UPDATE:
Thanks, everyone, for all the responses and advice. I really appreciate the support and suggestions - it's been a lot to think about.
At the suggestion of one of the commenters, I decided to tell Sarah about my past in a letter. I wanted to get some feedback from you all before I send it to her. It’s hard for me to find the right words without making it all sound weird, and I’m honestly terrified of what she might think. I really don't want to lose her. I’d really appreciate any feedback on whether this is too much or not enough. Thanks for your help.
Dear Sarah,
First, I want to say how much I appreciate you and the love and support you’ve given me. You’ve made me feel like I can be myself, and that’s why I want to share something with you that I’ve been holding back. It’s not easy for me to talk about, and I’m honestly scared about how you might take it, but I don’t want to keep it from you any longer.
My family wasn’t what most people would call “normal.” We had these… traditions that I guess were supposed to help us connect with something bigger, something old. I don’t really know how to put it into words without it sounding strange. It’s just what I grew up with, and I never questioned it much back then because it was all I knew. There’s something I’ve been struggling to explain, something from when I was a kid. I haven’t talked about it because, honestly, I’m not sure if what I remember is real or just my mind playing tricks on me. But it’s been weighing on me, and I think you deserve to know.
We had these rituals, and they were… intense. They left a mark on me that I’m still trying to understand. There was this… feeling. It was like there was something else in the room with us. I was just a kid, so at the time, I didn’t really question it. I just assumed it was normal—something that happened to everyone. But I remember feeling like I was being watched, even when I couldn’t see anything. It wasn’t like a person or an animal, just… a presence. Sometimes, I’d catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye, but when I looked directly, there was nothing there. I told myself it was just my imagination, but deep down, it scared me.
There’s one memory that I’ve struggled with for a long time. There was a fire when I was a kid. It’s a bit fragmented in my mind—just flashes. Heat, smoke, the sound of something… but I can’t put it all together. My aunt and uncle came for me that night, and I never saw my parents again. They never explained what really happened, and I was too scared to ask. Maybe they thought they were protecting me, but it left me with so many questions that I’ve never been able to answer.
For years, I’ve tried to push these memories down, telling myself that I was just a kid and probably misunderstood a lot of what was happening. It’s easier to think that maybe I imagined parts of it, or that my mind twisted things because I was too young to understand. But every now and then, something will trigger that feeling again, and it’s like I’m right back in that room, trying to convince myself that it’s nothing. But it’s hard to shake the feeling that whatever it was, it wasn’t something good.
And this is where it gets even harder to talk about. When you asked me about my family the other night, I felt something in me crack open. It was like a door creaking open in the back of my mind—a door I’ve always tried to keep shut. The more I think about it, the more I feel like opening that door will bring something back into my life that I’m not ready to face. I don’t know what’s behind it, but I’ve spent years keeping it closed for a reason. And now, I’m terrified that by telling you about it, I’m inviting something into our lives that I can’t take back. What if it’s not just memories I’m unlocking? What if there’s something more?
I’ve never been able to explain this fear before, but it’s always been there. A part of me that feels like it’s waiting for the moment when everything falls apart, when you see the parts of me that don’t fit with the life we’re building. I don’t want to burden you with this, but I also don’t want to hide it from you anymore. You’ve been so patient and understanding, and I don’t want to lose that. But I’m scared—scared that if I open this door, you’ll see a side of me that I’ve been trying to keep locked away. A side of me that I don’t fully understand.
I’m not saying any of this to scare you, but it’s not something I’ve ever been able to fully understand myself. That’s why I’m so afraid to talk about it—I don’t want you to see me differently or think that I’m bringing something bad into our lives. I guess I’ve been waiting for the moment when everything just falls apart, when you see the darkness in me and decide it’s too much.
I don’t want to overwhelm you with too much all at once. Maybe this is a lot to take in already. But I thought it was important to start somewhere, even if it’s just a little bit. I care about you more than I can say, and I don’t want my past to come between us, but I also don’t want to keep it from you.
If you want to know more, I’ll try to explain, but it’s hard for me to talk about it all at once. I hope you can understand that I’m not trying to hide anything—I just don’t want to mess this up. I’m telling you this because I care about you and want to be honest, even though it scares me more than I can say.
Thank you for being patient with me, and for being the wonderful person you are.
-Me
Comments (3)
See all