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?”
This was a phenomenal post. I have been wondering how is it that you share all these things on the net with people you don’t necessarily know. I was inspired by your shares in the past to do some of my own, and yet found it extremely hard to do so. This article answered my questions and got me there. I thank you so much.
inspired. truly inspired.
Thanks for sharing this. Its a really powerful story.
Wow, were you going off the saying “honesty is the best medicine?” Thank you for being brave, and helping many who have gone through this. Love your writing.
This explains absolutely everything. It will make reading your posts much more complete.
Do you remember anything from One Hundred Years of Solitude?
The worst thing is when you think everything is allright and then everything fall down.
You inspire me a lot, I’m trying to follow your advice, I know what “terrible” means.
Wow – posts like this are why I read your blog and will continue to do so.
I’m crying. Secrets destroy lives and you are very wise and brave to know that. Your writing makes me love you. I hope you can finally feel that now as a mom and more importantly, just as you. That you’re lovable and worth loving and protecting, finally.
I’ve always thought it was okay for you to talk about all the things you talk about on your blog: money, family, sex (mostly hilarious), business… that’s why I read it for christ sake! It’s a great story, interesting and relevant to the business you run and the people you are trying to help. Don’t ever let anyone make you feel weird for doing it that way. I love it, I look forward to all of your posts.
Hey P, You’ve alluded to some of this before. I’m so sorry this happened to you, and I can relate to it personally on some level as I too had a difficult childhood and have wondered how much is appropriate to tell people. I think it’s a great topic for a WSJ column, actually. Let me know if it’s okay to use a few excerpts from your story here.
Best,
Alexandra Levit
http://www.alexandralevit.com
Yes, I shed some tears reading this article, but by the time I was finished a new emotion took place: admiration. I admire Penelope for living an “honest life” as she put it… I think of it as a “brave life” as well. So much we can all learn from her story. Thanks for sharing Penelope!
@kickofftopic
Penelope,
I have read your blog for a long while now, and like all good blogs each article, even if I don’t agree with it, makes me think (and articulate why I don’t or do agree). But today I have to comment on your and thank you for your candor and great articulation about a difficult topic. Too often we try to hide these things under the proverbial carpet, but you have nothing to be ashamed about.
Keep it up, I’m really glad you got your funding so you can keep things going, and have a ((((penolope))))
Simon
I don’t have anything great to say, so I will just say thank you. PS – I have no clue how you plan to beat this!
The truth always sounds the best. You cannot fault people for exposing the truth; you can only admire them. So glad I read this.
With a title like “Brazen Careerist” how much of this is being ‘honest’ and how much of it is used ‘to drive traffic’? While it is a powerful (and well written) post, I’m not sure how this helps “young people manage their careers”. Yes, you have many followers, but perhaps you should take the blog in a different direction?
If you don’t understand how abuse shapes your career and your life, you really don’t get this blog.
Our work and our lives are not separate. Penelope is a writer. So what and how she writes is how she manages her career.
I’ll take real job (and life) coaching from Penelope over “virtual” job coaching any day.
Beautiful, moving. This moved me to tears, it was frightening to read. You are a powerful writer and person. Thank you for so courageously, so wisely sharing your story. I love your articles, I just think you are so funny and smart and refreshingly frank. Bravo.
I too went to live with my grandma after an episode of physical abuse from my mother and it was my grandma who said that if you always tell the truth, you’ll end up in exactly the place you need to be. So I too have a relentless disrespect for anything that is not entirely forthcoming. If discreteness is the better part of valor, I don’t want any valor.
I’m sorry. I never knew how to be the friend that you needed all those years ago and I still don’t know how to be the friend that you need now. I want to keep trying though. Don’t you give up either. :)
I truly appreciate the honesty of your writing. Hallmark of a great writer.
YIKES! Is all I can say.
Reading this was like watching a train wreck – you want to turn away but it is impossible.
Is interesting that so many people said thank you for sharing your thoughts. I wonder why? Do you know all of these people?
Wow. I really admire you, Penelope. You’re amazing. Too bad you don’t realize how amazing and what an inspiration you are.
Reading your posts is like listening to a close friend… thank you for sharing and opening up your life to us.
Much love and respect, Renee
Very moving and brave piece. Thank you for writing it.
I too grew up keeping secrets, in my case a violet family, so I really appreciate you sharing your thoughts.
It’s helped me greatly.
I’m going to echo a lot of the previous comments and say that I’m impressed with your bravery and fortitude. Your ability to reflect and learn from your past and present, and incorporate that into how you live your life is pretty amazing. You’re an inspiration to me and to others who read this, and the advice is applicable a plethora of situations. Thank you for your honesty and for sharing your experiences – it helps me to deal with some things I’m going through and gives me more courage than I had before.
I have been reading your blog for a few months now, and I look forward to reading your future entries.
