I grew up in a house with a secret. A big secret. Unfortunately, although the secret had an effect on me, it’s not my secret so I can’t tell you what it is. I can tell you what it did to me however; I can’t keep a secret to save my life. Well, maybe I could keep a life-or-death secret, but other than that, really, don’t trust me with your secrets. They spurt up out of me uncontrolled and unbidden, and usually un-welcomed! But somehow, after the initial guilt, confusion, and regret have passed, I feel better. That’s because secrets are soul killers. And my soul doesn’t like to keep them.
Secrets also carry power. If you know a secret and someone else doesn’t, you have the power. Even if you aren’t keeping the secret because of a devious plot to gain the upper hand, it still gives you the power. Even if the other person is completely oblivious to the secret’s very existence, you still have the power. That’s why the secret I grew up with stayed a secret so long–it gave the secret keeper power over the rest of us.
It’s not a power I ever want–I remember the time a friend told me she was pregnant before she told her husband! I don’t know why she did that, but it was very uncomfortable for me because suddenly, in some weird way, I was closer to her than she was to her mate. And it felt wrong. (I did manage to keep that one, until now.)
Now my family has a new secret, also not mine to share. And it’s working its evil magic on us all. Although the thing itself could be quite joyful, having it be a secret means that bad feelings are rising up all over. Here and now, no matter what sacrifices I have to make (not attending events, not maintaining friendships, etc.), I promise never to participate in secret keeping again. Wish me luck!