Once someone told me a secret. And no, I’m not going to tell you what it is. But trust me. It was a doozie.

It wasn’t a secret that isn’t really a secret like, “I’m a perfectionist.” Or a secret that is odd but inconsequential like, “I loved Riverdance.” Which I did.

Or even a secret about a stupid wrongdoing like, “I stole a bath mat from the hotel where I stayed on a j-school trip to New York my senior year of undergrad and felt guilty about it in my late-20s so I donated it to Goodwill as penance because I was too embarrassed to mail it back to the hotel.” Whew! Run-on, girl. Feel better now?

No, not that kind of secret. This secret was destructive. If it went public, it would wreak havoc on unsuspecting lives. It had to be resolved between the transgressor and the transgressed against. Now I, the confidant, was in the mix. 

Time went by. Things happened. Life continued. No one said a word. I held that secret for about three years. As far as I know, I was and may still be the only one the person told.

It burned like hot coal inside, charring my resources. A heavy anchor, pulling me down, down, down.

“What is it, Aimee?” a friend finally said.

“It’s a secret,” I said. “I think I’m the only one who knows.”

“You have to share it,” she said, “or it will destroy you.”

She was a safe person, a third party who didn’t know the others involved. I told her the truth. And the weight I carried lifted, buoyed up by my sobbing. It still hurt, but it no longer crushed me.

“You have to tell your husband,” she said.

“No,” I said. “He knows these people. I can’t tell him.”

“He loves you. He can help you bear it.”

So through tears I told him, and she was right. He helps me bear it to this day.

A secret kept is a powerful thing. Don’t fool yourself into thinking you can carry one without paying for it.

You don’t have to broadcast it on Jerry Springer, but you have to shine a little light on it. Bring it out into the open. Take away the weight of its secrecy.

Let someone safe—someone who loves you, bear it with you. Or help you face the transgressor. Or sob alongside you. And feel it lift, then fall away.

You have set our iniquities before You, our secret sins in the light of Your presence. Psalm 90:8 NIV

The Newsboys’ song Million Pieces is apropos. Not sure what’s with the fuzzy quality of this video. Chalk it up to “artistic treatment.” Love the song anyway and couldn’t resist the flying pink elephants. This is not your floor/You’re going higher than before…