But I've finally hit a level of privacy within me that is just too raw to share.
I've been carrying some painful secrets for the last few months. I want to tell my close friends and relatives. I want the burdens lightened, but the words cling to my tongue like new recruits at the door of a C-130 on their first jump day.
In my mind, my secrets are so terrible they would sway the listener's opinion of me to disgust and perpetual disappointment. I am ashamed and afraid.
But- I also feel the crushing weight of bearing the words in silence. I guess this is why I've been so open in regards to the miscarriage and losing our foster children. I had to unleash something for fear of being pulverized by an emotional weight equal to atmospheric pressure times 15.
I've shared my Dirty Little Secrets with only three people:
My husband. Telling him promoted the secrets to Our Family's Dirty Secrets. It did not, however, provide the relief I seek. My husband retreats within himself when things are too painful.
My former therapist. She used that information in such a way to nearly destroy my marriage. Thus, the "former" in her title.
My bishop. He heard, he counseled, but I did not feel like I could share the emotional aspect of my burdens without being interrupted by scriptural references. Sometimes, I just need to feel understood.
I feel I need to share my D.L.S. with someone who meets these two requirements:
1) Is a woman. A woman in tune can hear between the pauses, read between the lines, feel between the heartaches.
2) Knows me well. Someone who knows me so well, she can fall back on my other attributes to compensate for my sins. She can see my secrets as mistakes and not as my identity.
But maybe, even with these met, I will also need more chronological distance from my actions. Then, maybe my fear of the consequences will be insignificant compared to the peace of talking. Then, I will be free.
When will I share? How do I share? In whom do I confide?