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?”
Dear IRG,
This may mean little to you, as I am merely a “stranger” who has never met you but, despite that, I simply wanted to say I am sorry for the pain of your childhood. The empathy and compassion that has been stirred up by this post and in these comments isn’t for Penelope alone. There’s enough for you, too, IRG.
The unimaginable has been clearly depicted. The unmentionable has been openly discussed. And there’s healing and power in that.
Abuse, violence, molestation… these vile things do not deserve propriety and dainty appropriateness. Reserving Real Talk about shadows for tea-time with a therapist sounds to me more like the sentiment of a predator, than of a survivor.
I don’t want to play arm-chair psychologist. I would like to be a Genuinely Caring Witness and Beholder of the atrocities and triumphs that have been shared here.
IRG, you raised some credible arguments such as the appropriateness of the material that Penelope revealed on-line and the privacy considerations of those mentioned in the post. However, it was done in a manner that was neither helpful or constructive. Your comment was ridiculously long-winded. Haven’t you ever heard of the economy of words?
I will try to be brief for the next two points –
1. You seem to believe that PT’s “blog seems to attract a lot of syncophants” By the way, its sycophants. Go and read Penelope’s OTHER posts and have a look at the comments. Have a look at “I hate David Dellifield. The one from Ada, Ohio”. You will see, PT has her fair share of haters.
2. You also mention “personally, I resent you treating an audience as if we were your therapists. And that is how you treat us.” Hahaha. That is just funny, laughable in fact. It is so stupid on so many levels. Defensive much?
Wow. I understand the not remembering, the secrets that stole so much from us, and yet think, here you STILL are. That is what I tell myself, I am still here and the not the crack-whore I was supposed to be. You give me the courage to continue to reveal more about who I am and where I came from. Read my blog and you will see that we are very nearly sisters in surival. http://mylifeoutloud-andi.blogspot.com. Read, leave a comment, and continue to heal.
Truly moved – and I so respect and admire your honesty.
I am bowled over by your candor. And I now have a much better understanding of your willingness to share publicly in your blog what many would consider “private” issues. Thank you for your honesty and openness.
I am fortunate to have had parents who provided a loving environment for me as a child. And yet, I’ve always been a very private person. I’ve come to realize that it has much to do with perfectionism (mine) and my concern about being judged. Addressing that is a continuing struggle.
Thanks for helping me to reflect further on this — my background may not be the same as yours, but your call to think about why we hold back on sharing information is an important one.
Thank you for sharing.
> I’m going to start by telling you that I was at the World Trade Center when it fell.
Christ, Pee, if you bring that one one goddam more time…
You have Narcissistic Personality Disorder, period. You are mentally ill, though still capable of functioning at a reasonably high level. All the rest of the stuff you drag into it is bullshit.
I will say, though, that as this culture gets more narcissistic, you will do continually better. People feed off your illness like a drug.
+1, John – well said.
> thank you for your blog, your honesty, and your amazing
> insights into life.
Hey, Truen, gullible isn’t in the dictionary either. Did you know that?
Do you know the difference between being honest to close friends and blogging to millions of strangers?
She wouldn’t blog if you wouldn’t read!
> 2. You also mention “personally, I resent you treating
> an audience as if we were your therapists. And that is
> how you treat us.” Hahaha. That is just funny,
> laughable in fact.
Seriously, why? I feel the same way.
What’s that saying? Oh yeah, you’re as sick as your secrets.
Wow! Thank you for sharing. Bizarrely enough I have been thinking lately how much to share of myself and your last sentence “Really why not?” may be the answer to that question I have carried around with me for a long time. Thank you!
You know, you really do represent a big split in the American way of dealing with shitty things. The old way involved a terror of “oversharing” and a tendency to view blaming the victim as a way to protect the group. Good for you for resisting. Every time someone stands up and says, “No, this HAPPENED,” we get closer to a more honest public dialogue. I think what your parents did was awful, but you’re right that the worst part was that everyone felt the need to act like the family was still somehow normal. All that does is protect the wrongdoer at the expense of the person being wronged.
