Unlocking Secrets

by Kathe Crawford

  “It’s so not who you are! Sweet angel, they were in your life, but they aren’t who you are. And what happened to you is not who you are, Kathe. Until you release that bind, you won’t find your voice. You won’t ever fully heal your heart. You won’t find your happiness or your peace.”

  Sheryl asked me to close my eyes and envision the binds attaching me to Larry and my parents. “Imagine how tightly you’re holding on to them and those ropes. So tight! You need to release those ropes, those binds. You need to let them go!”

  I leaned forward from the back seat. “But how do I do that?”

  “You need to meditate on it every day until you can release them. I’ll give you a mantra to say. Trust me,” she said. And I did. I trusted her more than I did anyone.

  “Now I understand why you doubt yourself so much,” Sheryl said. “Please know that you’re a beautiful person with so much to give. You need to teach. Your voice needs to be heard. You’re filled with wisdom and experience that can help a lot of people, but you’re holding yourself back. You’re living in two worlds, and you don’t know where you belong. It’s time to let go of the old and allow yourself to be fully born.”

  It was time to truly, finally let go of my secrets.

  CHAPTER 11

  LIFE WITHOUT SECRETS

  In 2013, Brian turned 25 and was a college graduate. Unlike a lot of his friends who were getting married, he didn’t have a steady girlfriend. So he asked if he could move back in with me for a while. I enjoyed having him in the house, which had felt empty since he’d moved out.

  When he started dating a new girl, I noticed that the two of them were drinking and partying a lot. They would stay out until four, five, or six in the morning on the weekends and sleep all day. Since Brian was into the club scene, I knew drugs like Ecstasy were readily available to him. He was normally very conscientious and had done well in his work as a business analyst, and I knew the signs all too well and could spot a stoner a mile away.

  “Are you smoking pot, Brian?” I asked.

  At first, he didn’t want to admit it, but I pressed him until he told me that he and his girlfriend had been trying club drugs.

  “It’s no big deal, Mom. Everybody’s doing it.”

  Beside myself with fear, I called Larry, Jr. “What should I do, Larry? Should I tell Brian everything? I’m afraid he’s on a bad road, and he has no idea of his history.”

  “Trust yourself, Mom,” he said. “I know it’s hard, but you have to tell him.”

  It was a difficult decision, but I felt my son’s well-being was at stake. At that point, everyone who mattered had been told the secret except for Brian. He was the last person left who could be hurt by our story. And I knew how much it was going to hurt him to hear the truth. It brought back memories of the day I’d had to tell him that his father had died. Would it shatter him again to find this out about his dad? It worried me tremendously, and I felt guilty for having kept it from him for so long. Once again, a secret was causing a lot of pain in my family. So I thought that maybe it was time to rip off the Band-Aid.

  “We need to talk,” I said to Brian. “I’m going to tell you something that’s going to redefine your life. I haven’t told you this because I never wanted to tarnish your wonderful memories of your father. But now I need to tell you because I can’t watch you do this to yourself.”

  “Wow, Mom, what’s wrong?”

  “Brian, your dad had a drug problem.”

  “I figured,” he said, but I could tell he didn’t understand the seriousness of it.

  “No, really! He was a drug addict. He shot heroin for many years.”

  I told him a bit about his father’s drug years, but I think Brian still felt I was merely lecturing him. I wasn’t breaking through. His will was strong, and he wasn’t going to let me see him sweat.

  “Brian, your dad got HIV from a dirty needle. He had HIV and that’s what ultimately killed him.”

  He was silent at first. Then he cried just as hard and as quietly as he had at age seven after his father’s death. It broke my heart to watch my son sob like that, but I felt such relief that he finally knew the secret. I’d always feared that if something happened to me, he’d hear it from someone else and feel betrayed. But as long as I kept it from him, I could continue to hide from it. Finally telling him was healing for all of us.

  “Wow . . . everything about me and my life makes sense now,” Brian said.

