If we withhold something from the person with whom we are the most intimate, is that relationship necessarily compromised? Or, are we each allowed to hold onto secrets without fear of damage to intimacy?
Reflections on these questions - embodying a long search for the balance between trust and mystery - most often come to the fore when others describe their secrets and lies to me. Infrequently, I'll get wistful when hearing these stories. I wonder: Do therapists ever catch themselves relishing the hidden mysteries their patients reveal to them? What does your self-talk sound like when you're tantalized by a secret a good friend has kept from their partner?
Before anyone's imagination runs amok, this post is not a cryptic confession. In fact, I recently realized there is virtually nothing my partner of thirty eight years does not know about me. And that realization - likely catalyzed by a dishy, superficial, unnamed memoir - sent me down today's rabbit hole. I'm not soliciting confessions either - just your thoughts on the fascinating intersection of trust and mystery.