Warm regards, Tomás
I recently discovered your blog, and read your abortion piece with interest, because I to have had abortions. When I went back to your blog a week later, I thought to myself lets see what this chick is going to confess,and why how/why does she do it with such harsh honesty? You answered my question,and have turned me into fan,your courageous.
I’m so glad there are almost no negative comments here. I know you read the comments, so even though I have nothing original to add, I’m commenting to add my voice.
This is a phenomenally honest post, and you are so brave for writing it. Holy crap really sums up my reaction.
And yes, I would love to read your autobiography when you’re ready to write it. But of course it begs the question — who would play you in the movie version?
Your writing is truelly an inspiration to many, the world can learn a lot from such honesty and i do believe u have the courage of a saint to come forth and share these experiences.
Hi. I never get a string of 200 positive comments. So I recognize this is a special post.
It’s hard to see yourself how other people see you. But a comments section is maybe good for that. And I am so appreciative of all these comments. I knew I would get a lot of comments. But I never thought they would be so kind, and insightful, and, frankly, helpful.
The comments are my favorite part of blogging. Thank you so much for all of these. I’ve read them all. Probably many more times over than you’d believe.
Penelope
Beautifully, powerfully brazen.
I have never felt so much admiration and affection for a complete stranger. But, there is nothing strange about you, Penelope. You are sublimely human. And divine.
What would have paralyzed most, you turned into a launching pad… for flight of a galactic nature.
The help and healing you provide goes way beyond careers. For your courage and transparency, I give you my deepest thanks.
Thanks, also, to the thoughtful community here. At my writing, there are nearly 190 comments. I read many of them, and the kind, empathic responses were nourishing to read.
wow. mouth agape. your post is the most heroic and brave piece of writing i have ever read in my life. thank you for sharing such a personal chapter of your life. it’s already inspired me to readjust my cover letter and explain the secret (a health issue, which is now in remission) surrounding a “gap” on my resume. It’s been difficult trying to explain/hide the gap in my career progression, which every career counselor I spoke with told me I had to do if I ever wanted to get my career back on the fast track – screw them; I’ll settle for maintaining my dignity by telling potential employers the truth and taking the slow track.
thank you.
Penelope,
This is one of the most powerfully human posts ever written. My heart aches for you and also rejoices that you are able to function. I think the paramount difficulties you have faced and your honesty about them brings all of us who read your blog closer together even though most of us don’t know each other. It helps us all cope with our human experience.
Thank you.
Dave @ mygenx.wordpress.com
Im a 26 yr old male that doesn’t cry often, or near at all.
Reading this brought a tears to both my eyes.
Thank you.
-Brad
This reminded me of a Frank McCourt’s recent passing and an interview he did, talking about how he had such a hard time for decades, getting over his anger. Your writing reflects a similar honesty – just what happened, straight up. My childhood was full of secrets – my parents were scientologists and we lived in a commune while I went to public school. I was an outsider on both sides. I’ve always “secretly” known that’s why I have a hard time blogging/writing in my own voice, despite the fact that I do a considerable amount of writing. I discovered how to share the truth in my 30s and went from an introvert to a very much happier extrovert…The truth brings you deeper into the reality of your own life. Happiness can only be real.
I have always believed that everyone has a story to tell, but not everyone will let their guard down and tell it to the world. The world is a better place with your story in it, and I can only hope to aspire to your level of frank, honest and open communication!
Keep up the fantastic work.
I am a man, but I had a similar past. My father used to routinely beat me. I was sexually abused by a catholic prieest who was supposed to be counseling me after I ran away from home at 14.
The bottom line is that it made me a better stronger man because how I dealt with it. I felt like if I could take what I was subjected to as a kid, there is nothing in this world that will scare me.
I am now a marriage, relationship and sexual coach. I recently dealt with a young woman whose father had sex with her every night from the time that she was 5 until she was 17. When she went home for her father’s funeral, I urged her to confront her mother over this because mom knew what went on and kept the secret. Once confronted, the mother hung herself in the garage. All the progress I had made with the young woman went by the wayside over the guilt that the mom laid on daughter for forcing her to confront her ugly part in the abuse.
My message is that you need to get help dealing with abuse issues in your past. I am not saying that to just you, but all who read your post and maybe experienced similar abuse.
Penelope,
I agree with the positive commenters about your bravery for writing this post. It really is sad and my heart breaks for you, a suffering child ruined by adult evil.
That said, I hope you will take my next comment as honest feedback.
You recently posted about when people should lie at work, saying “Everyone thinks transparency and authenticity are great. But sometimes you need to rein them in.”
I am struggling to reconcile your advice in that post with this post wherein you say “…anything I'm doing is fine to tell people.”
I believe that you are healing yourself with your personal posts, but I also wonder how your brothers (and their families) feel about your candor and how this revelation will affect their lives? (Or your children in a few years?)
