not my secret to keep

artist: Inkpiri

On Friday, my coworker and I disclosed our abuse to each other inside her fluorescent lit office. She asked me when the extent to which the abuse went, and I told her. She asked me when I had lost my virginity, and I told her. She asked questions that, honestly, I was relieved to answer. I have been waiting wanting craving to tell someone. My armpits were sweating, my face was red and we both were crying. When I went into her office that morning, I had no idea the conversation would lead to that. But I am not upset it did.

As the day went on, I kept waiting for the regret to creep in. It did not and it has not. Normally, I keep these truths close to me. They have historically felt near sacred. They are truths that should be honored, not to be told to anyone. They are centered around a little girl who had no protection, and I am determined to give it to her. Still, I do not feel regret about sharing one of my most vulnerable truths.

I was driving today, wondering why I do not feel regret about this disclosure. And I had the thought that maybe I am starting to understand that this is not my secret to hold. It is and was my father’s secret, but it is not mine. The shame I carry is also not mine. Nothing of my character was determined or revealed or tarnished that night - though I cannot speak for him.

There are podcast hosts who disclose to millions of listeners. The first time I heard one do so, I rewound the podcast to hear it again. I was in disbelief anyone would say that aloud. But now I am starting to understand how sharing these experiences gives me back the agency that was stolen. I am crying as I type this, not out of sadness, but because this feels like a coming home of sorts.