Caribbean House Sitters Wanted
Caribbean House Sitters Wanted
You're Only As Sick As Your Secrets
I was attending a presentation by Pulitzer Prize winning author, Frank McCourt, discussing the ins and outs of writing a memoir.
Frank McCourt won the prestigious award for his spirit wrenching description of his impoverished life in Limerick, Ireland titled "Angela’s Ashes".
I had received the romance from my grandfather on the day of my grandmother’s funeral.
I was wandering around their house, trying to find a memento of my grandmother that I could take with me to continue the closeness I always felt with her.
Due to my affection of reading, my grandfather suggested I carry one of her many books.
Next to her bedside was "Angela’s Ashes" and I knew in an instant that that was what I was meant to move with me.
My grandmother’s parents were immigrants from Ireland and she had passed her affection of her heritage onto me.
What a fitting salute to study a tale about Ireland that was sitting subsequent to her bed the day of her funeral.
I devoured the tale in a few days and, although the memoir was sad, shocking and inspirational all at the same time, I felt an even deeper connection to my grandmother and our Irish roots.
I aphorism my grandmother’s sister a few weeks end and told her how touched I was to study the book; how it felt like my grandmother had left it specifically for me.
She smiled, patted my hand and in a sweet voice she spoken “Honey she HATED that book”.
She explained that the Irish do NOT talk about their secrets and the originator had bared his progeny secrets for the flawless world to read.
After the presentation about his experience writing his memoir, I waited in train for my chance to retain my romance signed.
When I was finally in surpass of him I vocal “Mr.
McCourt, I loved your book.
My grandmother however hated it”.
He looked up at me and said “She was Irish?” I nodded and he told me that that was the routine of it; the Irish did not like him sharing his secrets.
It was in that moment that I realized the undertone of my heritage; I started to see things from a clearer perspective.
Until then I never noticed how “undesirable” things were not discussed or how certain stories and rumors were neither confirmed nor denied.
Things were often swept unbefitting the carpet and left there.
However years final I attended a recovery program to pact with my ex-husband’s alcohol addiction.
In that program I witnessed people baring their souls to finished strangers week after week and I watched them cease each meeting lighter.
I listened in awe but moreover with an uncomfortable feeling; a belief of nakedness and exposure.
Then I heard the proverb that changed how I approached my situation:
“You’re only as sick as your secrets”
If I wanted to secure better, I imperative to be open to share and unload myself from the people, places and things that I instinctively wanted to examine beneath the rug of my mind.
Once I began to perceptive up and share my story, I began to see why Frank McCourt was compelled to write his memoir; he was tired of being sick from his secrets.
As I write this blog I am aware of the sarcasm that, it took someone else’s alcohol addiction to aegis me become healthier.
I besides recognize that my grandmother smiles from paradise every instance she reads what I’ve written and she’s proud that I am passing along my openness to the succeeding generation; my successors leave comprehend what it practice to be Irish AND gibber about their deepest, darkest thoughts without judgment.
Hopefully they in turn commit defile along a feelings of their heritage and a willingness to gap the indisposition of secrets.
• How willing and upright was your family of origin? What did you learn from how certain situations were handled?
• What secrets are you keeping redress now? Who do you posses in your life that you trust to offices you and allow you to allocation your secrets?
• How trustworthy are you for someone to part their secrets? How can you aid another friend to transfer themselves?