> Every time someone stands up and says, “No, this HAPPENED,”
> we get closer to a more honest public dialogue. I think what
> your parents did was awful, but you’re right that the worst part
> was that everyone felt the need to act like the family was still
> somehow normal. All that does is protect the wrongdoer at the
> expense of the person being wronged.
Nothing wrong with saying something happened and not covering it up. There is something wrong with doing it on a public forum to strangers who can do nothing to help. That’s nothing but sheer exhibitionism, something as unhealthy as the issues P’s father allegedly had.
Also, how do we know this is even true. Isn’t it funny how everything happens to P? Everything? Yet aside from her volleyball and porn careers, nothing she says can be verified. Just trying finding all these companies she allegedly founded online, any records of them at all.
P has narcissistic personality disorder, plain and simple. It’s no surprise, as she’s said in other posts, she identifies strongly with Sarah Palin, another serial liar.
Assuming that it is true, however, how is posting on a blog different from writing a memoir? Both are read by strangers. If it is true, saying that it happened may help others face their own histories. The real problem is if it is not true–that is, ultimately, more likely to hurt real survivors due to backlash.
But I don’t see any reason to think this isn’t true. (And it’s possible for many things to be true at once. One can be an abuse survivor and have a personality disorder, for example. Does that somehow negate the abuse?)
I’m with those who have sympathy for Penelope. Although I think she does overshare and cries out for attention, this post seems very genuine to me. I haven’t experienced anything like this, for which I am incredibly grateful, but for those people who have experienced it, I’m glad she’s letting them know that they aren’t alone.
John, what’s the disorder when a person CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH, as you obviously can’t?
I can so resonate with this – though I am a male with an abusive mother.
I first went to therapy in my teens. I didn’t know why, other than I had people tell me I was depressed. I got straight A’s all the way through university, but the thought of having people close to me always brought anxiety. Not that aquaintances would know this, as I learned what defenses would provoke strong reactions back at me and avoided them.
It took years to find labels. Still more years to accept them. Borderline Personality Disorder mother. No boundaries. No physical boundaries. No mental boundaries. I did everything she told me. I had no secrets from her – I had to tell her everything or the punishment was severe. I couldn’t say no to anything. Any display of anger was bad, a rebellion. It took me years to find out that anger and boundaries were at times wonderful things. I was into spirituality and self-help, but gradually discovered I was using much of it to cover up, rather than transform.
So I grew up having no secrets. Unlike you, I’m learning to have some secrets. I still feel guilty about it sometime, like someone will attack me for holding my own identity that’s not theirs. But I also enjoy being public.
I think that, lost in this discussion, is the fact that it’s possible to be both a victim and an asshole.
It takes great courage to be naked – metaphorically speaking – about your life, especially with the whole wide world. I appreciate your post and the message it carries. Sometimes (a lot of times) people drive themselves to the corner by burying a secret inside, and they felt like there is no one else on Earth who could understand. The truth is there’s always someone who listens and that’s all we need.
I disagree entirely with disclosing secrets. In fact, I think disclosing them and your own history was the wrong move and harmful.
It’s important not to keep secrets from one’s self (which is apparently what you did) and equally as important not to wallow in self pity or a transparent attempt at generating sympathy.
You had it tough. So what? There’s plenty of people who had it tougher than you. My next door neighbor spent most of his entire life crippled up in pain due to a childhood accident. He can barely walk and he’s in his seventies. He had it tougher than you. So did any amputee coming back from Iraq or Afghanistan. They had it tougher than you.
Keeping secrets is not what made it tough for you. It was your mother, who first chose to marry a man who molested you and beat you, and then chose to stay with him and protect him rather than you.
If you’re looking for someone to blame, blame your mother who loved an abuser more than her own kid. And did nothing to protect you.
As a practical matter, your father cannot abuse you any more. You have a lot of money and good health. Spreading your familie’s sordid history around, including that of your mother and your father, only increases the pain of your Brother’s life and as a practical matter, makes it even more unlikely he’ll be successful in attracting a woman willing to marry him. [His father is known as an abuser and molester, himself as a victim, both deeply unattractive to nearly all women everywhere — if he has a relationship guaranteed this news will help soon end it, married or not.]