I think that this post is valuable and you needed to write it, but I am not so certain it needed to be broadcast. After reading it, I am left with a feeling that you struggle with boundaries and therefore anyone in relationship with you will be in conflict with trusting you with their privacy.
I agree secrets can be destructive, and I would add that breaching confidences is also damaging to relationships. Your personal story was powerful, and I don’t want to take away from it. Even so, I would have liked to see stronger advice for a post titled “how to decide how much to reveal of yourself” than “secrets are bad”.
Interesting thoughts.
I have to admit, I wondered how Penelope’s brothers fared during childhood. Did they suffer abuse too? Did they know what was going on with P? If so, what were their thoughts on it at the time, and what are they now? How have they coped, as adults? How are they, as parents?
Penelope, how is your relationship with your brothers today?
Now I feel dirty. I feel like one of those sub-humans that decide that they’d rather film the family in the burning car than put down their GD video cameras and help them. So at the risk of being ‘flamed’ I must say that this post goes well beyond ‘over-sharing’. Was anything really added to the message by detailing what your father tried to do on the camping trip?
I hope I am wrong, but after thinking about it for a while, this post seems to be more of a ‘cry for help’ than a cathartic post. There was a very insightful post among all the ‘I cried’ responses about getting help. You may really want to consider that.
Again, I hope I am wrong,
Will
Agree wholeheartedly with this comment. Is this the best venue to posting such info?
I love the honesty in this story. Our minds and hearts work in miraculous ways being able to block certain memories from our life.
I don’t like to keep secrets either, because I feel everyone needs support. If something should be hidden, then one shouldn’t be doing it.
Love your strength and keep shining!
“How to decide how much to reveal about yourself?”
I think it depends. For me, I’m not comfortable to reveal myself or my life.
Penelope, I’ve been thinking about this post since I first read it yesterday. This gave me the extra dose of inspiration to be totally awed by you and your writing: I finally decided to try to find your master’s thesis, which I will thank Google and luck for helping me find. I’ve been so curious about reading your pre-PTrunk work because I have this weird feeling that we are very similar thinkers.
Let me just say, your hypertexts are PHENOMENAL. I don’t want to “out” your work since I don’t believe you’ve directly linked to it from here, but just know that all the pageviews on that other website are from a very loyal reader who hopes to meet you again and have a cocktail with you.
I’m sorry your life includes a string of dismal experiences, and I hope you continue to heal by sharing your stories. While I don’t share most of your experiences, I often think I’d interpret them in the same way that you do and its nice to know there’s someone out there on the same page.
Your honesty, courage and outspokenness encourages, inspires and (frankly) amazes me, Penelope. I hope you have learned what a wonderful, rare person you are…and appreciate yourself for it. Clearly, so many of your readers like me welcome your wit, candor, creativity, wisdom and determination into their lives. I mean, just look at all those comments! Thank you, Penelope.
Perhaps your blog should be retitled “Fighting Spirit!” because you embody such strength, and as you’ve shown repeatedly, nothing can keep you down. Ever.
I believe someone commented earlier with Holy. Shit. I 2nd that.
I love your honesty and ‘brazen’ attitude about life. More people need to get real. Thanks for the great blog posts and insight you give people. Your 9/11 post was absolutely amazing. I remember watching that nightmare on television holding my 6 month old son and feeling that his future was going to be very unsecure. You truly inspire people to hang tough and I thank you.
You’re pretty inspiring and amazing! I think you’re a good person and I enjoy reading about your views. Thank you as always for sharing.
You are an inspiration to me. Inspiring action and disciplined creative writing for healing.
Insightful honesty. I found your blog recently and have been hooked. Your honesty and candor draw people. Thanks for sharing!
Stunning piece. Raw and articulate and inspiring. Thank you. Be well.
My God. Really, thank you. You have in fact given me the strength and reason to continue to disclose the horrors of my own childhood and beyond. Part of it…an excerpt…lives on the shitty Facebook. I shall have to to move it to a blog. Nobody believes it. Neither do I. But it’s true all the same.
You inspire me.
Hang in there, sweetie. You are strong — a survivor and an inpiration.
hugs
Wow, what a story. I applaud you for figuring out that for you, you need to not keep secrets. I’m sorry that you went through such a tough time. This is just another example of our childhood’s amazing ability to eff us up.
Big (((Hugs))) for what you have had to endure and also for sharing this with us.
I was sexually abused my entire childhood by my uncle, brother, grandpa and babysitter. I repressed it all. It came back to me in my early 20’s and I’ve been on a battle to heal ever since. It’s horrible that this had to happen. And the secrecy behind it is unbelievable.
Penelope, I’m always impressed with your blog but today you really amazed me.
Thank you for bringing these deeply personal issues into a forum such as this.