Dirty Little Secrets

I have a confession to make. Yesterday, I caught myself singing along to Danzig’s “Mother” in the car. No no, I gotta be honest. I wasn’t singing. I was jamming. 

Married suburban women with two kids and a mortgage who bakes for church picnics don’t jam to Danzig. They turn up the Taylor Swift. Rock out to Rod Stewart. Blare the Michael Buble. (It’s probably pretty obvious I have no idea what’s “hip” for my demographic.)

But a B-level death metal single from 15 years ago? Doesn’t fit. And the very fact that I started this blog as a confession means that I think that’s something to hide: a dirty little secret.

We all have them: aspects of ourselves that we deem unsuitable for general consumption. Maybe it’s a fondness for peanut butter-pickle sandwiches, or that collection of ABBA on vinyl, or an undying love for those daytime judge shows (the very fact that they exist in such numbers means that lots of people do). 

Or it could be something a lot less frivolous, like a gay son, alcoholic mother, unemployed spouse. We hide our phobias, political affiliation, hair color, faith, sexual status, bad habits, weaknesses, even our strengths.

(Don’t believe me on that last one? Ask any high school girl if she’s ever not raised her hand in math class because she doesn’t want to look smarter than the boys. Or just ask me; I was one of them.)

Why do we do all this hiding? I can only speak for myself, of course, but I don’t think it’s shame or prejudice or uncertainty. Those things may be there, but they’re not at the very center. I think it’s fear. Fear of judgment. Fear of other people thinking about us differently, or worse, pushing us away. Fear of not fitting in. Fear of rejection. Fear, ultimately, of being alone.

Many people, myself definitely included, don’t see ourselves conforming to what we think others want us to be. (What we think others want is mostly just projection of our own doubts anyway.)

We think we’re pretty open, outspoken, independent and proud of our individuality. But if we look honestly at the self we present to the world, we see that it’s not 100 percent consistent with our inner selves. 

Put it in those terms, it sounds pretty stupid. And it is! Especially when you realize that everyone is hiding something. (More likely a lot of somethings.) Yet it’s still so hard to open ourselves up, because to do that is to make ourselves vulnerable.

Even the tiny crack I opened up by confessing to Danzig, which is a paper-thin crack at best, is inviting sarcastic remarks or rolled eyes. People who know me may be surprised, people who don’t know me may read my next blog with that tidbit in the back of their mind. 

But I might get support, too. I may connect with someone new, or connect with someone in a new way, because I opened myself that paper-thin crack. Forget about Danzig. Share something important, something vital, something real, and see who else has been hiding that same thing.

Epilogue

You probably started reading this blog because you thought you’d learn some juicy things about me. I can’t blame you; “Dirty Little Secrets” does sound like the kind of movie you find on Cinemax at 1 a.m. And you can’t blame me; I got you to read my blog, right?

Still, you’re probably disappointed. So, here are a few dirty little secrets you might find satisfying. I have a security blanket. I’m physically lazy and don’t care a lick for my own physical fitness. I prefer books that are not mentally challenging. And … I listen to Rush Limbaugh. 

OK, go ahead, take your best shot. I’m ready.