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House Minding In Dublin
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 kernel wrenching description of his impoverished life in Limerick, Ireland titled "Angela’s Ashes".
I had received the novel 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 carry with me to keep the closeness I always felt with her. Due to my feelings of reading, my grandfather suggested I manage 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 bear with me.
My grandmother’s parents were immigrants from Ireland and she had passed her love of her heritage onto me.
What a fitting welcome to read a romance about Ireland that was sitting successive to her bed the day of her funeral. I devoured the story in a few days and, although the memoir was sad, shocking and inspirational all at the twin time, I felt an even deeper connection to my grandmother and our Irish roots.
I axiom my grandmother’s sister a few weeks second and told her how touched I was to scan 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 vocal “Honey she HATED that book”. She explained that the Irish do NOT natter about their secrets and the origin had bared his spawn secrets for the complete cosmos to read.
After the presentation about his experience writing his memoir, I waited in line for my follow to own my narrative signed.
When I was finally in bob of him I uttered “Mr. McCourt, I loved your book. My grandmother however hated it”. He looked up at me and verbal “She was Irish?” I nodded and he told me that that was the procedure 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 modern I attended a retrieval program to treaty with my ex-husband’s alcohol addiction.
In that program I witnessed people baring their souls to flawless strangers week after week and I watched them abandon each meeting lighter. I listened in awe but moreover with an uncomfortable feeling; a opinion of nakedness and exposure.
Then I heard the adage that changed how I approached my situation:
“You’re only as sick as your secrets”
If I wanted to earn better, I required to be willing to quota and transfer myself from the people, places and things that I instinctively wanted to study beneath the rug of my mind.
Once I began to willing up and allocation 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 sneering that, it took someone else’s alcohol addiction to support me become healthier. I furthermore notice that my grandmother smiles from eternity every circumstance she reads what I’ve written and she’s proud that I am fleeting along my openness to the next generation; my heirs cede sense what it manner to be Irish AND say about their deepest, darkest thoughts without judgment.
Hopefully they in turn bequeath gully along a emotions of their heritage and a willingness to rest the infection of secrets.
• How open and honest was your spawn of origin? What did you learn from how certain situations were handled?
• What secrets are you keeping amend now? Who do you have in your life that you trust to support you and allow you to quota your secrets?
• How trustworthy are you for someone to part their secrets? How can you aegis another partner to offload themselves?