The Power of Words or No Words

“We all have our secrets. I hold mine. To withhold words is power. But to share our words with others, openly and honestly, is also power.” (Terry Tempest Williams)

There are a good number of people who I have words for. Words which I have not shared, but likely implied with my lack of sharing. Still, to keep my words to myself and store them in my journals, is, as Williams notes, a type of power. This was a new observation, though perhaps an obvious one. But maybe Williams is saying something more than how to keep my words to myself, maybe she is saying I have words for the world, even if the world is only my own world, and to withhold them is power. Which, when I am honest about this assessment, does mean I am the keeper of secrets and maybe that’s not as negative of a notion as I seemed to think it to be.

And yet I love words and the power they hold and the power that seeps from me as I wield them, which is sometimes a power for good and sometimes a power that is ambivalent and sometimes it’s a power that intends to make someone feel some damn shame for once in their lives. But allow me to reverse for a moment, and return to the first part of the quote. We all have secrets. How true this is and yet, it is something I tend to forget as I move through the world. It’s interesting to note that some things are secrets to some people and not for others. And sometimes even when a secret is known, it might act like it’s still a secret.

Here’s what I mean:

Upon moving to a new town and not knowing anyone, I got myself caught up in some Basketball. And as much as I want to use my words to tell you about basketball, I’m going to tell you a secret instead. One of the guys I met was the sweetest of guys, but also a competitor. Father of two. And he welcomed me from the get-go. Over the course of a few weeks I got to know him better, then we crossed paths off the court and got to know each other a bit more. Even still, some secrets lingered, both his and mine.

My secret in this new town is that I was a pastor for 17 years. I tend to hold this secret, even now, as I reckon with how I might release the power in sharing it. His secret on the other hand is the type of secret that isn’t so much of a secret if you know him, but it’s the type of secret that if you showed up in his life after the secret, then he’s probably not going to tell it to you.

I wonder how he’d tell it to someone who doesn’t already know it. The thing is, it would have been an impossible thing to hide. Death is like that. So when his partner, the mother of his children, died, it's not like nobody would find out. In fact, from the looks of it, a vast number were heartbroken and loved her dearly. My new friend included, and maybe most of all.

But that’s not actually the secret and since I haven’t told you yet, even though it’s not really a secret in the sense that certain people know, it feels awkward to be one with the power to share it. Like I could just type it out right here. A few words, and done.

It’s too heavy for that though. You need to know I feel the weight even now, even if I don’t understand why, because when I found out about the secret that I’m not sure my new friend even knows I know, it cut me to the heart. My breath actually caught in my chest. A silent gasp. I tried not to cry right there in the restaurant. As I type this out, processing in real time, it is hitting me… what Terry Tempest Williams says is true in a way I didn’t realize until I made it to the end of this reflection: To withhold words is power.

And it is not my secret to tell.