How to decide how much to reveal about yourself
People ask me all the time how I can be so honest about my life in my blog. They want to know how I can write about marriage, sex, abortions, or running out of money over and over again. It's an endless list really, of the stuff I write about that people can’t believe I'm writing about.
But each of you has a list of things in your life similar to that, it’s just a list you don't want to talk about. I'm not special—I don't have more stuff that is difficult to talk about. I just have more difficulty not talking about difficult stuff.
This is why.
I’m going to start by telling you that I was at the World Trade Center when it fell. I was in a post-traumatic stress support group afterward. People were divided into groups of ten based on their experience at the site—how bad things were for you that day. I was in a group comprised mostly of people who narrowly escaped the building before it fell and, as they were running out of the building, were splattered by body parts from people who were jumping out of the building.
We had individual therapy as well. Here's what my therapist said to me: “Your childhood was so terrible that your experience at the World Trade Center was nothing compared to what you experienced as a kid. Your post-traumatic stress therapy needs to focus on your childhood.”
That was the first time I really had a sense of how bad my childhood had been. I knew everyone in the world thought things at the World Trade Center were terrible. So this must mean that my childhood was really terrible.
I was 34.
When I was five, I knew something was not right. That's when I started therapy. I was never totally sure why my parents were sending me.
When I was seven I knew something was not right because the neighbor came over to our house when my parents were smashing picture frames over each others' head. The neighbor said to me and my little brother, “Come with me.”
Then my memories get blurry. The next thing I remember is my high school homeroom teacher. I skipped a day of school and then came to school with a black eye and a note from my dad that said I had been sick. She said that she was not accepting notes from my dad anymore. She said I could not come back to school the next time I miss a day unless I called the police.
I don't remember what I thought when she said that. Except that I thought, “Does she know what's going on at my house? How does she know? I never told her anything.”
I remember the next time my dad beat me up though. I called the police and they came. Like always. And my dad said nothing was wrong. Like always. And then the police started to leave. Like always.
But then I said, “Hold it. Wait. My teacher won't let me back in school unless I get a note from you that says I called you.”
I don't remember what else happened. I remember the police asking me if I want to leave. I remember my mom saying, “Yes. Please. Take her away. Please.”
I went to my grandma's to live. I spent all of high school living at my grandma's. The school social worker spent the rest of high school trying to convince me that my parents did something wrong. My grandma spent the rest of high school telling me that my parents were completely irresponsible. Except at family gatherings. When my parents were there, with my three brothers, and everyone pretended that everything was normal and that I did not live at my grandma's.
I don't remember very much. I went to college and spent my time trying to sort things out: abusive boyfriends, bulimia, anti-depressants, and cutting. Getting nearly straight-A's for a lot of the time. I sorted very little out.
I went to a mental ward the summer of my senior year. My parents visited me. They told me they were happy I was in the mental ward. My extended family visited me and they did not mention my parents. No one talked about why I might be there. My parents were anxious and loud in the family meetings: Begging the doctors to keep me from going back to their house. But even the doctors could not quite figure out why I was there: I worked on my senior thesis, I was a model patient, and I started dating a doctor right after that.
After I graduated, I moved back to Chicago, where he lived and so did my parents. I couldn't figure out how to support myself and there were so many opportunities for me to try nude modeling jobs. The doctor thought it was ridiculous. He thought I was too uptight to model. I said I probably was, but I wanted to try because it was such good money. I said they first test you out in a swimsuit.
He said, “Don't you need some sample photos?”
I said, “Yeah. I have some,” and I pulled them out of my bag.
The doctor looked. He smiled. He said, “Who took them?”
I said, “My dad.”
The doctor flipped. He went nuts. He couldn't believe it.
I was mostly surprised. I had no idea that my dad taking the photos was weird.
That I didn't know it was weird made the doctor even more upset. I remember trying to figure out why I thought it was okay. Or why he thought it was not okay.
I was 22.
I didn't tell anyone about the pictures. I started having nightmares about having sex with my parents. I started not being able to sleep. I didn't tell anyone though. Because I thought I was crazy.
