The Tell

There must be those among whom we can sit down and weep, and still be counted as warriors.
Adrienne Rich

This is the story of a secret. A secret kept for decades, one I had buried so deep I didn’t even know it was there. Many of us carry secrets: things we were told not to reveal or things we simply couldn’t–for fear of judgment or reprisal or, worst of all, for fear that if the people we love found out, they’d see us differently. Sometimes we keep secrets to survive. Then a moment arrives when the usefulness of the secret expires. Keeping it becomes the thing that hurt us. We have to tell.

When I was little, to tell on someone was a shameful thing: It made you a tattletale. It got somebody in trouble. In telling, you became the problem. Now I understand that the telling is the medicine–not the cause of the shame but the thing that heals it.

I wrote this book twice. First, for me, painstakingly documenting everything that was happening in real time. The second time, I returned to my initial notes with the distance of all I’d learned in the intervening years. The book incorporates material from my journals, detailed accounts of conversations with family and dear friends, and notes from visits with doctors and other practitioners, as well as scenes reconstructed from memory.

I have spent much of my life as a private person. Like so many women I have been conditioned not to take up too much space. I was taught to prioritize the comfort of others and not to share anything overly personal. But I have learned that the more I tell my story, the more I remember who I have always been.

By telling this story, I hope it helps you remember who you are, too.

Amy Griffin
Author’s Note from The Tell