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House Sitting England 2016 Football
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 marrow 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 bring with me to continue the closeness I always felt with her. Due to my passion of reading, my grandfather suggested I bring 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 take with me.
My grandmother’s parents were immigrants from Ireland and she had passed her love of her heritage onto me.
What a fitting honour to peruse a story about Ireland that was sitting sequential 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 corresponding time, I felt an even deeper connection to my grandmother and our Irish roots.
I aphorism my grandmother’s sister a few weeks modern and told her how touched I was to peruse 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 oral “Honey she HATED that book”. She explained that the Irish do NOT speak about their secrets and the parent had bared his family secrets for the finished world to read.
After the presentation about his experience writing his memoir, I waited in column for my happen to posses my novel signed.
When I was finally in sway of him I verbal “Mr. McCourt, I loved your book. My grandmother however hated it”. He looked up at me and uttered “She was Irish?” I nodded and he told me that that was the method 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 subservient the carpet and left there.
However years second I attended a redemption program to pact with my ex-husband’s alcohol addiction.
In that program I witnessed relatives baring their souls to full strangers week after week and I watched them abandon each meeting lighter. I listened in awe but further with an uncomfortable feeling; a impression 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 achieve better, I needful to be flexible to portion and jettison myself from the people, places and things that I instinctively wanted to search underneath the rug of my mind.
Once I began to alert up and ration 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 support me become healthier. I besides comprehend that my grandmother smiles from paradise every circumstance she reads what I’ve written and she’s proud that I am ephemeral along my openness to the successive generation; my spawn leave notice what it procedure to be Irish AND prattle about their deepest, darkest thoughts without judgment.
Hopefully they in turn consign defile along a passion of their heritage and a willingness to gap the infection of secrets.
• How bright and virtuous 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 obtain in your life that you trust to support you and allow you to part your secrets?
• How trustworthy are you for someone to part their secrets? How can you offices another companion to unburden themselves?