Growing up, the one consistent thing I heard was that I could not share what happened at home. The old saying “what happens at home stays at home” became my motto. I spent countless hours with guidance counselors trying to pry my story out of me, but my grip onto my secrets was one even I didn’t understand.
“If you tell, you’ll go to jail.”
“If you tell, I’ll go to jail, and who’s going to take care of you then?”
“If you tell, they’ll put you in a home. Only crazy kids do the things you do.”
“Good girls don’t do those things. You know you were asking for it.”
The list of threats was endless. But it taught me one thing: keep your story close and don’t let anyone know anything.
These words haunted me. Like Maya Angelou said, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”
Everything in my life seemed to follow the same path. I found myself in more situations where I had more secrets to hold.
Raped at 15.
My first abusive relationship at 16.
A romantic relationship with a man 25 years older than me at 19.
My second abusive relationship that nearly cost me my life.
Secret after secret, the load became too heavy to hold.
Until one day, I let it out. There was no other choice, really. It was tell my story or die hanging onto the secrets that had already almost killed me.
The words fell out of my grasp and onto the paper. As I wrote, more memories came. More secrets I had clung to came to the surface. The more I shared, the more relief I felt. I didn’t have to hold onto the pain any longer.
I was free. Free from the prison I was forced into as a child. Free from the prison of my own mind as the secrets followed me into adulthood. Free.
Secrets are toxic. It’s hard to understand until you’re so far in. You take a sip of poison. And then another. Until you no longer know who you are.
Little by little, the you you once knew is gone. Buried so deep under the hurt and pain you become unrecognizable.
With each word, I wrote a piece of the past came off of me. It took time and patience and pain, but little by little, I could see me.
Who was I? It had been so long since I had heard my voice. It shook a little, and I wanted to hide as soon as I released them. What had I done?
Regret lingered as the world as I knew it changed. Little by little, fear turned to power.
My voice, although quiet, packs a powerful punch.
I will say what I need to and not think twice.
There is freedom in that. A freedom that will never be stolen from me again.
My goal is to help others who have been where I was get to where I am.
You are stronger than your secrets.
There is no shame in what happened to you.
There is someone somewhere who needs to hear your story. Someone who needs to know they are not alone. Someone who needs to feel like they belong.
That someone might even be you.
Are you ready to let go of your secrets?
Let Reclaim Your Power help you get started!!