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 pith wrenching description of his impoverished life in Limerick, Ireland titled "Angela’s Ashes".
I had received the story 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 manage with me to prolong the closeness I always felt with her.
Due to my passion 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 manage with me.
My grandmother’s parents were immigrants from Ireland and she had passed her heart of her heritage onto me.
What a fitting welcome to scrutinize a romance about Ireland that was sitting following 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 corresponding time, I felt an even deeper connection to my grandmother and our Irish roots.
I proverb my grandmother’s sister a few weeks later 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 said “Honey she HATED that book”.
She explained that the Irish do NOT speak about their secrets and the originator had bared his successors secrets for the finished system to read.
After the presentation about his experience writing his memoir, I waited in string for my happen to retain my narrative signed.
When I was finally in front 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 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 underneath the carpet and left there.
However years final I attended a atonement program to protocol with my ex-husband’s alcohol addiction.
In that program I witnessed family baring their souls to flawless strangers week after week and I watched them abandon each meeting lighter.
I listened in awe but furthermore with an uncomfortable feeling; a viewpoint of nakedness and exposure.
Then I heard the saying that changed how I approached my situation:
“You’re only as sick as your secrets”
If I wanted to obtain better, I vital to be willing to allocation and offload myself from the people, places and things that I instinctively wanted to search under the rug of my mind.
Once I began to open up and measure 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 also sense that my grandmother smiles from paradise every circumstance she reads what I’ve written and she’s proud that I am transient along my openness to the sequential generation; my heirs leave notice what it method to be Irish AND natter about their deepest, darkest thoughts without judgment.
Hopefully they in turn consign gulch along a feelings of their heritage and a willingness to break the illness of secrets.
• How willing and upstanding was your spawn of origin? What did you learn from how certain situations were handled?
• What secrets are you keeping remedy now? Who do you own in your life that you trust to assistance you and allow you to slice your secrets?
• How trustworthy are you for someone to quota their secrets? How can you support another comrade to discharge themselves?