Have you ever had an experience like I'm about to describe?

You're at the grocery store and you see your neighbor examining produce.  You see her closely but she doesn't see you.

As you watch, you consider what little you know about her and find yourself curious about her story, her life story.  

There's something intriguing about her, even though she's perfectly ordinary.  In fact, she is humdrum: overweight, approaching middle-age, single.  Never married, never seems to date.  

These are the kind of people that have always fascinated me.  I wonder why she isn't coupled like everyone else, if she is lonely, how she spends her time.  I wonder because nothing about her screams "outdoorsy", "artist", "successful business woman" or any other label that could help me imagine what her days are like, how she fulfills herself as a person.  Alone. 

And now I have grown up to become that woman who people wonder about.  Everything I've said about the neighbor perfectly describes me.  Yet I still find it surprising when other people act as if I'm unknowable, hard to read, difficult to define.  

I could write a book describing all the ways I have encountered this reaction, but right now I'm thinking about how OS has brought this to my attention even more.

I used to think of myself as an open person and now I see that is not true. There are many things that I don't want to write about, which has forced me to confront that there are many things I don't want to talk about either.

It is important to me that I appear more together than I really feel, which is true for many people I'm sure.  But the hard-to-admit part is that there is not one living person who I let see the real me.  Not one.

 How did this happen?

Here's one theory:  Each of my parents is a real mess, and everyone can clearly see it.  My father labeled himself as a victim many decades ago and expects everyone to treat him as such.  My mother wears her fears, anti-social behavior and neurotic tendencies as a badge of honor.

I tried on each of those personalities in my adolescence.  By my twenties, I grew to detest those qualities and my rebellion meant concealing my fears and frailties.  The moment I even almost get a whiff of someone maybe feeling sorry for me, every cell in my body stiffens and I puff myself out to be bigger, stronger, better. 

My inherited depressed disposition is a weakness.  I would never admit to being lonely or having feelings of unworthiness.  I am fearless.

I did this even when I was in therapy, gauging what to talk about by the look of pity in the listener's eyes.  Just a hint of pity and I switch gears completely, often with a joke.

I have willed myself to be a positive person.  I have dissolved fear after fear after fear.  I  am proud of who I have become, for the most part, and of evolving past the negative nature of my family.

Am I ready to open up now?  Reveal my secrets?

The problem is I can't even remember what they are anymore.

What am I so ashamed of?

Let's see...I'm going to start with the stuff that I expect mild negative judgments about (or that I would actually judge other people for), the things that don't match the me I want people to see:

1.  I just bought & read Marcia Brady's memoir and I enjoyed every word of it.

2.  I use paper plates.

3.  Every day I must spend time laying on the couch doing nothing.

4.  I am attracted to both women and men.  

5.  I have enough books from the self-help section to open my own bookstore.  And I enjoy reading them, so HA!

6.  I enjoy sausages and deli meats.

7.  I believe my dog and I can read each other's minds.  Really.

Well that last one wouldn't surprise many of my friends, but I think the other ones might.

Now I have 2 questions for you:

1)  What are some things about you that even your friends don't know?

2) Do any of you have some questions for me that will help me get to the deeper stuff?  Because I honestly don't know what it is that I'm hiding anymore.