No more Hiding

It has been a while since I posted anything but, I had been hiding me. I put myself in a box and that is where I stayed driven by the desire to make someone else happy. Here’s the thing, I would never be able to do that. So the other day I was listening to a playlist and Myley Cyrus’ “Flowers” and Kelsea Ballerini’s “I Miss Me More” played back to back. It was inspiration to try and write something and so here’s the gibberish that I wrote:

No more hiding the true me or feeling like I have sinned

No more wondering when the next explosion will begin

I won’t set you off

I didn’t lie

I am just trying to live my life out loud and take each step one at a time

I don’t need to cower and feel shallow and dumb

I don’t have to live under your rule of thumb

I can be as crazy as I need to be

I can travel anywhere and be free

No more check ins

No more lies

I can say hi to anyone or chase down who I choose

Have them pose with me for a selfie if I wish.

My ears won’t hear you questioning my motives or calling me a whore

I don’t need to worry how things might appear any more

No more begging you to believe in me

I have nothing left to prove

I’m exhausted from living a life that isn’t real

Being heartbroken all the time lost it’s appeal

No more tears or tempering my anger

I’m not to blame

I am so done with this F#*ing game

I realize now no matter how hard I tried I would never ever love you enough in your eyes

It was all about you and what you wanted

You were to be my world and nothing less

Sorry but I am going to choose what is best.

The Pain

I can’t escape the pain. I will pretend it is gone for a while and then it comes screaming back. It kicks and yells at the top of its lungs. It consumes me.

One part sadness, one part anger, one part guilt and one part hopelessness equals the pain. I bury it. I try to walk away. I say I will never feel it again. Yet it comes back and takes over.

I am tired of sharing it with my friends. No one wants to hear the same story again and again and wonder “why can’t you just let go? Why can’t you just leave it behind and break away?” I won’t do that to them yet again.

So I wake up and cry quietly in bed. I cry on the shower where no one can hear me. I hide in the car and cry there too. Sometimes the tears just won’t wait for those moments and they just come out. I just hurt so bad.

I do the things to try and heal. I listen to sad and angry music. I watch shows that make me cry so no one can tell I am crying because, of the pain. I try to eat, drink or starve my feelings but, nothing ever works.

Some people think it is so easy to just get over it. At times I can but, it is only a facade. I buried it deeper but, soon it will be back. Staring me in the face. Taunting me like some teenage boy taunting a rival. It will suck me back in and it will never let go.

The pain has taught me that not everything turns out ok in the end and if you work really hard you can make anything happen. The pain reminds I make huge mistakes that can’t be made better.

So here I sit with the pain. Struggling to feel it and push it down at the same time. I just am waiting. Waiting for the hole to be dug to bury it again.

Noise In My Head and Heart

For the past three days I have tried to write. I have had not only writers block but, also a kind of ADHD writer’s syndrome where I have started a million posts but, have failed to finish them. Many of them I deleted all together.

I have struggled with noise in my head and my heart. One minute I hearing Whitney Houston singing, “Why does it hurt so bad? Why do I feel so sad?”, then the Bee Gees “How can you mend a broken heart? How can you stop the rain from falling down? How can you stop the sun from shining?”, then there is Faith Hill gut wrenching , “Yeah.. Could you cry just little? Lie just a little? Pretend that you are feeling a little more pain”, followed by all of Lizzo’s Truth Hurts especially “why men great till they gotta be great?” And “Hey, I’m glad you’re back with your bitch
I mean who would wanna hide this?
I will never ever ever ever ever be your side chick”

I am sad and angry. Why doubt me? Why give up on me? Guess what? Everything costs money. That’s right. And over the past year, you have not been available and yet, I am supposed to have just appeared (it cost money), uproot my life and move in an uncertain economy.

YOU think I have not as much to lose. YOU think I haven’t tried hard enough to be with you. YOU think that I never will be there, that I am just playing with your heart and you don’t want to get hurt. Guess whose heart hurts? Guess who knows her capabilities? Guess who you should never stop believing in because, she is doing everything she can? Guess who knows that reality doesn’t always allow everything to happen in a timetable that is suitable to your wants and needs? That would be ME

Have no doubt in me. Love is stronger than anything. You should know that because, it brought us together despite all the time and things that happened. Have no doubt in ME! DO believe I will love you til my last breath and will want to be with you forever.

