“Sometimes, the biggest secrets you can only tell a stranger.”
― Michelle Hodkin,
What I write here are often the truths I can only tell strangers. Although many people I know read them, it is easier if it is the stranger I imagine writing for, safe in the knowledge that the only truths they will ever know about me are the ones I choose to tell.
Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the things I don’t write and why. There are some things that are part of Zoe’s story that I only touch on, mainly to do with my relationship with Zoe’s Dad and the man I was seeing when Zoe died. Those stories are only half mine to tell and my half is no doubt different to theirs. Heck even my perspective on the truth of those stories has changed over time.
My grandmother always used to say that there are three sides to every story – his, hers and the truth. Often there are even more. How could I put my truth out there without inviting them to tell their side? Without inviting judgement.
Recently I read a piece on the Brevity non fiction blog by a woman who was compelled to write her own truth, the good, the bad and the ugly, only to pay a price for it when it became clear that she was regarded as someone else’s secret. Perhaps telling your secrets without fear of judgement is the bravest thing you can do. She is perhaps a braver woman than I.
So for now, some secrets will remain.