I never put any thought into it but I always felt that my secrets kept me safe. Growing up I maneuvered around other people’s trauma secrets, finding ways to thrive without asking the wrong questions or touching on a topic that would spark emotion. Secrets kept me from experiencing vulnerability as a child. Then for 10 years with my ex-husband I kept all of his abuse secret out of fear and shame. Secrets and silence minimized his attacks along with the risk of being judged by friends and family. And for 14 years since, even in a healthy second marriage, I continue the cycle of secrecy because my body and mind do not know how to voice things…at least outside of therapy. My secrets continue to armor me from the painful emotions of processing my past.
My husband and I have been fighting way too much lately. He admitted that since I began this blog, he has developed a lot of anger that he cannot seem to process. For 14 years I wasn’t able to tell him almost anything about my past abuse but this year, with the help of counseling, I finally started to confide in him. I still suck at voicing things out loud, but he reads what I write. He actually had to stop reading new posts because the anger was consuming him. He says everything in his body wants to hurt my ex, to go back in time and defend me. His anger has led to some big fights and a whole lot of tension lately.
pretending my secrets don’t exist
Recently my daughter from my first marriage was talking to my family about her dad…my parents and siblings made comments showing her they still care about him and they pray for him. I always chime in, acting like I worry about him – out of love for her. Hearing such words helps alleviate her constant worries. He’s become alienated from almost everyone in his life because of his narcissistic behavior and she carries the heavy burden of feeling like the only person to love and care for him.
Meanwhile my husband was outraged listening to all this tender talk about the man he now despises. He’s heard us talk this way for years, but never before was he so aware of my abusive past. At this point his anger was not only directed at my ex but now at me because I refuse to let anyone know about the abuse. It has taken every ounce of courage inside me to begin talking in therapy and writing this year, but there are very few people to whom I am honest face to face. My parents, siblings, even my daughter still know very little other than the verbal abuse that they witnessed, which was significant, but time and my lack of communication has faded their memories. However, my own memories have stayed vivid within my secrecy, as if I am still living it.
my secrets are mine and I hold them tight
I act like these polite conversations about my ex have no effect on me. In my mind I am being a supportive mom, showing my daughter I care and that she is not alone in this. Not only am I still living a lie, triggering my own pain, but it never occurred to me that I was inflicting pain on my husband as he watched me do this for years.
During one bad fight my husband demanded I tell everyone about the abuse. He was infuriated, even threatening to leave me if I don’t at least tell my daughter everything so that he does not have to keep hearing about her constant concern for her dad. He also threatened to tell her himself. I don’t get angry easily, but I exploded! Livid, I yelled that I would rather he leave me! I screamed,
“This is my story! It is not your story and you cannot tell it!”
We did not speak for almost a week. Things got a little better, but we found endless other topics to fight about for months after.
I also never considered the effects of my secrets on my younger children. Despite my objections, my husband has told them a little about the abuse – usually at times when I am struggling bad with depression and they don’t understand why their mama gets so sad and distant for days at a time.
It never occurred to me the confusion I was creating by never allowing them to ask questions about my past…. Just as my mother did with me, I did not allow discussion that made me feel vulnerable, unsafe. For 14 years, I maintained a mode of secrecy in our home. My husband knows he cannot bring up the name of my ex or anything of my past. My children know these unspoken rules too and that I will not answer their questions and will quickly change the subject when they get curious.
I finally saw the damage my secrets are causing
After one of our fights, my husband admitted my behavior hurts him. For the first time I became aware of the cycle of secrecy in our home. I began to see through his eyes how I am quick to criticize anything he does wrong, even in front of our children, yet will not say the slightest criticism of my ex. Not out loud. For the first time, I realized the damage I am causing with my secrets. I grew up in a house of secrets. My mother has her own unspoken history of trauma, but I never learned about it until my late teen years. We all learned quickly what we could talk about and what was unacceptable. We learned not to ask too many questions. And somehow, we learned that our own problems should also remain unspoken.
Never once did I realize I am instilling the same rules of secrecy within my own family.