Sure I am Fine

The lyrics of Charlie Chaplin’s Smile keep playing through my head.

“Smile though your heart is aching. Smile even though its breaking”.

I have been trying to write this blog post since July. Another failure on my part. All of those months I have cried every day. Sometimes one short cry, and sometimes multiple crying session that were long. I have had just a few tears that can easily be brushed away. More times it is deep sobs. Sobs that I do as silently as possible. They are felt through my whole body. I will open my mouth and exhale the same way as if I were going to wail but, without the sound. It is the gut wrenching crying that comes from you gut and diaphragm that hurts as it exits you body. But the sound never comes; just the body aches that accompany that type of sobbing.

I have tried not to let anyone see me cry. I have cried just about everywhere. I have cried in bathrooms, at my desk muted on conference calls, in my car driving down the road and in the far corners of parking garages. I have cried while running, have had a few tears leak out at the gym (luckily it I sweat a lot so it isn’t very noticeable), in the dark on a friend’s couch as I try to sleep, and I have even cried at a football game (thank God for sunglasses). I cry often in the shower. I almost cried in an MRI machine. Unfortunately, today someone heard me cry and I was so embarrassed.

I feel lost, empty and depressed. It is a very dark place that I am in but, hide it from those that know me. I feel dumb and unloved. I feel like a failure. My body hates me as I get older and start to go through menopause, so I feel fat and out of shape. I am unable to do what I did only a few years ago. Since people don’t seem to believe in me, I don’t believe in myself. I am scared of everything these days including things I have done for years. I am stuck and overwhelmed. I am conflicted and hopeless. I feel like I did many years ago.

I go through the motions everyday with not always a smile but, at least trying not to let on that I am in such a bad place. I know people have noticed that I am a bit off. I have had someone ask me why I have been distant. A few have asked if I am ok. My BFFs have noticed a change and have asked me several times what is wrong. My reply, “I am fine”. Sure, I am fine because, I don’t know how to explain how much pain I am in.

I have known for a while that I need help again. Meds and talking to just my psychiatrist once every few months to get them renewed is not going to help. I have been reluctant to do video appointments because, I am afraid my husband will hear me. His home office is next to mine and even with the door shut, I worry he can hear me or my doctor, yet I have done a few. I am unfortunately at the end of my rope. I know I can’t go without therapy any longer.

I set up an appointment with someone local today. I think I will have the option at some point to go in person but, in order to get in soon and see how this person is, I will have to do the first appointment via video. I am nervous. I worry once I start telling him about my past and my current state, he will say, “I am sorry but, I can’t help you.” At least he gets off the hook from providing tissues (which reminds me to stock up on them this weekend). I don’t know how I am going to afford the treatment since he is not on my insurance but, I have to start somewhere even if it keeps me from moving forward in other ways.

I guess I just need to hear from someone “You have some work to do. Let’s get started. You are going to be fine.”

Damn! I AM Beautiful!!!!

Every day is so wonderful
Then suddenly it’s hard to breathe
Now and then I get so insecure
From all the pain, I’m so ashamed
I am beautiful no matter what they say
Words can’t bring me down
I am beautiful in every single way
Yes words can’t bring me down
So don’t you bring me down today
Beautiful – Christina Aguilera

Beautiful: adjective 1. Having qualities of beauty-exciting aesthetic pleasure 2. Generally pleasing – excellent

There is only one person who has ever told me I am beautiful. I have been told I was cute and that I look nice. I have been told I am sexy (a post for another day). Being told I was pretty was very confusing. Often I was told I was pretty when I was visiting my grandparents but meanwhile, I felt dirty and ugly because, I was being sexually abused.

I have never seen myself as beautiful. I have always had body issues and self-confidence issues. They began the first time I was told I looked fat in a bathing suit. Fourth grade boys can be so cruel. Then came comments about my different hair, big nose and being short. I was dragged to Weight Watchers my sophomore year of high school by my mom to make sure I didn’t have her same weight and food issues (major fail). My ex-husband told me I was not that attractive and undesirable.

“Why can’t you see you are a beautiful woman?”, he has asked often. My reply, “Have you looked at me? Do you know me?