  “I’m so sorry, Brian. I’m so sorry.” I hugged him. “Your dad loved you so much, and I know he’s here with us now, wanting to make sure you don’t go down the same road. Telling you this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. But no matter how painful it is, you need to know. You have a right to know.

  “If you’re addicted, you have to tell me and stop it now! If you have a problem, I’ll help you get treatment and support you in recovery, but I won’t ever enable another addict. I can’t give up who I am. I can’t live in darkness again, not even for my son.”

  It was so difficult to say, and it was only because of all the work I’d done within myself that I could say it. I had to stay in my truth.

  Brian gazed into my eyes. I could tell that after learning about what I’d been through and how I’d fought to protect him and his brother, he was seeing me for the first time as more than just his mom.

  My secrets had started out as a way of protecting my husband from the stigmas of addiction and HIV. Then I protected my sons from the people who might shut us out if they knew. But I was protecting myself just as much from the ridicule and judgments I was sure would come my way if people saw the real truth, the real me.

  It has been a long time coming, but I now realize that I turned my secrets into scarier monsters than they actually were. Yes, there was a terrible stigma attached to drug addiction and to HIV/AIDS for a long time—and there still is, to some degree. Nevertheless, even in the beginning, there were people in our lives who would have understood. They had proved that when I finally had the courage to tell them. Maybe I could have convinced Larry to let us trust someone. But even if he had agreed, would I have trusted someone else enough to do it? Probably not. For so many years, I’d been filled with too much self-doubt and shame.

  The day I finally told Brian, I believe the lineage of drug addiction was truly broken in our family. And so was the cycle of dysfunctional secret-keeping.

  Since that time, I’ve learned that even when you believe you’re keeping a secret, it isn’t necessarily as secret as you think. Years later, my sons admitted to me that once they were told about their dad’s addiction, they didn’t need me to tell them what he’d done on the last evening of his life.

  They’d both figured out that their father had gotten high the night before he died and that he’d probably done it to end his life. Knowing that he hadn’t taken drugs just for the sake of getting high gave them comfort. They’ve told me that they feel compassion for how much pain he was enduring, and as awful as it was for them, they understand why he wanted it to end.

  For a long time, I shut down my memories of Larry because I felt paralyzed by them. My story and Larry’s story kept me locked in the past. Now, my memories free me. They bring me comfort rather than grief. The longing and emptiness I used to feel have become peace and gratitude. I feel blessed for having had all the experiences of my life.

  The day that I stood up at the Omega Institute and gave my talk, I discovered that my experiences contained even more blessings than I had realized. Releasing my story was healing not only for me, but also for others. There were people who understood and related to my experience—people who had also hidden themselves away in secrecy and shame, wanting desperately to have the courage to live in truth.

  That reality hit home further when I was on a plane and started a conversation with the woman sitting next to me. When I told her about my book, I mentioned that I had kept a secret about my husband’s death for years. “My husband died too,” she said.

  “What di
d he die of?”

  “I can’t tell you. It’s a secret I’m not ready to share.”

  You can’t make this stuff up, right?

  “I certainly understand that, as you can imagine,” I said. “But I’ll tell you my secret because it’s going to be written in a book soon anyway.” I needed to practice saying it out loud because the words still tended to get stuck in my throat. I took a deep breath. “He was a drug addict who contracted HIV from dirty needles.”

  “Wow. Thanks for that.” She paused and looked at me. I could tell she was trying to decide whether or not to tell me her own secret.

  “I still don’t think I can tell you my story, but if you’ll give me your e-mail address, I’d like to write you and tell you about it. If I tell you now, you might feel awkward the rest of the flight.”

  “Of course. I’ll give you my e-mail address and would be happy to hear about it if you want to write to me.”

  And she did.

  However and whenever we choose to tell our secrets, one of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is that life’s too short to live it unauthentically. We only do that because we fear judgment. When we truly love ourselves, we don’t worry so much about being judged by others. We can have our own approval, and that’s what matters most.