Then my dad visited me a few years later, when I lived in Los Angeles. He wanted to go camping. I went. I was so nervous about being alone with him that I read almost all of One Hundred Years of Solitude before I went into the tent.
Then he took off his clothes, down to his underwear, and snuggled up next to me, with his arms around me and his penis up against my back.
Then I knew.
Or I thought I knew.
I slept outside the tent. I didn't talk the rest of the time. I don't think he even noticed.
I know the street in Los Angeles we were parked on when I finally asked, “Dad, did you do sexually inappropriate things with me when I was younger?”
He said, “Yes.”
I had no memory of what, exactly, he did. I still have no memory of it. And I was scared to ask him more. I asked my mom the same question. She gave me the same answer.
Both parents have said they were sorry. But that is not my point. My point is that my childhood was ruined by secrets.
In hindsight, so many people kept the secret: my family, the police, teachers before my freshman year. Decades later, when I asked my high school friends what they thought of me in high school, two of them told me that everyone thought I was nuts coming to school beaten up so often.
I'm not kidding when I say that I thought I was keeping that a secret.
So what I'm telling you here is that I'm scared of secrets. I'm more scared of keeping things a secret than I am of letting people know that I'm having trouble. People can't believe how I'm willing to write about my life here. But what I can't believe is how much better my life could have been if it had not been full of secrets.
So today, when I have a natural instinct to keep something a secret, I think to myself, “Why? Why don't I want people to know?” Because if I am living an honest life, and my eyes are open, and I'm trying my hardest to be good and kind, then anything I'm doing is fine to tell people.
That's why I can write about what I write about on this blog.
And when you think you cannot tell someone something about yourself, ask yourself, “Really, why not?”
Impressive post. I’m speechless.
It makes me so mad when people assume that a religious 50’s fairy tale of a family is the national standard. Especially when that assumption is used to justify the removal of structures that help people at the expense of what for many are insignificant details.
Maybe if more people told the truth the word would get out that terrible things really do happen, and it is a part of life. Maybe then we could get on to trying to recover rather than deny and blame.
I think that on the internet, where people can share their stories anonymously, or at least more easily with many people, issues that used to be never discussed are finally seeing the light of day. Our issues with sex and drugs and violence and all the rest can bing us together rather than holding us all apart. I honestly believe that it is modern communication that makes a single country as large as the United States possible. People don’t care about people they don’t relate to. But sharing like this takes us beyond labels of region or belief and political view straight to what what makes us human.
Penelope,
I’m sorry you had to live with these awful secrets! You are brave to confront your past. My best friend was abused by her dad (he was also my friend). Her mom, her boyfriend and whoever else she told kept the secret. I promised I’d tell everyone until someone listened. He ended up going to prison. I don’t know many of the details because frankly, I couldn’t handle hearing them. For a few years I had to get over hating or being suspicious of fathers when I saw them with their daughters.
Reading this I’m filled with compassion for you. Many times I haven’t understood why you write certain things or your choices. I have much more insight into your world.
Blog on,
Janet
The readers seem to think that this post explains who you are and why you write? (i.e. all the ‘now i get you’ comments)
What if you write so openly because it’s fun, engaging, entertaining and you’re good at it? Why does it have to be attributed to therapy, validation or a cathartic experience? Maybe you’re just an extremely open, honest, writer with a knack for blogging, who doesn’t like secrets because you know first hand how dangerous and hurtful they are. Fine if this opened the eyes of your critics… but more than that, this post encourages your readers to be more open in their own lives. IF they are leading the kind of life they can be open about. Write More.
Now I’m worried that being an entrepreneur is a way for you to avoid writing as much as you should. And I say that with heart-felt sympathy for the investors, customers and employees who want you to succeed. Creating a company is marvelous thing, but creating a new level of understanding that can help thousands of people relate to one another with more clarity and support–now that’s really a gift you can’t waste. Please write as much as you can.
You explained this in a way I’ve never been able to. I grew up in an extremely chaotic household and lost the parent I was closest to at 14. All my other memories are spotty. I unnerve my friends and acquaintances with my frankness. Now I even understand my need to be brutally honest.
