will plough on.

I have spoken to several gay people who, when they share the secret of their sexuality with people, are greeted with the words, “I knew you were gay ages ago ...”. Thus revealing that the secret was not such a secret after all. It was really a case of people actively avoiding the obvious to retain a facade for as long as possible. Somehow this facade helps to keep them safe ... from the truth.

Being undercover is about pretending to be someone else.

Being in a family is sometimes about pretending that everything is the way you want it to be. Holding up the curtain of social respectability so that internal and external relationships can continue in a seemingly smooth (and always false) manner. Each family has their own personal way of handling their specific secrets, be they alcoholism, child abuse, drug addiction, incest, sexuality, or ... anything.

At different times and in different places people who carry secrets have their own particular burden to hold. It is specific to that person in that family. No one else will know the weight of the shame or perceived loss of respectability that that secret carries with it. The only common factor is that everyone involved is an undercover agent and must retain their character at all times.

The initiation into secrecy often comes without formal training, just looks, sighs and head shaking. The importance of this secrecy is heightened by the fact that no one ever acknowledges it ... ever.

So, when this undercover sister broke ranks and spoke about the family secrets there was a change in the choreography, new secrets were made and the exclusion zones moved: I was now outside and removed from the bonds of the heavy family secrets. I was branded a traitor who could not be trusted anymore because I spoke openly about how my family worked and how they viewed me – as the enemy within, but I felt lighter and freer.

As I am now a free agent - no longer in deep (family) cover, I can present myself as I like, not as the family dictates: my life is not a secret.

Sadly, they’ve gone into deeper cover than ever now I’m out, they’ve taken the other secrets undercover with them.

“You have family secrets because you want to present your family as respectable.”

 Laurie Taylor, Thinking Allowed, BBC Radio 4, 26^th September 2011.

Glass walls

Many years ago my son said that he was going to design a house of total glass when he was older. It sounded like a fascinating project. He was excited about creating it.

Recently I was thinking about hidden behaviour and this idea came back to my mind. I wondered if we would behave any differently in our homes if different rooms of our homes had their walls turned to glass for an hour a day. Would we just avoid those rooms at those times or act as if we were in Big Brother?

The concept took root in my mind and I further considered how people would change if the time of the glass walls was random.

When people observe us we are changed by the observation.

If that change were always positive, then I’d put forward a proposal to the government to instigate glass walls in every home.

I know – it’ll never happen. It couldn’t really. But just the thought that someone was watching and prepared to speak up against things like domestic violence and other forms of abuse that are usually perpetrated behind solid walls and closed doors makes me wish for it to be possible. Just for an hour.

Shame

Shame can paralyse you and steal your time.

When I feel a sense of shame I am usually alone in my experience. It’s just me and my shame trying to duck out of view for as long as possible.

Shame also generates other feelings of an equally negative nature.

On the odd occasions that I have been part of a group that feels collective shame - we may have been witnesses to circumstances that cause us to huddle together in our shared sense of regret, then I find we all try to distract ourselves by shifting focus from the source of the shame to some other, any other, banal fact. This is an automatic response, it is as though it has been pre-programmed, we just do it.

Whatever the means that occur to make me shame-filled – thinking something improper has occurred, then I have an associated painful feeling filtering throughout my entire body. I usually don’t know where to look or what to say, the sense of humiliation or embarrassment becomes the only feeling that I am aware of at that time.

If the event is caused by the actions of someone else then, sometimes, it is easier to transcend the shame – unless the person is closely related to me. If my own self-respect or pride has been injured then I may have increased difficulty in passing through the ‘shame time’ in my life because, in my opinion, part of the means over overcoming shame is to acknowledge the situation that caused it in the first place, to identify why it generates those feelings. This is a process of assessing my relationship with the events and the people concerned.

This practice has, in the past, proved a major stumbling block for me because of what I believed about myself and my place or ‘value’ in all relationships. You see, I have always been reluctant to share intimate details about myself (this blog is not an example of intimacy but it is an example of sharing parts of myself) for fear of ridicule and censure. Early experiences left strong memories that were hard to remove.

Now I can easily think of an example where I remember thinking that I had really let myself down by the things I did and said. When I examined the motivation behind my actions I felt deeply ashamed. And before backing out of that situation and facing the shame I carried on under the cover of my embarrassment – this is not a recommended course of action – it only made things a lot worse and the shame became more deeply entrenched in my being.

I know how bad it is to feel as if you are wrong, and also know that you could alter the situation but you become paralysed with fear because you know you have to go through the wall of shame first.

I have wasted many years (yes, that’s right – when I look back I know that it totals up to years) of living wrong, of knowing I had the means to start again but feeling afraid of the doubt that was building up in me as I procrastinated and delayed my decision. As time passed I gained companion feelings for my shame, so it was no longer lonely, I added doubts and resentments to the package.

