Several years ago when I was talking to my mother about my childhood, I was shocked to learn I had developed a very independent streak at an early age. By the time I turned one, she said, I had begun to insist on doing things myself and no longer wanted to be cuddled. This naturally upset her, as I think it would any mother who wants to hug and squeeze their children. 

I knew that I had always had a stubborn-streak, often wanting to teach myself things rather than learn the old-fashioned, tried and true way. I learned to ride my bike through trial and error and by imitating my older brother because I simply would not let me Dad run along side me. I distinctly remember that his doing such a thing scared and frustrated me more than trying to go it alone. Perhaps it was the speed, or the fear of failing in front of others, I’m not sure. And I know I drove my mother nuts by not letting her demonstrate how a song sounded or how to draw a letter or even learn to read. I wanted to do it MYSELF. With strangers and other authority figures, I was certainly more circumspect, but under the careful guidance of my family I insisted on autonomy. 

So, to hear my mother tell me I had been vigorously asserting my independence since I was a toddler should not have surprised me, but it did. And it changed the way I view my actions to this day. Why do I always want to strike out on something alone? 

Is it because I was the only girl in a family of boys for thirteen years of my life? Do I constantly feel I need to prove myself as strong and capable? 

Is it because I am admittedly something of a perfectionist, and I absolutely HATE to fail? Do I not want others to witness this? Am I afraid of looking foolish?

Is it because succeeding on my own terms and finding my own brand of happiness is so important to me that I will alienate others just to achieve it? 

Depending on the answer, it sheds a different light on some of the more major decisions in my life – my choice to attend a university 7 hours from home, my refusal to select perhaps a more practical college major partially because that was what my mother wanted, my insistence on marrying five months before college graduation instead of after, my determination to become a published author. 

With this stubborn independence streak, also comes an unsurprising side effect – I’m often very reluctant to share my disappointments, my emotional hurts, and my negative emotions. In my autonomous mind, I would rather show the world anger than the pain that fuels it. The exception to this is, of course, my husband, but even with him I often withhold the source of my upset until I cannot withstand it anymore. However, even to my immediate family, I hide things that others would be quite forthcoming in admitting. And often - contrary to the other members of my family - the deeper the hurt, the more intent on my silence I become. 

I’m no fool. I know I’m not always very good at hiding the emotions that signal something is wrong. But I’m very good at keeping my mouth shut or providing a non-answer. 

It makes for a very lonely and isolating existence sometimes, but I don’t know how to alter it. I sometimes contemplate revealing a painful secret to a trusted friend or family member, but then the acute stab I feel at the idea of exposing it and myself to scrutiny instantly makes me clam up again. The very idea of receiving the empathy I so desperately want also makes me shrivel inside because once the knowledge is out, it can never be taken back, and it will forever be known to the other person and possibly influence their view of me.

Now, I’m well aware what some of you are thinking now. What dirty secrets could Anna possibly be keeping? I can almost see your brains feverishly considering and abandoning possibilities. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you. None of these “secrets” is particularly earth shattering or even gossip-worthy – thus, my point in disclosing to you the absurdity of my extreme desire to keep them close to the vest. You’ll have to look elsewhere for you titillation. 

However, I would like to know if there are any other absurd “secret” keepers out there? If so, do you know why? 

And what about the rest of you – how do you decide whether to reveal a hurt or keep it private? 

How about the flip side of the coin – which of you are “secret” mongers, revealing all and sundry to anyone remotely trustworthy who will listen? Are you looking for the sympathy and a display of human-kindness to help you through the tough times, or is it a way of getting attention?