Today, I find it so ironic the way my life has played out. In some ways I am the secret keeper for myself and others, and that very same position has constantly locked me in a box that I will never be able to escape. I guess what once again brought the point home for me today was seeing my mother’s reaction to the knowledge that one of my close friends had been raped/molested eventually resulting in her fleeing her home. The ensuing conversation between mother and I just seemed too close to home in a way. Having her pull me into a conversation that required me to explain what goes through the mind of a victim without actually revealing that I was once upon a time in a similar position was….uncomfortable to say the least. I remember when I was younger I would try not to move or breathe when the topic of abuse came up, because I didn’t want to give the secret away by even shifting an inch at the wrong moment. Then to have her say that usually the family doesn’t believe the person who tells his/her story tonight just sort of put the icing on the cake. All I kept muttering to myself was to maintain control and not tell her to shut up because I knew and understood to some extent how difficult it was to balance family and secrets and memories and conflicting emotions. I guess that’s what brought me to write this short post up here, because being the secret keeper doesn’t exactly leave room for many confidantes. Ah well.