Secrets

Thank you to all who reached out after my last post, “Diggin’ Your Own Kind of Music.” You inspired me to keep weaving the past with the present—to help us find a path toward the future.

Like the woman in the mirror, for whom Mama Cass’ music speaks—many of us hold secrets our music tries to sing through, especially during stormy times. These are not just our own secrets, but those entrusted to us by others.

Some of these may be the hardest of all—especially when we agreed to hold them without fully understanding what that responsibility would cost.

While we want the other person to feel they can trust us—and know they’re not alone—parts of us may feel isolated, too, especially if we have a personal connection to them, or the person who betrayed their trust.

Sometimes, we never look at that person in the same way again—especially if the secret stirs anger, disgust, or other emotions that we can’t safely express.

In relationships, and in our communities, many of us carry secrets involving people their friends also know. People they don’t think we know—at least as well as they do. That’s a secret within a secret—wrapped in another, just to keep it hidden.

So how do we carry these secrets—and still stay true to ourselves?

As therapists, our boundaries are usually clear—but things can still get messy pretty fast. At least we have a space to talk about it—with a trusted colleague or supervisor, or even our own therapist.

But it’s different when the other person is a close friend or partner. In that case, some people might feel it’s wrong to tell someone else—even their therapist, if they have one at all.

If you’re not sure what to do, start—as with many things I write about—by talking to yourself. Not just the grown-up part who can reflect with compassion and wisdom, but also the child parts—still carrying fear, shame, or anger—who weren't always heard in the way they deserved.

That may be the deepest secret of all—but as life goes on, you may find out that the wound went much deeper—and was just the tip of the iceberg.

Forgive me, Titanic fans. But, we all know it’s not the tip that does the damage—it’s what’s hidden underneath.

Because if you keep your eyes closed, the secret is likely to seep into your relationship with the other person—or anyone who was involved in the secret. You may never speak of it, for fear of hurting them—but the cycle of secrecy can continue far beyond where it started.

It’s a tangled web—one that can stretch across generations.

I don’t claim to have the answer, except to say this: at the very least, make space for the question before rushing toward a solution—especially in treacherous waters, where it's hard to know who or what to trust.

Take time to hear things out—both within and between. Then you’ll know: sometimes it’s right to hold another’s confidence.

But don’t keep it a secret from yourself. That’s when it becomes your trauma— when the secret starts to hurt you. When we silence ourselves to protect others, we risk losing our own voice.

Looking closer at the woman in the mirror, I tell her, “You don't have to hide from the mirror anymore because it sees all of you.”

She gazes back at me and responds, “The little one knows the truth when I tell them, ‘I love you—all of you.’ They don’t have to hide anymore because they know I'm the person they grew up to be. And now, they live in my heart—my Core Self.”

In that moment, I imagine John Denver singing Leaving on a Jet Plane—for the hurt little ones inside—for Cass Elliot, the woman in the mirror, or maybe even someone reading this now—including myself.

In tribute to John Denver, who left us after a tragic plane crash in 1997 at age 53, and to Cass Elliot, who suddenly departed at age 32 in 1974, just two years after this prophetic duet, and only a few short weeks after my college graduation—I honor all those in our lives who could see us in the light of invisibility, and who passed too soon.

May their beautiful souls live on in our hearts, reminding us that we are always loved—and that love lives on in us, and in all those we touch with our hearts.

Love doesn’t disappear with a secret—it waits quietly beneath, ready to be reclaimed, one moment at a time.

Comments or questions? Email me at mcecilvt@aol.com. Feel free to share these words—and this blog—with anyone you hold, or long to be held by, in the light of invisibility.

Dr. Cecil is a licensed psychologist, certified AEDP supervisor, approved EMDR consultant, and senior CSRT consultant. He specializes in treating complex relational, developmental, and transgenerational trauma, bringing therapy to life through heartfelt stories and images of connection and healing that emerge from the light of invisibility.