What a post. I am speechless.
Thank you so much for sharing your story. I guess I am not crazy after all. I share everything about who I am and what’s happening in my life. Sometimes I embarress my self for how much I am willing to disclose. But I know why I do it. I too was sexually abused by a parent, and I too was hurt more by the family secrets than the actual abuse which I also have fague memory of.
Thank you for making me feel ok about being me for whatever reason. Secrets Suck.
Painful to read yet beautifully written. Utmost respect for you and your work.
F*cking Sh*t. That’s all I could think as i read your blog with my mouth hanging open.
Thank you so much for sharing this window into what drives you, what makes you tick. If only everyone had this level of awareness.
One of your best posts ever and a huge improvement on the last one. Thank you for your honesty and for being so brave.
wow.You are brave and honest and amazing to post this..
I understand….
Simply amazing. Thanks Penelope.
No idea what to write…just wanted to let you know your blog has put all of my recent employment struggles in a new light.
You are an inspiration to all. Thank you so very, very much for being so open. You absolutely rock. And that’s no secret.
Up until this point, I was kind of turned off by the whole “If you don’t go down on your girlfriend/wife, you’re a terrible awful lover/man/boyfriend/husband etc… ” and “Women – if you receive oral sex you’re twice as likely to become a Fortune 500 CEO” etc… stuff.
I love my mom, I love my wife, my only kids are daughters, so believe me when I tell you I revere the female gender. But I was picking up the whole “I AM WOMAN!!! HEAR ME RAWR!!!” vibe from the posts I’d read in the past. And I’ve always thought, “C’mon, that ship has sailed – everyone has opportunities, just go out & grab the brass ring & focus on the positive…”
But now that I hear what an awful – and I mean GOD AWFUL – childhood you had – I have nothing but compassion and respect. Who was looking out for that little girl when she was being hurt?
I have 2 little daughters, and I’d literally throw myself in front of a bus to keep either of them from getting hurt. And I bet almost every other parent reader here would do the same (including yourself.)
The fact that you received anything less than that is a travesty, and I have a newfound respect and admiration for you going forward.
God bless.
I’m so sorry…
I think your parents should be taken to court for what they’ve done to you.
Hm. I would second the “trigger warning” idea.
Must be the eclipse or something today. I was talking with a colleague at work, and she asked out of the blue if I’d had a difficult childhood. THAT’s putting it mildly.
I’m puzzling over why that makes me more blunt or direct, especially as I get older. I think I agree with your premise, that secrets caused problems then, so directness must be better, now.
Thing is, not everyone wants all that honesty. But, I can always skip the post. Where I work, it’s not appropriate, really (despite my kind colleague). I guess blog-land is the best place, to find honesty, as we know it.
Anyway, from a fellow survivor, best wishes.
wow…
I’ve always thought writing was a brave act. Once your pen or fingertips start moving, you just don’t know what will come out! This is why I have such a tremendous amount of respect for you. Writing is scary and raw and real and life! Words are life! And you live life. We should all follow in your footsteps and just LIVE.
THANK YOU for being you and making your readers think twice… About everything!
Thank you. Just… Thank you.
I’m getting here a little late. I read through all the comments, and am uncertain if I have anything new to add. I’d just reiterate what everyone else has said about what a great writer you are – how brave you are – how your risks give others the courage to tell the truth, if only to themselves. I also had two overwhelming thoughts: 1) I bet you’re a great mother and 2) Dump the farmer for not holding your hand at the fair. =)
Wow. One of the best personal blog posts I’ve ever read.
Your blog finally made me click on the “RSS” feed button to add to my Google Reader. I’ve been trying to avoid subscribing to RSS feeds for forever now. this post was inspiring and heartbreaking, but honest and I love honesty.
Your writing is amazing and I love how down-to-earth you are. No BS. keep it going, i’ll keep reading.
I’ve read this post 5 times now. I’ve forwarded it to my best friend during the middle of my billable-hour work-day. I’m currently thinking about how (if I can) I’m going to link to it in my next post.
Very powerful stuff.