  With my story finally out in the open, I feel a huge sense of freedom. It’s a rebirth. I can unapologetically be proud of who I am. This is me. And through living my truth, I’ve been able to help others. In my work as an integrative life coach, I teach people that whatever their story is—however shameful they believe it to be—they don’t have to hide behind it. Living in reality is so much better than living in denial. The real you is so much more beautiful than any pretense you can make up.

  Like most of us, for a long time, I held on to the identity that had been given to me. This is how we hold on to the negative stories that cause us to play out the same scenarios over and over in life. But I wasn’t a difficult child or a phony. I wasn’t a misfit. I was and am beautiful, kind, competent, and compassionate. I have come to see myself the way those who love me see me, and my voice has been freed.

  I was that little girl who wanted to knock on my neighbors’ doors and ask to be loved. But what I really needed was to knock on my own door, open it, and take myself into my own heart.

  I recently found a photo of myself at about age 10, and when I look at that little girl, I can vividly remember her pain and her fear that she wasn’t lovable. I look at that picture every day, show her some love, and welcome her back home in my heart. Today, I know that I don’t just give love to myself or someone else. I am love.

  See—I told you this was a love story.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  We do not find our identity in isolation; we find it from being heard.

  Through our voice, we find where we belong in this crazy and wild world.

  To everyone I have met along the way, thank you for your friendship, your hand, your heart, your love, your stories.

  All of you gave me the strength and courage to tell this story.

  Big Love and thanks to my family and friends who continue to support me on my “crazy” spiritual journey. Thank you to my sister Kris, who is never far from my side, and Debbie, who often believes I am absolutely insane. My brother, Joe, I love you.

  Sheryl and Neil, for the gift of love and the beautiful sangha at Naturally Yoga.

  John Welshons, your love and wisdom melted the barnacles from my heart; thank you for opening my heart.

  Jack Schwartz, we spent a lifetime together; thank you for always cheering me on.

  Melanie Votaw, your eloquent and beautiful words shine like diamonds in the sky. With kindness and compassion, you held space, and in that space, your brilliance and professional wisdom brought this story to another level.

  Nancy Levin, who taught me the art of a graceful exit, you slow me down just enough to hear your words, “Honor the space between ‘no longer’ and ‘not yet.’”

  I trusted, jumped, and landed on my feet. Thank you for inspiring me every day.

  Patty Gift, I am forever grateful. Nothing happens by chance and I know the universe conspired to bring us together. You pointed me toward the door, encouraged me, and gave me the support I needed to open it. Thank you!!!

  Lisa Cheng, your generous feedback and gentle reminder “to dive deeper” allowed my voice, my presence, and the power of the journey to come forward.

  Reid Tracy and the amazing team at Hay House, thank you for your support and guidance.

  And all the teachers who illuminated the path on my spiritual journey.

  Swami Satchidananda, Neem Karoli Baba, Ram Dass, Krishna Das, Louise Hay, Dr. Wayne Dyer, Sharon Salzberg, and The Shambhala Center.

  Sarah Tomlinson and Seema Agrawal, thank you for bringing me home to the sacred land of India.

  Dr. Marton, no matter how many years pass, I will always call you, Dr. Marton.

  You are a brilliant and remarkable man and the most compassionate human being I have ever met. And by the way, you give the best hugs; thank you for being my superhero.

  Larry and Brian, you are my pride and joy. Thank you for your love and trust.

  I am honored to be your mother.

  And to my beloved, Larry, forever in my heart, I will always love you. xoxo

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Kathe Crawford is an author, integrative coach, and spiritual teacher. As an inspiring teacher and workshop facilitator, Kathe shares her own story and empowers and guides others to discover and align their own truth. You can visit her online at kathecrawford.com.

  Hay House Titles of Related Interest

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  starring Louise Hay & Friends

  (available as a 1-DVD program, an expanded 2-DVD set, and an online streaming video)

  Learn more at www.hayhouse.com/louise-movie

  THE SHIFT, the movie,

  starring Dr. Wayne W. Dyer

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  Learn more at www.hayhouse.com/the-shift-movie

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  BE FEEL THINK DO: A Memoir,

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  All of the above are available at your local bookstore, or may be ordered by contacting Hay House (see next page).

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