The Keeper of Secrets

I used to be a keeper of secrets. Perhaps you were too. There were things that happened in secret that we were not supposed to speak about. To do so meant there would be severe consequences. Worse even than what had happened before. So the secret was kept and in the place of truth lies were told.

"I fell off the bunk bed."
"My cat scratched me."

I never told about how my lips were split. Or where the welts came from on my legs and back, the pain so great that they caused me to limp to school. I never told about who tried to engage me into sexual encounters. I was told no one would believe me, and all he had to do was to deny it. That was all there was to it. The crushing weight of secrets was great, yet we bore them in silence.

I am no longer a keeper of secrets. I speak my truth loudly and with conviction. We no longer fear fists or other objects of abuse for now we are our own protectors. We are bold in who we are. We stand straight and know that we have come farther than some.

I find that there are more of us than one would like to think. Our victory is in our survival and in the normalcy of our daily lives. We mother our children with sacred intent, and we know how precious and delicate they are. They help us to heal a spirit once broken.

And we keep moving.

Forward.