Bottom line you wanted sympathy from strangers and traded it for your brother’s happiness. It was a shabby trick and one in common with your mother’s choices in selfishness, come to think of it.
The secret should have stayed buried, you hurt your brother with it, for the trivial gain of sympathy from strangers who don’t give a damn about you one way or another.
Hello! Didn’t she preface this with saying that this is her answer to people’s questions?
Penelope,
You nailed it on the head. I disclosed the details of my own rape a year ago my blog. In order to heal from this secret I felt I had to set it free and in a way that prevented me from ever lying to myself again. In the end, I’ve heard from many people who’ve endured similar experiences. In trying to help myself, I ended up helping far more than I could have ever expected.
Of course, several people similar to your anonymous critics had “wisdom”, insults and other child-like “logic” to convey as well. Most were just judgmental and immature individuals hiding behind the internet to say things online that they’d never say in person. The internet makes some personality types actually believe they are being brave by leaving angry and insulting messages when others disclose painful experiences in a healing manner.
I always find it fascinating when people play the “others had it tougher card” as if that is some kind of ultimate wisdom that should automatically be accepted without scrutiny. I’m sorry, but is the latest poster really saying they have a way of measuring years of being raped and beaten as a child vs. loss of a limb and can prove one is worse then the other? Really??????????
What is the scientific formula for such a measurement?
Or perhaps that person is okay with children being raped and thinks it is not a big deal?
As far as the whole ‘women don’t want men who’ve been abused nonsense’ – really? As a rape survivor, I beg to differ. There are plenty of compassionate and loving women out there who are not repulsed by wounded men and are willing to go the extra mile to help someone they love.
I’m sorry, but what that poster is doing is known as victim-shaming and it is reprehensible and unacceptable behaviour. Either is is done in self-defense in order to make their own choice about hiding similar experiences seem more palatable or the individual doing so is an abuser themselves. Or perhaps they just want to pretend the world is sunshine and rainbows and popsicles. Either way, people who think like this are the reason why most rape and sexual abuse survivors feel ashamed of what was done to them and forced to suffer in silence on a regular basis.
Kudos to you for breaking the silence. Anyone who doesn’t like it, should thank their lucky stars they don’t have to live with the flashbacks, nightmares, sexual dysfunction and other wonderful side effects of rape trauma syndrome and post-traumatic stress disorder.
It is not a competition. It is just painful.
Amen, James, and thank you very kindly!
To all the detractors and just-plain-spiteful posters on this thread:
This is Penelope’s website. As such, she can post whatever she wishes, however she wishes, as little or as profoundly revealing as suits her. To paraphrase George Carlin, if you don’t like what you hear / read, you can:
1) change the channel by finding another blog to read;
2) turn off your computer and find something else to do.
It will never cease to amaze me that any human thinks that their sole opinion is the end-all, be-all “correct” answer and solution to another person’s experience. What works for you, works for you and only you; you do not get to insist that anyone else conform to your worldview and your deigned “appropriate” behavior. Posting your pseudo-diagnoses and vitriol only serves to make you look like the narrow-minded, judgmental ignoramus you are.
Bravo James Landrith for your comment. Well said.
Penelope, you are an amazingly strong woman. How you were able to take all of the challenges life has thrust upon you and turn them into a positive existence is nothing short of astounding. Thank you for allowing us to peer into your life. You are an inspiration.
Whiskey, I usually no longer do this (make comments to comments online), especially to someone who only bears an anonymous signature like “Whiskey” but I have to tell you, reading the dropping you left on the trail leads me to a conclusion that maybe your online nomer is a reflection/clue as to what is influencing your thinking. Get out of the judgment business – as a result, you may want to change your name to something that doesn’t burn going down.
It’s very brave of you to disclose your experience for all to read. I am amazed of your strength as a woman. For a private person like me, not that I have secrets or traumatic experiences, your blog is really an inspiration and a constant reminder that no matter how bad things can get, life is what we make it.