I cannot resist reading the blog feeds that drop in the mailbox .. But this one really touched the raw nerve. It requires some heart and guts to state what you blogged .. Well there are 2 shades of personal and professional details to be shared. In professional , I always state that I have record number of failures which taught me more than the success would have.
But you sharing the personal one .. Maybe as a catharsis it works better perhaps. But is it necessary ? Yes maybe on second thoughts because your blog readers wish to know you for what you are and not for the perception that one creates.
Well I admire you more again when last I exchanged notes for the job that you had applied for a nude model !! Was it you who shared that experience ? That’s was a real candid and honest one.
I am based in India .. Bye for now
RK Dhanvada
you rock.
I always wondered why you were so honest. Now I know why and have even more respect for you. The thing is that the world is full of people with stories that they ‘think’ they are keeping secret when most of the times – everyone in the class knows.
Secrets own your life – they engulf and overshadow everything else you try to be and do. Sharing your true self with others – the good, the bad, and the truly ugly – is the best way to reclaim your life, your voice, and your power. And you’re absolutely correct that most people see the truth behind the masks we wear when we’re trying to keep secrets’ silence.
I so appreciate your blog in general, but today I am thankful that you were able to thrive in spite of all your trauma. I’m gonna share this post with my clients who are still struggling with their own secrets. I hope it helps you to know that your honesty today will help many others be honest tomorrow.
Thanks again for openly, consciously letting us see the true you.
As a regular reader, I have constantly been awestruck by the honesty (and quality) of your writing. Although you talk about how being open is actually a much healthier course to take than always keeping secrets, it is, nonetheless, not so easy to bravely bare one’s soul. As a former children’s social worker, I can attest to the tragedy foisted upon kids when they have to bury their experiences of abuse. I’m sure this column will provide a needed venue for those who have had similar experiences, as well as those who keep many aspects of their lives hidden.
Thank you for this post.
I has a childhood almost exactly like yours. Got sexually abused by my father over and over again until i realised what was wrong. You put it so well when you sayed you asked your husband ¨dont all fathers do that??¨ and about the don´ t ask, don´t tell atmosphere existing in the family.
The worst part is that you suffer more as you get older, realising all the things that where wrong. Those things can eat you inside out. You realise you are really fucked up.
I truly admire your courage.
If you may have a regret that you shouldn´t have posted this i tell you the sacrifice was worth it for US who know this things and can´t tell it to anybody.
Thank you for helping so many people. You are truly beautyfull.
dear pt – you are an amazing example of the elasticity and stamina of a human being. everything you have accomplished and still will, and most amazingly your positive and curious outlook on this world. i wish you a complete healing.
And here I thought Michael Jackson had a tough childhood. Therapy must work. If you can survive and give your children such a stable life, kudos to you.
Honesty helps the next person. If you can write about this experience, you’re helping the person who may be going through this. Someone may be reading this and thinking… “That’s not normal? huh?”
I’m glad you had a teacher who was on your side.
Lie back, daughter; let your head be tipped back in the cup of my hand. Gently, and I will hold you. Spread your arms wide, lie out on the stream and look high at the gulls. A dead-man’s float is face down. You will dive and swim soon enough where this tidewater ebbs to the sea. Daughter, believe me, when you tire on the long thrash to your island, lie up, and survive. As you float now, where I held you and let go, remember when fear cramps your heart what I told you: lie gently and wide to the light-year stars, lie back, and the sea will hold you.
~~ Philip Booth
I think God is always closer than we realize, especially those who have endured horrors, even as that seems an impossibility. How could He be close and not intervene? I don’t know that answer, but still, I know He is close.
You are courageous and strong. Survive. Thrive. Use any means that helps healing.
Wow. Thank you.
Pretty amazing post, thanks.
Yeah I think I have a pretty similar approach to speaking out myself. I also suffered abuse as a child and would much rather everything was out in the open. I am honest to the point with my kids where I wouldn’t even lie to them about santa claus (though after a long discussion with my husband I did agree to keep my mouth shut until they worked it out themselves).