As I laid in bed, recovering from back surgery, I got to thinking about why I couldn’t see myself as beautiful. I began scrolling through selfies and pictures with my friends. I picked myself apart in every picture I was in and could only see my faults. I started to think future pictures were only going to look worse if I didn’t have a physical goal to work toward. Then in my Facebook feed, an ad for a boudoir photographer came up.

I don’t know about you but, my impression of boudoir photography was it was like Glamour Shots from the 80’s (Google it if you don’t know what I am referring to. I guarantee you will laugh) only in lingerie. And yes, there are those photographers and studios out there who put out photographs just like those, very cheesy. What I saw in this ad didn’t look like that at all. These photos were artistic, sexy, and beautiful. Not only that but, there were women who were different colors, had different shapes, and some looked like me. Maybe this is what I have been looking for as far as a goal? Maybe it will inspire me to get in shape. Little did I know how else it may change me.

I spent weeks taking my time looking at the different photographers’ portfolios. I read reviews. And I read their backgrounds. Everything drew me to one photographer in particular. Her pictures were beautiful, they were sexy, some had a fierceness to them. She, like I, had toxic and abusive relationships in her past. Her goal, “Helping women realize they are not only beautiful but, fearless and brave.” She goes on to talk about a woman celebrating where she is in this moment. The thing that really got me was how she believes in a world where women don’t feel less-than because, they compared themselves to someone in a magazine. YAAASSS!!!!

It was 9 months between when I set up the appointment, and the actual shoot, which was the week of my birthday. Kind of an odd 52nd birthday present to give oneself but, I wanted this and I needed it. This was going to be about me. This was for me and it wasn’t for anyone else (ok, maybe one other person). I needed to be pushed out of my comfort zone. Mostly, I needed to try and see the beauty that the one man saw and still sees in me.

As the day approached some things had changed that made this shoot and being in the moment even more important. The first was my sex life had come to and remains at a complete stop. Nothing makes you feel less sexy. The second was I had been diagnosed with a form of scarring alopecia that December and already had some bald spots that were noticeable at times. This heightened my self consciousness. The third was despite my best efforts to workout and eat healthy, I gained weight and was bloated due to a combination of perimenopause and the medications to slow down losing my hair. Every item that I had in my small collection of lingerie (my husband has never liked it) I had deemed looked awful on me now. But, I put it my bag along with shoes, boots, and a few other items and prayed that the my photographer could work with me to hide my many flaws.

The day of arrived and I was nervous. I kept asking myself, could I do this? Why the hell am I going to do this? Why did I decide to do a shower shoot (which really pushed me out of my comfort zone). I was also excited. I was excited to wear items I don’t wear. I was excited to maybe feel sexy again. As I drove, I spoke to…well you know who. He calmed me down and told me to have fun. He also reminded me that I am beautiful.

I arrived at the studio and put down my bag, my jackets, and a white button down (lingerie is not the only sexy item in a woman’s wardrobe). I was shaking with nerves. I was instantly put at ease by the photographer and the make-up artist. As I sat down for hair and make-up we decided to leave my curly mop as is. “Your hair is gorgeous. You just made my job a lot easier”, the artist said. As she began to transform me into a goddess for the day, the photographer went through my bag and put together my wardrobe. We also revisited my story and why I was there. This also inspired her picks. I had no idea as to which items I would be wearing until I walked into change into the first look.

“I want you to take a look and let me know if you think I should add or lessen anything,” the lovely make-up artist with a melodic Irish accent said as she handed me the mirror. My jaw dropped to the floor. I had never seen myself so glamourous before. I wasn’t over done. I was….. damn good looking. I looked at her with tears starting to well. “Don’t cry. We will have to start over.” I laughed and thanked her a million times over for making me look good. “Have fun with your shoot.”

It was time to change into my first look and to let the games begin. In all I had four different looks that were combined with at times with a white button down and a green pleather jacket. I wore black patent leather boots, rose gold sparkly heels (the photographer knew I loved bling), and was barefoot. With each look, there were contrasts of colors and light. I even wore wings and was a full on Victoria Secret’s Angel (I was wearing lingerie I got there so in my mind I was).