This is the first time I have read your blog but I would have to say you have been on an amazing journey. I learned over the last several years that keeping my abortions secret wreaked havoc in my life. Once I was finally able to talk about it and understand my grief then I was able to live freely. You have great courage to show others how to do the same. I just spent 48 hours with a about 80 women showing them how to do just what you said. Stop hiding your secrets and talk to someone. We are all broken people in one way or another.
Whiskey’s comments are controversial as he intended them to be, and he seems to lack any sensitivity, but he raises one interesting question, what of the possibility (and implications) of collateral “disclosure” relative to those (victims, etc) who were affected by the “secret” but were unwilling to go public for reasons of their own?
I may be freed by disclosure, but what of my siblings, etc who may wish to be more private? Do my rights outweigh those of others?
In this case, Penny probably had all her ducks lined up in a row before going public, but this isn’t always the case.
This issue isn’t so clearcut as it at first seems.
This is the most powerful blog you have had. I now better understand several years of reading. Much respect and love.
Whenever you share a personally tragic obstacle that you have overcome, people immediately forgive you for your faults because they realize whatever your mistakes, your outbursts, your rash decisions or failures, now they understand the reason. Now they understand they could never have lived what you lived through, and they feel empathy and they feel like they have seen this part of you that you never let them see before, and you become that much wiser, that much prettier, that much stronger.
Now they get it. Now they don’t.
Keeping certain aspects of our life private should not be frowned upon. Everyone is entitled to share or not to share those issues.
I commend you for having strength and not giving up. I commend you for being honest for the hope that it allows someone or someones, relief that they are not alone. But I do not commend you for pouring your guts out in an online blog. I’ll commend you when you don’t have to remind the world and yourself that you are imperfect, when the pressure on the outside, equals the pressure on the inside. Until then, hope the out-pours help.
Your story is exactly mine. I had just turned 40 and was in a small group of ladies that met once a week (for six years) to talk about religion and sex and politics and anything else on our minds. We were talking about my mom’s second (of four) husbands that used to ask me to sleep with him. As you said, I was confounded by their reaction, then confused that i didn’t find this odd. Their insistance that i see a therapist led to all kinds of crazy shit, especially since i happened to thave a 6 and a 4 year old daugher at the time and we still visited the step father in question. I started having nightmares and anxiety attacks in public places. When i asked my 2 oldest friends what they remembered, diffent reactions: 1) no response at all from my best friend, to multiple calls and emails after I divulged what was on my mind; 2) recounted my drunk ranting about when the stepmonster slipped money under the door of my bathroom so he could watch me bathe. Jesus. My therapist help me put together the pieces – whatasurprise, the step monster #2 came when i was six, at the time the age of my oldest daughter. I confronted the stepmonster with the help of my therapist and he “admitted” IT but not really, not in detail, which i have come to understand is pretty typical. The net is – when you talk about secrets and your drive to avoid them like the plague – i so get it. My daughters are 11 and 9 now – i have explained to them why we don’t visit the stepmonster anymore. I pray i didn’t scare the crap out of them. My brother is a homeless crack addict that is truly moments away from a national postal incident. I have finally reached for him and tried to talk about what he remembers (which, BTW is being strangled).
Your blog is the first time i have read another account similar to mine. Brains are amazingly protective. I’ve learned to say thank you for amnesia. And to lean on what i know to be my truth even though memories don’t exist. Fuck him. And all the lies. My daughters are safe, at least from him. Thank you for your honesty.
Thanks so much for this kind of honesty. I imagine it must have taken you a long time to develop this kind of honesty and sensitivity .. there’s a lot of people who cry openly about your story like I do .. I hope you realise how many people’s thoughts are with you.
Penelope,
I’m not too surprised by this post. After reading some of your hyper-linked writing (I think this was part of your Master’s Thesis, but I can’t remember for sure) I wondered if your dad had sexually abused you. I’m so sorry you had to go through something like that and how badly it effected your childhood. I had something similar happen, but not by my parents, it was a babysitter. Now that I have kids, I’m pretty determined that they at least have a chance at having a happy childhood. I’m sure you feel the same. Take care of yourself and your children.