1. Power of Disclosure
Your post reminds me of what a psychiatrist named Andrew Morrison wrote in his book, “The Culture of Shame”, about the power of disclosure:
He called self-disclosure “one of the principal methods of healing shame.”
While the details of your past may seem scandalous, they don’t hold power over you, do they? Your power, your authentic inner self, lives in truth.
2. Not Knowing What to Feel
While the sexual and physical abuse were awful enough, a special, sinister abuse is the way your family acted like nothing was wrong. You were a sweet little child whose emotional needs weren’t fulfilled, so you never really learned how to process your emotions. Your proper response would have been pure sorrow, but this was stifled. Your emotions were negated. It was like you had no right to feel your own emotions. I suspect you went for years and years just not knowing what to feel. I know what’s that like.
3. Grace
I don’t see your posts as narcissistic pleas for attention. Rather, your sharing of your experiences could help other folks who are struggling with self-acceptance. Or as U2 would put it, “Grace makes beauty out of ugly things.” Did your publisher give you a middle name? “Grace” would be a good one. “Penelope Grace Trunk.” Has a ring to it, no?
Thanks for this comment, it was both thoughtful & thought-provoking.
I’ve long been drawn to your blog, but never quite sure why. You rarely seem to say anything truly remarkable, but you always say it exceptionally simply and well. (A subtle mark of genious, btw.) Still, I’ve always sensed you *did* have remarkable things to share if I just waited things out. Now we know that’s true. God bless you (and be sure to pat yourself on the back every day) for all you’ve overcome.
I don’t know what to think after reading this post actually. What a horrible childhood, I can think of nothing worse than being abused by the very people who are or should be in the world to look out for you. Just curious, how did you think people would react to this post?
PS Just read a great book call “What Happy People Know” by Dan Baker. If you ever feel a need for a pick me up give it a read.
I’ve got so many thoughts streaming through my head right now I hope I can make this coherent. Many people don’t understand that when you’re a child and you’re in a situation and that situation is all you know that you don’t know it’s weird or wrong. I was sexually abused as a little girl by my grandfather, and when I talk about it now as an adult people ask me why I didn’t tell and I say “Because he told me not to”. It wasn’t until I was a teenager and he had died from heart disease that I understood what had been happening. No matter how hard I try now, twenty years after the first time he touched me, I still can’t tell my family. I see the way friends look at me when I tell them and I can’t bear to have my family look at me that way, with all that sadness and pity.
Thank you for this. For being so honest, open, and simply poetic about it. Thank you for letting thousands of people know that they’re not alone. I always felt so isolated. It’s really terrifying to realize that things like this are much more common than people think.
Awesome!
This is awesome. Thank you for your courage and honesty. Yay you!
This has got to be the best blog I had ever read. I found you trough a Facebook link from one of my friends. I am soooo linking back to you on ActiveRain. The Club Chaos crew is going to love you. Enjoy your day, sweetie. Regards, C.
Hi Penelope
I’ve been a long time reader of your blog, and bought your book to help my career.
This is the first time I’ve commented.
Thank you so much for writing this post. For your courage. It’s moving, touching and from the context of your blog as a whole, it’s inspirational.
I’ve recently come out of an abusive relationship, and it’s made me realise my childhood may have something to do with it too.
wow. wow. wow.
Thank you Penelope. You’re my hero. <3
This post is incredible. Oh my, what you went through and able to write about it…good for you. Your honesty and writing brought tears to my eyes.
you need to put all this in a book. let me know if need any help finding an agent.
It is personally liberating to free ourselves from secrets and take the energy that we otherwise devote to hiding our secrets and put it to more constructive efforts. I totally get what you’re doing. Something powerful happens when we tell the impeccable truth about ourselves. This truth is something I suspected as I wrote my book about apology. Now I know it to be true. Apology is also about letting go of our struggle with history.
I was very touched reading this post. You are a rolemodel for anybody who had a crappy childhood – people can overcome it and still be successful.
I was emotionally blown away when reading this. You are a very courageous woman that is setting a great example for authenticity. I am sorry you had to go through what you did, but your experience is now helping many.