I keep things hidden.
I always have.
I remember overhearing a conversation between my aunt and my mother when I was 13. I was in the dressing room and I think they thought they were out of earshot, but they weren't. They were comparing me to my other aunt, the other sister, the younger darling. She had had a troubled marriage, a hard life, and a battle with cancer, and she died at the age of 36.
She kept things hidden too.
I think what I was supposed to gain from overhearing that conversation was that my family was concerned about me, and wanted to be let in on my life.
What I truly got out of it was that it was that if I just pretended that things were as hunky-dory as they appeared, if I gave the facade of life as others wished it to be, then there would be less questions and scrutiny. More trust and assurance.
I kept things hidden when I was young. When, post back surgery, it felt that someone was sticking a red-hot fork in about the middle of my back and twirling my muscle striations like pasta, I still sang and danced my way through show choir and color guard...sometimes with hot tears rolling down my face. When things went south with my high-school sweet heart, I cried in my closet so my mom wouldn't hear. When my best friend's mother passed away I let the emotions run off of me in the gym shower and then sucked it up and headed out to lunch.
I kept things hidden in my marriage. When I learned that we would be moving for the third time in three years I wrapped myself in a fleece cocoon and stayed curled in my overstuffed leather chair for a good three days straight. When Nathan and I fight worse than I ever witnessed my parents, when we cut deeper than I can imagine any of my friends' spouses, I head back to that chair, my island of numbness.
I still keep things hidden from my friends. When they ask for prayer requests, a small voice inside questions...do they really want to hear that we feel lost? Will they question my faith if I share where I'm REALLY at? Will it start of a laundry list of upcoming medical procedures and family member health problems and who's having what done to where...if I tell that sometimes my back still hurts to the point of tears?
But the thing that I most struggle to share. What I dread others knowing...is not the prayer requests, or the fact that my husband and I don't always get along glowingly.
What I keep hidden is neatly folded in the third drawer on the right side of my dresser.
A small baby romper sized 3-6 months with tiny blue dragonflies on it.
A treasure wrapped in hope that one day a little person who's half me and half Nathan can fit into. And I hope that day is one soon. That's what I keep. Hidden. What dream I treasure. Most.
And I don't think I'm alone. If we were to round up a posse and brazenly raid all the lingerie drawers of America I think we would uncover amazing things. Love letters from past boyfriends, receipts, baby clothes, stashes of cash (if you're my mom), pictures, post cards. Memories and hopes hidden.
But for the hiders, things we hush to speak out loud yet tremble to hold in.
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