Pen,
I’ve never been physically or sexually abused, but my personal life has been involved with people who have, and I’ve always had an intense interest in despair, awareness, and secrets. So I thought I’d comment on the quasi-debate here on sharing.
I’m in the ‘positive’ column. The fact that you’ve been blogging for years and have never mentioned this until now speaks to topic of how hard it must have been for you to discuss this. By discussing it, you are winning a battle with fear and shame in discussing it. A ‘negative’ person might be baffled at this idea, thinking – “hey, everyone is nice to people who tell these stories, or, if not everyone, they always get a lot of support. How could anyone be afraid?”
These people are oblivious, but you were oblivious to a lot of things for a long time, so… judge not, I suppose. Human beings are oblivious about obvious things. It’s a species defect.
Anyway, the answer to these critics is that the fear and shame come from the experience itself, the lack of control involved, the intense physical and sensory stimuli in frightening and painful circumstances. Forgetting is a disassociation from all of that, but one that leaves a lot of holes in one’s identity. And those holes lead to.. inexplicable behavioral imbalances. Only by forcing oneself to confront the associations – of fear and shame with the terrible things she lived through – can she hope to change them.
Because there’s no reason to be afraid or ashamed of what happened. You might have suffered less if you’d been Superwoman and somehow changed the situation, but children have very little way to fend for themselves. They’re almost completely dependent on the kindness of strangers. Most people in those hellish situations either live through it until they hit 16-18, or they die. You lived. Be proud of yourself.
Having said that, the ‘negative’ guys have some valid points, in the abstract. I used to believe that everyone should be able to tell everything about themselves to everyone – that almost all interpersonal harm came from false expectations about people and that this came about because of secrets and dishonesty – period. While these are still harmful things, it is true that the pain people feel from being exposed, having their personal secrets known, is also a real thing. I’ve dismissed other people’s pain from such things along the lines of “taking your medicine here will make you stronger later”.. and I haven’t always been right to do that. I don’t know for sure when is right or when is wrong. Sometimes people can be prisoners of their own rules and vulnerabilities, and they really do benefit from being literally forced to change. But they may not, and they definitely may never thank you.
Anyway, if secrets hurt people, so does having one’s secrets revealed. None of that relates much to this post – these secrets were yours, you lived through them, you are absolutely entitled to post them to heal yourself.
But in general, in the larger topic = maybe if the farmer wants you not to tweet something, you should not tweet it.
at least you should warn him first.
Refusing to keep any secrets ever is an understandable reaction. That’s extremely true. But now that you’ve unearthed why you do it, you might be able to gain some distance from that logic and see that you don’t need to tell every secret about yourself in order to be safe.
I say this in denial of my self interest, because I’d probably enjoy it if you felt more compelled to go into even greater detail on your life, especially your sex life. (I’m a big fan of http://collegecallgirl.blogspot.com/ , for example, and only 50% of it is emotion/intellect/support/altriusm, I think you can guess the other 50%).
And that’s a great reason why you should learn to keep a few secrets. Other people’s interest in your secrets may be so interested for reasons that are not of any particular benefit to your emotional health. To use a less personal example, Britney Spears would be a healthier person if people were less interested in her secrets.
Confession to an audience can fuel an unhealthy feedback loop that they will enjoy more than you.
This post, though, as I said, does not qualify.
One last example – I’m concerned enough about my online persona and its effects that I picked a different psuedonym specifically for this post.
i am sad to hear of the pain you have experienced in your life [there is a saying, that goes: “you are only as sick as your secrets”]. thank you for sharing your story. i wish you love and healing.
that is a great saying!
Yuck–whoever that person was who changed his/her identity & gave a link (sorry–didn’t look at it) is probably one of you Dad’s pals.
