secret me

In some ways - my children know the most secret parts of me. The me that likes to cuddle, that smothers them with kisses, that cries when they bring me gifts and sing me songs. Unfortunately they also know the secret me that can fly off the handle and say things that are hurtful. And the me that humbly apologizes and admits regret.

But there is so much of me they don't know. They may never know.

As they grow older, I realize how guarded I have become to who I once was. Not so much because I want to hide things but maybe protect things.

Once upon a time, I wasn't a mother. I wasn't a wife. I wasn't the person the community sees as a professional person, as a member of the theatre company, as a neighbour. I was - just me. The secret me.

She was crazy creative. She was sexual and passionate. She had these naughty thoughts and liked to challenge the status quo. She was a little bit crazy, trouble simmering below a calm surface. She was daring and thoughtful and not as smart as everyone thought she was. And she was much smarter than everyone thought she was.

She was an enigma, a little girl, an old woman.

Somehow - life covers you up. You fall into line as you ought to, as you want to but then one day it occurs to you that maybe this person everyone sees is so far from the secret me that if you ever let anyone see her...they'd run away in fear. Or laugh. Or stare in disbelief.

And yet - everyone has one. A secret me. My children are developing them. I can see it happening and I really want to know their secret me but they can't show me because I am their mother. And they worry that I would run away in fear or laugh or stare in disbelief.

When in reality I might just smile and say - huh, I recognize her.