But one day I did release the shackles and after the period of intense darkness I inhabited there came a different time that was a mixture of both sorrow and gladness.

Sorrow because I took so long to move into what was undoubtedly a better way of living for me, and gladness because the shame was eventually over.

I am glad that I have a slightly better understanding of the power of shame and I am so glad that I know it is possible to move past shame ... repeatedly. I still make mistakes where I hang my head in shame but I believe now that I can get past them.

Writing without regrets

I have often heard it said that many people view writers as spies in their lives and relationships. They exercise extreme caution around the writer because as time goes on and the relationships become more established they often fear that any shared thoughts and actions will end up in the public eye.

Because I blog about my life I often (anonymously in the main) mention people with who I come into contact. Some of them read this blog, some don’t. Nevertheless an equal proportion of people have often said to me, “Don’t write about me, please” or “I suppose you’re going to write about that now!”

There are certain things I will never write about, but those are because I choose not to discourse on that topic not because I have been cajoled or pleaded with.

When I write I do so without regret and worry. If I were to filter ‘my story’ then I wouldn’t be writing free, I wouldn’t be writing ... me.

Writing the way someone else wants you to express yourself is like using a typewriter and only being allowed to press one row of the keys to get your point across; it will never make sense to either me or anyone else.

So, I always write without regrets.

I therefore want to give due notice that in tomorrow’s blog I will be writing about ... you!

(not really)

Being present

Here’s a question I asked myself ... Do I think about and talk more to people who are physically distant from my life than I do about or with those who are present – actually here with me right now?

My answer is ... a secret. What’s your answer?

Actually my real answer is that sometimes I do find myself thinking my moments with people away because my mind has travelled elsewhere. However, I have learnt to pay attention to what is happening to me now, to be aware of what I am thinking, to be aware of what I am doing and who I am with at any given time.

This means that I am present in the present. And the more I do it the better I get at it. I have benefited from this practise. I’m sure those around me have also benefitted as well.

You see ... being present is a present to me.

New Year Resolutions – Sshhh!

I guess I’m a bit late in talking about New Year resolutions, but hey! That’s the way it is, I’m getting used to not being a sheep and it feels good. At least I’m getting used to being a sheep that is not in the huge flock that I used to belong to.

Anyway, I was going to talk about making New Year resolutions and the fact that millions of people have made them, and some may already have broken then – and it’s only day two of the New Year – and here I am, having not even made one yet! Well, that may not be strictly true, but before I perjure myself I’ll explain ... I don’t use the New Year as a reason (or excuse) to make a new resolution. Although it’s a significant day in the calendar for many people to me it is simply another glorious day to be alive and to achieve something wonderful – like any other day. Sounding trite? My apologies, but it is true ... each day is a spectacular gift. You have to agree with that I’m sure. We all seem to want more days to enjoy.

I don’t disagree that some dates have a special significance and memory but each present day is always - in my mind - the best day to start something; the present time always has the freshness needed for any task.

I read an article by India Knight that had the best advice about New Year resolutions that I have seen in a long time. It suggested that promising to start or stop something on a particular date seemed to put pressure on the task you have resolved to complete: the date arrives with a bang and you know what has been promised, others also know, all eyes are on you now.

Within a few weeks (days or hours) the resolve can fail or severely weaken and the embarrassment alone prevents you from wanting to do it all over again. So, Indian Knight recommends an alternative way forward:

“... decide what you want to take up / give up, and keep absolutely silent about it. Do it in secret.”

She says resolutions are essentially private things that you are doing for yourself, so it makes sense to keep them to yourself. India Knight contends that this way, you’ll feel fantastic if you succeed, and if you fail, nobody will know that you were even trying in the first place.

If you do fail, because nobody knew anyway, you have the added advantage that you can start again when you like, you don’t have to wait until the next New Year’s Day and a fresh set of new resolutions. With this silent method you really can’t be unsuccessful – you win both ways!

So, my New Year resolutions are ... to keep quiet about my New Year resolutions – Sshhh!

Weighty issues

My body weight has altered drastically several times in my lifetime.

In my younger days I was extremely physically fit and well toned – I was a sprinter and held the county record for the 100 metres – and since then I have verged from normal weight for my height to very obese, several times.

I decided to at last acknowledge why I ballooned and shrunk with regularity. I decided, yesterday, to tell myself the truth and stop hiding behind the ‘I don’t know’ response or the ‘It’s something medical’ answer that seemed to satisfy most queries.

I know, as I have always known, I guess, that the reason why I changed weight so dramatically was because I needed to be in control of something.

This something was my body.

This something was the amount of food I ate.

This something was how I looked.

This something reflected how I felt on the inside.