Thank you. I’m a single mom of four and two years out of a ten year marriage that was abusive. I’m a counselor and did not know that I was being abused until eight years into the marriage. I’m saying that because I’ve heard people say about victims of domestic violence…How could she stay? Why wouldn’t she get out? I’m smart and good at what I do and I missed it! I was doing a project for school and ran across a checklist of how to tell you were in an abusive relationship. I could check off 80% of the stuff on the list. Abuse sneaks up on you and it’s scary what you can get used to as normal. I still am embarassed to tell people that I was abused but my embarassment is decreasing.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m to open about it but your blog helped confirm that I’m making the right choice. I didn’t make the problem and my ex should be embarassed not me.
I don’t do secrets anymore and nowadays I say what I think and how I feel because I couldn’t for so long. It feels good…a little scary but I can’t live the other way any longer.
Just an opinion: until you accept responsibility for co-creating the situation you were in, you are at risk for repeating the same pattern with a future relationship (I hope you already know this).
I have to admit that I stumbled across this piece via some random tweet on Twitter. I expected some kind of guideline on what you should and shouldn’t reveal about yourself. The title of the post is deceptively alluring. While yet another list of 10-20 things to do and not to do would have been useful, I found this post’s content amazing and unequivocally unique.
I, myself, have questioned how much to reveal about my life on my blog. In fact when I first started my blog back in college I purposefully hid the city, region and even state that I was in from my readers. I didn’t show my email address. I recently stopped hiding and now even have a button on my blog for calling me straight from my contact page. I thought that was a major sign of growth but having read your post I see there are much braver people out there.
I will now be a regular reader of your blog. Thank you for displaying your talent with just blatant honesty. It is truly inspirational.
In my opinion, you definitely are brave for perservering through your life; however, what is being called “candor” by some people seems to me to be “a lack of boundaries” issue. When you figure out the boundary thing, maybe you won’t need to spill your guts so much and you can move on. I’ve been there, too.
Your candor enlightens.
“The Confident Woman,” by Joyce Meyer, is an excellent book. She too was abused as a child and now writes on living boldly and without fear.
Full disclosure: I’m a psychologist, please don’t shoot me.
How much to reveal about ourselves is a common theme in my life as a blogger and in my work. It may sound contradictory or wishy washy, but I agree with everyone who has written. I agree with the deep gratitude that you have touched off in those of us who have suffered in our childhood; I agree that your defiant candor inspires courage and is admirable for what it says about your drive to survive; and I agree with Louise Wilson that there is an important balance between complete exposure and what us shrinks like to call appropriate boundaries.
I struggle with this so much as a psychologist blogger. Just this morning I got a scathing email from someone in my family who was offended by something I wrote. What I wrote was true but I can see how she was hurt. I write about my life in my blog as honestly as I can because I hate it when psychologists make it look like they’ve got it all figured out. We don’t. We struggle just like everyone else. That’s actually a good thing. A good psychologist doesn’t forget this but uses it to, not just understand their patients, but to be there with them while remaining detached enough to counsel and guide.
I understand your situation and have had to negotiate the same thing in my own life-who is it safe to share this with, who is not. If we have not done anything wrong or have nothing to be ashamed about, why shouldn’t we be able to speak of it? If the world would not shut its eyes ( tell us what we can and cannot talk about) then more children could be spared.
I’ve been a fan of your work for a long time for your unique honesty and the questions you raise.
One candle lights up the darkness. Thanks Penelope.
Life is hard. Very hard at times. It is what we decide those life challenges will make of us as human beings. You should be very proud of yourself.
I’m with the tiny minority which doesn’t believe this post. On May 31st, Penelope wrote on Twitter:
“My dad is visiting. Best part: He gives me wine glasses his 2nd wife bought that his 3rd wife doesn’t like. I start using them immediately.”
Two months later, she writes this post which claims that he should be in prison. There are numerous references throughout this blog to what appears to be a fairly healthy relationship with these two villainous abusers, her mother and her father.
I read a link to this post and was curious about it so I read it. It struck me more as a post about popular perceptions of abuse than it does about the reality of abuse.
Popular Perception: Sexual abuse is usually committed by the father.
Reality: Biological fathers rarely abuse their own children, though of course it does happen. Most sexual abuse victims are victimized by stepfathers, mother’s boyfriends, close family friends, or other relatives. The number of people who are sexually abused by both their father and their mother is vanishingly small.
