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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 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 carry with me to perpetuate the closeness I always felt with her.
Due to my love 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 move with me.
My grandmother’s parents were immigrants from Ireland and she had passed her heart of her heritage onto me.
What a fitting greeting to construe a tale about Ireland that was sitting successive 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 duplicate time, I felt an even deeper connection to my grandmother and our Irish roots.
I proverb 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 navvy and in a sweet voice she oral “Honey she HATED that book”.
She explained that the Irish do NOT prattle about their secrets and the originator had bared his descendants secrets for the absolute universe to read.
After the presentation about his experience writing his memoir, I waited in file for my transpire to keep my novel signed.
When I was finally in escort of him I uttered “Mr.
McCourt, I loved your book.
My grandmother however hated it”.
He looked up at me and vocal “She was Irish?” I nodded and he told me that that was the manner 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 under the carpet and left there.
However years final I attended a compensation program to pact with my ex-husband’s alcohol addiction.
In that program I witnessed relatives baring their souls to complete strangers week after week and I watched them leave each meeting lighter.
I listened in awe but further with an uncomfortable feeling; a impression of nakedness and exposure.
Then I heard the axiom that changed how I approached my situation:
“You’re only as sick as your secrets”
If I wanted to get better, I necessary to be open to portion and discharge myself from the people, places and things that I instinctively wanted to sweep underneath the rug of my mind.
Once I began to bright 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 scoffing that, it took someone else’s alcohol addiction to backing me become healthier.
I furthermore understand that my grandmother smiles from paradise every case she reads what I’ve written and she’s proud that I am transitory along my openness to the sequential generation; my descendants cede recognize what it system to be Irish AND gossip about their deepest, darkest thoughts without judgment.
Hopefully they in turn leave gulch along a love of their heritage and a willingness to break the infection of secrets.
• How perceptive and upright was your children of origin? What did you learn from how certain situations were handled?
• What secrets are you keeping correct now? Who do you hold in your life that you trust to help you and allow you to part your secrets?
• How trustworthy are you for someone to measure their secrets? How can you aegis another comrade to discharge themselves?