Isn’t it ironic? Don’t you think?

“Tell me your darkest secret.”

I thought that line was exclusive to truth or dares and slumber parties. But as life would have it, someone said this to me at a bar. Granted it was my friend, but who is bold enough to make such a command?

I half expected her to follow up with, “what makes you cry ” or “what keeps you up at night?” Things you just don’t talk about at a bar.

I laughed it off. But she was serious and told me hers. They were rough and I knew I had to step my game up and share. But I couldn’t.

I’m a secretive person.

People know the trivial facts or vignettes of my life that I’ve offered to share. Like I’m a vegetarian. That I’ve never had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. How Alanis Morissette is my spirit animal and that I cry at everything. Everything.

That’s all you need to know about me.

I never share things that might be too heavy for people to handle that they feel obligated to hug me or over me a tissue.

No amount of box wine or raspberry liqueur could coax that information out of me.

I’m too guarded, which is the irony of me being in Invictus.

Not only am I talking about my darkest secret, what makes me cry and what keeps me up at night, but I’m writing about it with the intentions of it being published.

What kind of logic is that?

I’ll confess. It’s not much of a secret, but I just don’t like talking about it.

So when I was expected to reveal that “secret” in front of a group of individuals that I barely knew in a coffee shop, I cried.

Though I only said a sentence. It symbolically represented me taking a step towards breaking that wall I built years ago.

Emotions suck and Invictus is going to be rough, but I know it’s worth all the tears that will come.

Plus, I’m pretty sure I was inaudible during our “tell all day” since I was chocking on tears and snot, so I’m banking that no one understood me.