To Die With It

You want to know what the best, lost art is?

Keeping secrets.

With Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat and its filters, and the followings of throngs of invisible people on the Gram, few people know how to keep things to themselves. No one remembers what it was like to be entrusted  with something, to be able to hold something within themselves.

There are apps rather than conversations.  We have more followers than friends. Rather than real spouses, we find them on Instagram and have them during working hours. We’ve lost what these devices and applications are supposed to foster:  connection.

When I say, to die with it, there are things that are not meant for public consumption, things that people outside of your immediate circle will understand. There are things even with explanation, will remain unimportant to other people–only because those experiences aren’t theirs. Some things are just beyond the capacity and reach of other people’s entity.

My grandma, and women of her age and ilk would call it ‘being able to keep yourself.’ The idea of being able have a sense of self that is almost medicinal in nature. Being able to understand what indeed has happened to you, and accept that which no one may ever understand.

The hearts of people, especially women, are these deep, cavernous places. These places that hide and house and hunger. These places that hide memories, and tears and things it hurts to think about, let alone discuss with other people. This goes beyond the testimonies that help other people overcome, and remind them of the life that will come after.

These are the places that we rarely let light into, that we grimace over and lie about. The portions of our personal history that are not for public view, report or consumption. The things that haunt us, the thorns in our flesh. The things that keep us humble…and quiet when asked about them.

Now, believe me…there are things in my history I have divulged, purged, and been released by God about. There are things I have shared with my husband only, and few close friends. But I know there are some things, some demons (if you will) that I continue to wrestle with–and those fights are never meant to be public.

Those fights are never meant to be public.

There are some things that are part of you, that will remain a part of you. They developed you, scarred you, make you run or mad you mighty to fight it off. They keep you alert where you were lulled. This emotional armory.

Dear ones, I hate to break it to you…but there are some things, some stuff that you have to overcome, that you have even conquered, that you may never be able to emote properly, let alone speak to people about.

However, don’t run from that.

Don’t hide from life in that.

These things, too, have made you. I won’t tell you they are easy, I won’t tell you they heal fast, but I will tell you–those are the definite parts of you. The parts that offer yes or no without waver. Remind of you what you know and knew and will never fall for again. The things that tell you the truth about yourself…

The one thing apps won’t do, and no amount of followers will do…and the things these magic devices have stopped us from doing sometimes:   do things ourselves.


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