The first few pictures I was so nervous. I was worried how I would look. The photographer was great. I swear to God she is part magician, part fairy godmother and part therapist. She would demonstrate the poses and tell me how to hold my gaze and my mouth. You don’t realize that it isn’t as easy as it looks to pose like a model. We moved between rooms of the studio. Some pictures were simply me standing looking out a window or laying across a bed. Others were on couches, stools and sitting on the floor. Others involved me bending certain ways. We even took them outside on the balcony. With each picture my confidence grew. I became more at ease. I felt happy, playful, sexy, and surprisingly powerful. I was owning my own body and my sexuality. I was loving it! I stopped worrying about my cellulite and began to think how damn hot my booty shots were going to look. I didn’t feel like I wanted to hide my body; I was feeling proud of it.

The last set of shots were in the shower. Now here is a little secret about these pictures. The water is not really on. You rub baby oil all over (I haven’t used baby oil since I was a teenager frying myself in the sun) so that when you sprayed with water the water will bead up on you, like it does when you are showering. With all my hang ups you would have thought this portion of the shoot would be the hardest for me to do but, to the contrary it was one of the easiest. I have always said that I feel my best walking around the house naked when no one is home. Honestly, being naked in my opinion is much more forgiving than seeing lumps and bumps that clothes or even lingerie seem to accentuate. Nope, the hardest part was being sprayed down with the cold water to get those water beads. I stood in the dark shower with a light rod to provide back light and started with my last look on and slowly removed it until It was off. It was if I was taking off all the labels that had been put on me and removing my insecurities. It was down right empowering!!!!

And then it was over. I felt incredible. More than ever before I was proud of me and my body! Like a rollercoaster that you are so scared to ride and then after, you want to ride it again, I wanted to do it all again. When I returned to my car, I took a selfie. I did that to remind myself of the feelings that day and I wanted it to have that picture for those days when I need to remember who I am. As I pulled away, I cried tears of joy. But not as many as I did later that evening when I received a preview picture from those that were taken that day. It hadn’t been retouched. I sat and stared at it. Is that me? I couldn’t believe it was me. I welled up because, for the first time, I saw what he had seen all along.

Damn!!! I AM beautiful.

Have a Little Faith In Me

Have a little faith in me when I say I’ll be there (even if I am a little late)

Have a little faith in me that I will work hard to make our dreams come true

Have a little faith in me when things seem impossible for us, that I will find a way to make them possible

Have a little faith in me that all I want to do is give you the world because, you are my everything.

Have a little faith in me that I never, ever want to hurt you and I will do everything to protect you

Have a little faith in me that I can be strong for the both of us

Have a little faith in me that my faith in us is much greater than the doubts you have.

Have a little faith in me that our future will be all that we dreamed

Have a little faith in me that I will love you till my last breath.

Rude Awakening

We laid there as we do every morning. Your body draped around mine. You the big spoon and I, the little spoon. Your hand in mine. Our fingers entwined fitting together perfect as they rest against my breast. Your strong thighs up against mine as our legs lay curved together. One set inside the other like the handles of stacked spoons. Your stomach resting against the small of my back. You lightly kissing the back of my neck and tickling it with your beard. I whispered I love you.

Then I woke up.

Alone

Pushed so far away.

Left to sleep with the ghosts of what was.

Nikki Was Not a Sex Fein. She Just Had A Little Kink to Her.

I knew a girl named Nikki
I guess you could say she was a sex fiend
I met her in a hotel lobby
Masturbating with a magazine
She said, “How’d you like to waste some time?”
And I could not resist when I saw little Nikki grind
Prince

Now if you were in a teenager in the 80’s those lyrics are probably damn familiar. If you don’t recognize them go get a copy of the Purple Rain Soundtrack and listen to it. Seriously, it is one of the top soundtracks of all time. In my house Nikki was not to be listened to. Thank God for the Walkman and earphones.

Nikki stood for everything I wasn’t allowed to even consider. As I had mentioned I was raised by very strict parents. We weren’t allowed to see rated R movies even someone’s parents were with us. (Yes, I snuck into R movies and yes, I watch a lot of R rated videos and movies on cable at friends’ house). We couldn’t listen to certain songs. We were not allowed read certain books (Thank God for Sydney Sheldon’s The Other Side of Midnight! Thank God my mom didn’t realize she had two copies). We were not open to exploration or exposure to sex.

We went to church every Sunday and were taught to wait to have sex until you have found the person you are going to marry. That didn’t mean you couldn’t have some heavy petting or give a guy a hand job or blow job. But don’t let a man in your vagina. What was so contradictory was being molested by my grandfather who was so revered by the church and for my parents not knowing that all that their girl was going through all of it. Talk about being screwed up about sex.