I wanted to be unattractive to people because I was unattractive to myself.

I didn’t want to be noticed because of looking good and accomplishing things.

I wanted to disappear.

I wanted my pain to disappear with me.

I could eat in secret.

I was the only one who knew about the extra packets of biscuits and bars of chocolate.

I was the only one who knew about the clandestine visits to the fast food places.

I was the only one who knew how much I disliked myself.

I was trying to destroy myself – because I needed to… or so I thought at the time.

Then … way back then. I didn’t know how to love myself.

Way back then, I didn’t think it was ok to love myself.

Way back then, I was afraid of being myself.

Way back then, I did bad things to myself – through food.

Way back then, I detested all that I was. I lived my life in a daze of food fixes and increasing sadness.

Sometimes I lost weight but then I would slip into the trap of self-loathing and consume too much knowing that I was doing nothing to shift the excess. I was not surprised when my clothes became too tight.

I ignored it and pretended that I didn’t notice.

It was another excuse to slip into depression and withdraw from people.

I was taking back control that I had lost. I was choosing, even though the choices were hurting me most of all.

Before, when I had no love or compassion for myself I allowed myself to do bad things to myself

I didn’t look at myself in the mirror – not really look, for years.

Now when I look in the mirror I see the light and love – for myself – in my own eyes.

Now I try to maintain a healthy weight because it matters, because I matter to myself, because I love myself.

Now I love all that I am, and all that I am becoming.

Now I am free to be me.

Now, right now, I am important to myself … and it feels good.

What weighty issues I have been carrying for too many years.

I have purged myself at last.

Secrets

When someone decides to share their secret it means that they need someone else to know what they have been keeping to themselves for a time. Being chosen can be an honour or it can be a burden. If you think you cannot bear the weight of a secret then tell the person, if you can. It will be better for them to know and feel that initial shallow disappointment than for you to take the secret and spread it far and wide and thereby deepen their sorrow.

When a secret is revealed the impact can go on for ages like an avalanche. If you’ve been entrusted with a secret – keep it.

To be known …

Taken from a secret source …

‘My biggest fear and my biggest desire are the two sides of a single coin: to be known. I know it is life changing to want these things. I need my life to change. I guess that’s what frightens me so much. That’s what makes me sit and do nothing or do so much that I have no time to think about what I really want.

I met someone recently, well I knew them a long time ago, but I started to get to know them only recently. With them I have the sense of freedom that I usually get only when I’m alone. You know, those quiet moments when your mind is completely open and honesty is the only emotion that holds reign. Anyway, I felt afraid when I first opened up to them, but also a sense of unbound joy! I felt like I was flying without a parachute because I didn’t need one – a safe landing was guaranteed.

There was this intense feeling of happiness at releasing my thoughts without censoring them. Especially the thoughts that I had held in my heart for years, the ones that had kept me alive and the ones that put vital distance between me and death. Those thoughts. My dark thoughts. The ones where I think the worst things about, seemingly, the best people.

Then one day I dared to speak some of this hidden part of myself to you. You know who you are, I don’t need to name you here and now. I started speaking and carried on at breakneck speed because I was afraid that if I stopped I’d never start again. I didn’t dare to look at you for the first plunge into the truth pool, but when I paused to take that vital breath essential for continuation, I noticed that you were actually listening to me. Really paying attention, not just to my words but also to all of me. I felt it. I sensed the genuine interest. It unbalanced me although it was exactly what I’d been hoping for.
(I’d been searching and finding imitations for a long while, so when I happened upon the real article, I was suspended into a state of shock. For ages I could not understand if it was a game to you, or if you really liked me and wanted to be my friend. I often felt I was in a dream, but I was awake and you were there – because you chose to be, again and again. I’d ask myself what were you getting from this contact that made it worthwhile for you. My life and actions were set out like an accountant’s profit and loss book. Sterile and precise. You still came back to me and looked right into me. Your eyes never lied.)

It had come to a point where I just needed to be with you. To know you in my life and most of all, for my sanity, to have you know me. I decided that day that I wanted to be known by you. So I decided to spill some of my heart.

I guess it was a kind of test. To see if you would balk at my revelations. Show disgust and remove yourself from the circle of my life. I wanted to tell you the hidden parts of me. The secrets I’ve been to scared to voice.

I’ve already told you some things, some little pebbles of information compared to the mountainous load I want to spill now. I told you things I was ashamed of and things that I was scared to own but were all mine. You heard me, you breathed normally and carried on with the conversation.

You did not dismiss me and my heavy heart as totally naïve, too sheltered, neither did you label me as an inexperienced fool. My life experience was valued by your true attention.

My response to your reaction to me is laughter, peace, relaxation of my whole self, increased confidence in my voice to speak.’