Advice from a small town girl

I suspect that I’m not the only person who hides secrets from the past right where they belong – in the past.

My secrets range from slightly embarrassing (no, I’m not going to tell you) to humiliating (still not going to tell you) all the way to downright shameful (absolutely not!)

I’ve discovered, though, that secrets just don’t want to stay where I put them. Even though I’m still not going to tell you, they bubble to the surface of my consciousness on a fairly regular basis, where they lurk, trying to convince me that I’m not a good person.

Once they’re there, I’m not sure what to do with them.

I’ve tried asking for forgiveness.

I’ve tried turning them over to God.

On a very rare occasion, I’ve talked them over with someone I trust A LOT.

I usually end up just stuffing them back down into the subconscious soup.

Lately I’ve been thinking that that isn’t the best place for them. I wonder if, just like the monsters under the bed when I was little (I NEVER let a hand or foot dangle), they would diminish if exposed to the light of day.

Whether or not I decide to share these things with anyone else, they have still had a part in shaping the person I am today.

Just like the monsters under the bed.

And just as with the monsters under the bed, the fear generated by the secrets is far more powerful than the monsters themselves.

Some of my secrets are the result of bad behavior, actions that I would prefer no one else ever knew about.

Others are the result of belief systems that I have held close to my heart for years and years.

Sometimes I think that more damage is done by expectation than anything else.

Somehow I grew up believing that I was supposed to be perpetually pleasant, unfailingly kind, never angry, never depressed, never demanding, et cetera et cetera et cetera.

I don’t remember anyone actually telling me that I should be that way, or at least not all at once.

And of course I fail. I’m human, just like everyone else.

I get cranky.

Actually, I get cranky a lot now that I’m a “woman of a certain age.”

“Cranky” pretty much sums up being unkind, angry, depressed and demanding. And unpleasant.

I’m going to need to think about this a bit more before I make any changes, though.

There won’t be any major revelations in the near future.

I have to decide just how much light is necessary to rob the secrets of their power.

Full exposure? Perhaps. Hopefully not.

What’s the worst that could happen, anyway?

I could be revealed as unlovable. I could be revealed as questionable.

Or I could be revealed as the monster under the bed.