I was a very late bloomer when it came to sex. Nikki was light years ahead of me. At age 15 I started to figure out how to masturbate. And at 18 I finally had given a real blow job. I lost my virginity at 20 to a guy I swore I was going to marry. But, what the heck does this have to do with having a kinky side?

I want to state, I do believe we all have a kinky side in us. Some suppress it, some express it, and some embrace it and celebrate it. Most of us don’t feel comfortable with it and do not have the knowledge as to how to express it in a safe environment. We have been taught almost that is should be put out there for all the world to see. Thus Nikki in the hotel lobby.

Along came 30 Shade of Gray and people started no only to become more familiar with BDSM and started to understand that kinky side in them. Now Kinky doesn’t only deal with pleasure and pain, it could have an element of exhibitionism, bringing in other people in for a three way, using sex swings and other toys. It may even involve food but, it what ever drives you out of the normal and into the something fun and exciting for you.

It has taken 30 years to realize it is ok to have a desire or even a need for a little kink. I am still trying to find a safe way to express my desires but, I am comfortable in knowing that they are normal. There is no harm in wanting something beyond the bedroom or the house for that matter. There is nothing wrong in wanting to bring toys into the bedroom or maybe some restraints. There is no shame in being a bit kinky.

My 3 AM Friend

“It’s 3 AM I must be lonely. When she says baby. Well I can’t help to be scared of it all sometimes”. – Matchbox 20 “3AM”

About a few weeks ago I had back surgery. To be more precise, I had my L4, L5 and S1 fused. It was a surgery I had been prepared for back in March but, it got pushed to May due Covid-19 and the restrictions on elective surgery.

Problems with my back actually had begun years earlier when I started to feel numbness in my left leg when I was running. Fast forward 5 years and now I can barely run further than a mile without me having severe back pain and numbness with occasional pains feeling like electric shocks in my left leg. I hadn’t had any accidents or falls that would have caused this. I knew genetics were playing a role as to my issues. My mom had had 4 backs surgeries, her first being in her 20’s and her family had a long history of back problems. I had lasted a lot longer than she did before I needed anything done but, it was time I did something. By the time I did decide it was time, there was a bulging, cracking disc and it was time to do a fusion before I suffered permanent nerve damage in my left leg.

Meanwhile, my Dylan was trying to schedule a second knee replacement to be done. Now this was due to a terribly scary infection setting in after the first one that had been put in in December. Almost a month into his recovery, he had the first knee replacement removed and had a spacer put in. He had to administer antibiotics intravenously and during that time had blood clots form. It was a very scary time. I do not think I have prayed for anyone more in my life. By the time the infection had cleared and he had been cleared for surgery he too had to wait due to Covid-19.

We hadn’t been talking much because, of a rather large blow up. Things were extremely strained but, I couldn’t stop caring about him and he couldn’t stop caring about me. I mean, it had been over 25 years and although we have tried to say see you later and even good bye, our love for each other has never stopped. So we would check in on each other. I told him when I got the call that they could possibly schedule my surgery in the beginning of May. I got a message from him that they had scheduled his for mid-May the same day they called me with my surgery date. We ended up getting scheduled the same day. My surgery first thing in the morning, his in the afternoon.

As we approached our surgeries, we exchanged information on our doctor’s appointments, our pre-op testing, even our Covid tests. We shared our fears and also how we both wanted everything to be successful. He was an old pro at that point when it came to surgeries where for me, I had a few out patient procedures but, never anything quite this extreme. What was going to be different this time for both of us was we couldn’t have anyone with us. The hospitals had restrictions as to who could even enter the hospital and those restrictions meant that from the time we arrived, we were going to have to go it alone. We made a pact. We were in this together and we were going to get through it together. Whatever it took we were going to support each other. It was “you and me kid”.

That morning I sent texts to 3 people to let them know I loved them. My two best friends and Dylan. I lay there in the prep area listening to all the of the activity around me. My PA came in, then my surgeon, and then a few others that were going to be involved with the surgery. Next thing I knew I was waking up in a bay looking at others waking up. There were two nurses there. My first words were “Ouch! Ouchy! Oh my God Ouch” The nurses said, “do you need pain medication?” Through my tears, I said yes. I am unsure what they gave me, but I was ok and was ready to be move to a room. I don’t remember that, but I kept asking for my phone. I need my phone was what I wanted.

