Keeping Secrets
The Weight of What We Don’t Say There’s a particular kind of pain that doesn’t come from what happens, but from what wasn’t said. We often believe that keeping a secret is an act of love. A way to protect, to shield or to soften the blow for someone we care about. Sometimes, it is, b ut sometimes… it isn’t. Sometimes, the silence carries more weight than the truth ever could. I knew my mom had tremors. It was one of those things that just existed in the background — noticeable, but never fully explained. I didn’t question it deeply. I trusted that if there was something I needed to know, I would know. Until one day, in a conversation that wasn’t meant to change anything, it changed everything. My aunt mentioned it casually. As if it had already been said. As if I had already been let in. “She has Parkinson’s.” Just like that. No build-up, no careful conversation, no moment of being sat down and told with love and honesty. Just a sentence and the quiet realisation that ev...
