My mom taught me this phrase
You’re only as sick as your secrets.
It’s one of the most honest and useful lessons she’s ever shared. Yet I always have this awkward internal struggle when passing it on to someone. A moment where I cringe in discomfort that they’ll ask its origin.
You’re only as sick as your secrets.
I see the irony. That I would share this phrase while struggling with wanting to keep secret where it comes from.
You’re only as sick as your secrets.
It’s not because I’m ashamed or embarrassed of where she learned it. It’s that I’m so overwhelmingly proud of her. I don’t want anyone to reduce her to a single stereotype. To judge without understanding. To think that sliver of info gives any insight into the reality.
You’re only as sick as your secrets.
It’s her honest embrace of this phrase that defines her, not the fact that she once checked into rehab. She can’t be reduced to a moment in time, a box-sized image, a singular experience – none of us can. We are a collection of ever-changing stories. Always being updated, deleted, repeated and rewritten.
You’re only as sick as your secrets.
Telling your secrets is scary, liberating and, often, not nearly as hard as imagined. Feeling sick is much, much worse.
You’re only as sick as your secrets.
Share your secrets. Write your story with honesty. Be brave.