My husband is a wonderful man. He is strong, loving, forgiving and unbelievably protective of me. Our marriage is not perfect, yet he is everything I need in a husband. In the heat of an argument, I may act like I could care less if he ever walked out the door, but I desperately need his love and protection. It made me sad to realize the pain I was inflicting on him.
why is this fear still in me?
My close friend recently asked why I still cannot talk about my past to my daughter, my family or most anyone else. She knows I am working through a lot of the shame this past year in therapy and she questioned what would be the worst that could happen if I told people more. When she asked this, I felt childish at the answer that popped into my head. I wanted to say, “My ex will hurt me if he finds out!” It seemed stupid because I have not seen him in years. Why is the feeling still strong?!? I remembered how he confronted me constantly, worried I was talking to other people about us. He checked every call on my phone, listened to every conversation. If he had any inkling that I had confided in someone he would hurt me.
It doesn’t make logical sense that this fear is still in me.
I risked talking openly
A few days ago I pushed through the emotions, embraced vulnerability and talked a little with my daughter. Our family had taken a road trip to visit her at college and I managed to find some alone time with her. She seemed surprised, maybe overwhelmed. She opened up about her struggles and her many worries about her dad, whose second wife seems to have given up on him. I told her I am sad for her but I can see why this is happening in their marriage based on what I experienced. Then I admitted I still struggle with finding my own identity and with feeling isolated because of my experiences with him. I did not share much details, but I talked in a way I had never talked before with her. Instead of denying the abuse and lying and minimizing it, I admitted it happened and that I am still struggling because of it. I know it was not as much as I should say…but the conversation has begun.
My daughter and I have always been more like friends. Perhaps because I had her so young, or maybe because I desperately clung to her throughout the abuse. Maybe because she was the only person in my life that gave me love when I was isolated for years. She continues to cling to me just as much. In this conversation I felt that friendship. She listened with pain and love.
another aha! moment
On our drive home from visiting my daughter at college, we stopped at Starbucks and I ran in for coffees and treats for the kiddos. As we pulled out of the parking lot I complained that my coffee was not hot. My husband did an immediate U-turn and headed back to Starbucks to get a new coffee. I always intense anxiety when he does things like this and begged him not to go fix it. Of course it was all fine. He was totally respectful, nicely talking to the girl and she apologized and handed him a new piping hot coffee. He smiled big as he handed it to me and my body finally relaxed.
As we drove away, I got curious about what I was feeling, as I’ve learned to do frequently during this healing journey. I questioned what was happening in my body. Why do I feel such panic in these moments. This entire year of growth was filled with a 1,001 aha! moments. All the things about me that I thought were just damn weird suddenly have meaning.
As soon as I allowed my mind to go there, I knew where the panic came from. I thought about the countless times my ex ripped into waiters, waitresses, servers, cashiers, hotel maids, hostesses…. He made it clear they were beneath him. He tore people apart and it was humiliating to watch. I could never make eye contact. I badly wanted to help those he was belittling but I could not. Security guards or police were often called to usher us away. I was filled with humiliation at these memories.
I opened the door to vulnerability
With tears in my eyes, I turned toward my kids in the back seat. I said, “I love how daddy is so respectful to people. He did not yell at that girl to get what he needed. Daddy gave her so much respect and that is why she was happy to help him.” I took a long deep breath and added, “My ex-husband was never respectful to people. He believed he was better than others and yelled and hurt people to get what he wanted and it made me so sad.” Their eyes were huge hearing me talk in this way and my husband stared at me in awe, not knowing what to say. It was such a small statement, but it opened the door to their curious questions which I answered. I saw I could do this.
it has to be me
I know my husband is the strong one in this marriage. I have always looked to him to handle the emotional, painful challenges over the years. He is the one to communicate hard things to our kids and to others, never me. He is the one we all lean into for strength.
It’s not that I have to share every detail of my past and retraumatize myself. That will serve no one. But it’s time to stop acting like everything was good. It’s at least OK to stop pretending. I see now that I am the only one that can be in control of ending this cycle of secrecy in our family. I am the key to stopping intergenerational trauma. My husband can’t do it for me. He would if he could and I wish he could, but it has to be me.