After being wheeled into my room and almost choking on the food they wanted me to eat due to my dry throat, I got my phone. The first texts I read were from Dylan. “Text me when you are out” I am waiting to hear from you before I go under. “ Are you ok?” I quickly texted back. “I am out. I am ok. Text me when you are in your room. Love you”

So I was learning my new norm in the mean time. I had already had issues sleeping. I had them since childhood. This resulted in me typically taking an anti anxiety medicine and sleep medicine each night. Since I was on OxyContin, nerve medication and Tylenol I was not allowed to take them. Combined with wake ups for drug administration, vitals to be taken, blood tests, and general check ups, sleep was not easy to come by.

Speaking of Oxy and other drugs, you are now supposed to tell the nurse when you need them based on you pain level. Personally, I think they should give you 24 hours to start to be able to learn when you body needs them and when you waited too long to say you need them. Around 2 AM I hit the buzzer. I wanted my Oxy and nerve medication please. I had waited too late and was in agonizing pain.

And that is when it started. “Are you up?” I texted.

“Yes”, he replied.

It was around 2:30 at that point. We were both alone in our rooms. With Covid, not only were we not allowed to even have our spouses accompany or visit us, we had to be in our own rooms. It actually worked out great for me, especially due to the complications I had later. We texted for a bit and then decided just to FaceTime. So there we were, different states, different operations, same ugly hospital robes, awake because, we were awaiting meds. We sat there and chatted and when the nurse finally came in with my meds, she was amused that there we were, at 3 AM FaceTiming. We were in it together. Comforting each other.

That night was the only night we got to FaceTime. We did however every night text back and forth. Sometimes taking little naps, if we could get one, here and there. We would virtually hold each other’s hands through the pain. During the day we would watch comfort TV together, which consisted of “Friends”, but at night and at 3 AM we were each other’s comfort

I ended up with a slight complication from my surgery. I won’t go into details but, I will say I hope no one ever has the reaction I had to anesthesia (ok maybe one person). The complication would not only provide for two hellish days and nights in the hospital but, a very difficult first week of recovery. That first week I stayed at my mom and dad’s as my mom is a retired nurse and could assist me. Mom, I owe you big time.

I was staying in the Master bedroom. I still couldn’t sleep due to the pain and due to no Ambien. Dylan was staying in a separate room in his house. That whole week we texted every night. Typically at 3 AM or so. “Are you Awake?” We somehow got each other through those long first nights where we couldn’t get comfortable, our stomachs were upset, we were in pain and or just awake and needed someone to talk to about anything from sports to what was going on in the world.

I returned home and Dylan returned to his normal bedroom. I have woken up several times since, usually around 3 AM and have reached for my phone. So many times I have wanted to text, “Are you awake?” But I can’t anymore. I did text him the other day and said that I missed texting him in the wee small hours of the morning. He said he missed texting then too. At least when we stare at the clock at 3 AM we know we are thinking of one another and are thinking “are you awake?”

To Tell or Not to Tell? That Is the Question

The secret that I hide, will I grow old
How will they hear
When will they learn
How will they know
Madonna – Live To Tell

We all have had them or have been told them…secrets. Some are shocking, some salacious, some are sweet but, all of them contain information that someone doesn’t want others to know. We keep them for a number of reasons. We don’t want to hurt someone, tarnish reputations, or expose the harshest of truths. We are entitled to some secrets. With our personal secrets we are the ones who determine if we will reveal them to who and/or when.

I have had plenty. Many I have kept for that reason. Hell, I have kept my blog a secret. I have done so for all the reasons above as well as not wanting to be hurt by those who know me. My blog is a secret that I am entitled to and if anything, is my venue to reveal some things about myself. Over my life I have carried the burden of two pretty significant ones. I have revealed one to a select few but, one I finally couldn’t keep and I told the person I was keeping it from. I figured I would get them out in the open here.

