Being a writer is really just an excuse
to be invasively voyeuristic, and to almost get away with it. I have never been able to contain my urges to
stare, open mouthed, into the lives of others, enthralled by any secret details
I can deduce from witnessing their candid moments. As a child, on the odd occasion that my incessant noise-making fell silent, Mum would head straight for my bedroom.
There, I would be perched on the top bunk gawking through the window, utterly entranced by the
goings on in my neighbours’ kitchen. Mum
loves to remind me how, when engaged in said activity, I would be so enthralled
that my mouth would be hanging open, drool dripping onto the mattress like a
forgotten leaky tap. (Writing this blog
has made me acutely aware of the glut of bodily fluids I have excreted over my
life time, but hey, I missed the lady-like bus a long time ago.)
So anyway, in conclusion to this most
tenuous of segues, my uncontrollable urge to peep into people’s affairs led me
this week into an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.
The person I went with shall, surprise surprise, remain anonymous. It was great.
It was so awesome. People spilled
their deepest, darkest moments and I got to listen. (An aside- I hope no one thinks I’m making
light of the devastating impacts of alcoholism.
It’s a debilitating disease that I’ve lost a wonderful aunty to, and I
think sufferers deserve far more recourses and support. The atmosphere in the room was, however, one
of hope and camaraderie, and I therefore feel it’s ok to present my experience
in a positive light. I did also check
with the compare that my attendance- in moral support of a friend- was appreciated.)
I was floored by the honesty that was
flowing from the speakers. An unguarded,
cathartic sort of honesty that, disappointingly, is missing from most of our
lives. It was immediately obvious that,
for the speakers, to tell their stories was to purge the guilt and shame that
had arisen from them. It was also a
harrowing experience. A young woman,
shaking and close to tears, recalled the time she had squeezed through a window
of her mother’s house and scrambled, scaling picket fences, to the bottle shop,
where she stole a cask of wine. An older
man described flying into a drunken rage and chasing his son from the house,
screaming at him to never come back. A
hardened looking fellow in an akubra, the sort of man fabled to be devoid of
emotions entirely, held back tears as he remembered the hurt he has inflicted
on a weary family.
All these people had crossed lines they
never thought they would cross. But in
that room, they had the chance to be understood, sympathised with, and to expel
the pain they had, for years, inflicted upon themselves.
For all the tears, this was one of the
most positive experiences I’ve had. I
felt privileged to be in direct observation of the strength of these people’s
spirits, the catharsis they derived from opening up, and the communion of the
unconditionally accepting group. But it
also made me sad- and not just for the horrors that the speakers had endured. It made me sad that this level of honesty is
missing from most of our lives.
How many of us walk around shouldering
the burden of secrets? Things we’re
ashamed of, that we’re disgusted by, that we fear telling people lest they
think less of us? I’m lucky enough to be
in a relationship with someone who is incredibly understanding, and who I know
will respect me no matter what. So I’ve unloaded my secrets, the things I
thought I would guard forever, on him.
It may seem a trivial thing but, like the people in the AA meeting,
letting go of my secrets lifted an enormous weight. A weight that had been impacting my life in
ways far more dramatic than I’d dared to realise.
The meeting taught me that, when people
are brave enough to offer up something as genuine and real as pure honesty,
those around them will respond in kind, with the same type of pure compassion. It needn’t be to a
room of onlookers, but wouldn’t it be nice if we could all get the chance to do
this? To let go of those things we have
been carrying around. I dare you to try
it.
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