Popular Perception: Sexual abuse victims repress their memories.
Reality: Again, this does happen, but it’s rare. The vast majority of sexual abuse victims remember the abuse.
I don’t know what the reality of the story is here, but I’m 99% sure that this isn’t it.
George, I hope you’re right. I hope she’s a loony who makes things up. I really do. But I can tell you that I had my share of creepy relatives who did untoward things to a young and naaive me. And fathers of my friends who did things to me while they thought I was sleeping that make me fear now what they were doing to their own daughters. And I forgot all about these moments and didn’t tell a damn soul until I was safely a decade or two older, married, with daughters of my own. So yes, people certainly do repress. Its a survival mechanism, a sanity-saver, to help us feel like maybe we can fit in with other people. All I can figure is that some adults are so delusional that they figure a kid with breasts is fair game – if she looks old enough, go for it, regardless of how it will affect her or anyone else.
So George, unless P told you she made this up in a fit of boredom on a rainy day, please assume its real. But for her sake, I hope you’re right.
Well, I know it’s anecdotal, George, but I personally know 3 women who were sexually molested or raped by their fathers, in some cases over years. But They have memories of most of the incidents. One I question making it up for drama but the other two, no. In one case the brother was raped too and even though there was a court case and th father went to jail, the brother refuses to admit anything happened.
Awesome! Thank you for not being afraid to just say what’s what. Unfortunately, one has to have a degree of self-dependence in order to be as honest. Can’t wait ’til I’m there!
I found this blog today after reading another horrendous David Zinczenko article on Yahoo where people were calling for his firing and your name flashed through my mind. So I looked you up to see where you went after Yahoo rightly fired you for giving poor career advise. I always was amazed at how bad some of your career advise on Yahoo was. It was like out of left field most of the time where if the average person did or said these things at work they would be fired. After reading this entry and several others I get you now and I get why what you write is so bizarre and random. You are a lost soul with an endless hole to fill. You have been through so many relationships, jobs, and name changes that I don’t think you have a clear grasp on the past. I think you rewrite in your brain over past events with colored recollections. I can’t say you’re a bad person but I just wouldn’t even consider taking much of your advise seriously because of these memory issues. I read your farmer stories and I believe both of you have issues but the guy seems like a decent character. For you though everyone seems like a peg that doesn’t fit or one that is too small and falls through. The farmer is that odd square peg that kind of sticks in that hole but if you keep twisting that peg it won’t fit anymore. Now maybe I am sounding crazy but I hope you get it.
This is was one of the most impressive blog posts that I have ever read. Wow. Your courage and honesty leave me breathless. You are fantastic being Penelope…don’t ever think otherwise.
I had a similar childhood but have never lost the secrets and now I feel like there is no-one in the whole world who really knows who I am.
S, It sounds like you’re begining to discover who you are. I don’t think it’s unusual to feel others don’t know you. We are the only ones that really know what’s in our own hearts.
Wow. I just stumbled onto your blog and read this post. Thank you for posting this. I am truly impressed. Wow. I had a crazy, maybe even terrible childhood, and please forgive me for saying that your story makes me feel better. I’m so glad you made it safely to adulthood and can make your own way now. I hate that crap like this happens to anyone, ever, anywhere, especially to children. But thank you for reminding all of us that it DOES, and that very often no one does anything, and that we spend our adult lives sorting all of it out…after we ignore it for a decade or two. Thank you. And have a great day.
When tried by unbearable suffering, the mind may close, but the courageous heart opens. Thank you for opening your brave heart and setting the secrets free.
Oh…my…goodness. I’m stunned. I went through (and blocked out) some of the same situations growing up. Until now, I couldn’t figure out why my life wasn’t going in the direction I wanted it to take (after 4yrs of college and 7 yrs in the military). Now I get it–those same family secrets I’ve been keeping have been dictating my direction in life. I’m currently seeking counseling, but even SHE didn’t put it as bluntly as you have. Thank you. I really needed to read this.
Thank you for your blog!