The first of my secrets was I was sexually abused by my paternal grandfather for years. My earliest memory was when I was 5. It continued for 9 more years until his death. I told no one until my early 20’s. In fact, it was my sister who was struggling with the memories of abuse that confided in my mom. Eventually my mother confronted me and asked if I had been abused as well. I broke down in tears and shook my head yes. The secret was finally out. At first I felt relief. I finally was able to tell someone but, then shortly after, it became a secret again. My mom knew, my father was eventually told and that is when it became a secret again. My father has never been able to acknowledge what his father did to me and my sisters. He even knew prior to our telling him and was in disbelief. My mom is still embarrassed. So, no other family members, friends of the family, etc. has ever been told and we don’t speak of it in front of them. Over the years, I have shared my secret with a select few. It eats at me, which most secrets do. I want to be able to share my story but, outside of my therapist I have said nothing. Someday, I hope I can let go of what I feel is an obligation to my father to keep this a secret and help others.

The second secret I kept from only one person. I finally broke down and told him yesterday. For over 20 years I had carried the secret around. Sometimes I was able to banish it from existence in my mind but, it came roaring back sometimes too. I had never told anyone about it, not my parents, not my best friends, not my co-workers or bosses. No one but, my doctor knew.

I was a few months away from my 27th birthday. I was in 2 relationships. There was always so much drama involved. So many intense feelings were involved when it came to the guy I truly wanted to be with. So much so, that it had begun to take a physical toll on him. He began losing his hair, his personality had changed, he started to look sick. I was the cause and I knew it. I loved him so much but, I knew I couldn’t be with him. I wasn’t good for him. Our friends noticed the changes and even sat me down and said maybe it would be best for him if we ended things (he doesn’t know that nor the individuals who talked to me except for my ex-sister in-law who seemed to hate me so much she played both sides of the fence and asked him to stop my wedding to her brother). My family was putting pressure on me to choose The other guy (he was away at school at the time) and eventually I did.

Prior to that choice and very close to our break-up, The guy who I loved with all my heart and I had one last afternoon making love. It has been something I never forgot. A few weeks later I broke it off with him. I moved and didn’t tell him where I had moved. He called me at my new place several times and I eventually had to block those numbers. He called me at work. It was horrible. I knew I had to stay away. And then a few weeks later, I realized I was a week late. I tried to ignore thinking it was just the stress of everything. Then I was two weeks late. One evening on my way home, I stopped and bought a pregnancy test. The next morning, I got up and took the test. It was positive. I was pregnant and I knew whose it was. I was happy and scared at the same time. I called my doctor and set up an appointment to come in and have a blood test to check my HCG levels and my iron levels as I had been anemic in the past. In the days leading up to the doctor’s appointment, it was business as usual, except I was wrestling with how I was going to handle things. The morning of my doctors appointment, I woke up at around 4 AM to find myself spotting. I kept thinking, this is not good, this is not good. My appointment was at 9 and I tried to go back to sleep but, couldn’t. I started to worry. I started to think about maybe I would lose the chance to have a baby that I was still struggling with the idea of. I got up, showered and started to drive to the doctor’s office. At this point the spotting had become heavier and I was cramping. I arrived in tears. I was the first appointment so, they quickly rushed me back so I wouldn’t have to sit in the waiting room. An exam was performed. My doctor broke the news to me, I was miscarrying. The doctor gave me directions on how to care for myself and to make a follow up appointment. My heart was broken. I called work claiming I had the flu. When my roommates asked what was wrong on the rare times I came out my room, I told them I was just having a bad period. I cried for 4 days straight and then put those feelings in a box and went back to my life trying to forget what happened while smiling through it all.

Fast forward to yesterday. I finally got the courage up to tell my friend and I wish I hadn’t. I hurt him. He feels as though I betrayed his trust again because I didn’t tell him a while ago when he asked if I had anything left to tell him about the past. I wasn’t ready as we had had a fight over the past a few months prior. I finally told him because, I knew if we were to have a future, even a friends, we couldn’t build it on this secret. It was bad timing, it was a bad way to tell him (if I was to tell him, it should have been in person) and we didn’t get to talk through it. Now I sit here feeling as bad as I did then. I hurt him and somehow broke the trust I had rebuilt. Part of me wonders if that trust was ever there. I wish I hadn’t told him, but I couldn’t let us build a foundation on sand. It is the only thing left that I have never told him.

I keep reminding myself of what I said in the beginning, our personal secrets are the ones we get to determine if, when and how they will be told. Maybe Madonna had it right.

“If I live to tell
The secret I knew then
Will I ever have the chance again”