Welcome to Wicked Wednesday! This week’s prompt is about skeletons in our closet.
Skeletons? What skeletons?
Up until I was 32, I didn’t have good sex, I didn’t have orgasms, I certainly didn’t have a sex blog. So no sexy skeletons.
Now at 35, I’ve never committed a crime – unless accidentally running a red light counts (even though I apologized to the empty air as it happened). I don’t lie – I simply don’t speak; a lie of omission, if you will. I keep my judgmental thoughts to myself or between John Brownstone and I (and he gives me the disapproving “Babygirl” if I get too bad). I don’t do much.
There are some who would probably consider my erotica writing and publishing a skeleton – or the fact that I keep it secret, a skeleton. Maybe so. But I don’t. That’s all that matters.
I don’t think I’m better than anyone for not having a skeleton or two in the closet.
I think I’m quite boring, actually.
Skeletons in the closet implies shame about something. My life is an open book – for those who ask the right questions. My erotic life is an open book – for anyone willing to read a while.
Are there things in my life that I wish had been different, were different, are different?
Yep. But they aren’t skeletons. They’re lessons.
My father had skeletons in his closet. I know that because as a child, he never talked about his childhood and told me fantastical stories about his life before I was born. Stories I found out after his death weren’t entirely true. He wanted to hide something about himself, something he wasn’t proud of. What he never realized is that he raised me better than he knew. I would never have judged him, even if I wish certain things hadn’t happened. He spent my entire life hiding his past, hiding what he considered skeletons. And now I may never know the truth, his truth.
That’s what skeletons do – they hide your truth. My truth can be pretty boring at times and it can be steamy. I see no reason to hide any of it.
No skeletons here. Just stories waiting to be written and questions waiting to be answered.
Skeletons hide your truth. That’s an interesting way to say that. I like it.
This is what you get when I write before drinking coffee – plain, simple, weird truth. 🙂
I tried to think of skeletons and couldn’t think of anything that I wouldn’t be willing to admit (under the right circumstances).
I’m sure there are millions of people who would love to be able to say that they have no skeletons in their closets. I agree, it’s something that shames a person or that they’re embarrassed about. Even something as simple as enjoying kinky sex, some probably still thinks that’s shameful and has it hiding in their closet.
Must have been kind of difficult learning about your dad’s “half truths” after his death, it was probably a good thing you were older and could better understand, huh? I think all parents have “half truths” they try to hide from their kids, just in order to prevent their kids from making the same mistakes (that turn into skeletons) that they did.
We could all say we have no skeletons, if we chose. You’re right, my kinky sex could be a skeleton – if I chose to look at it that way. No, I don’t advertise it to my vanilla world, but I’m not ashamed of it. Skeletons = shame of some sort.
From what I can tell from what I’ve pieced together, he had a hard life, and he may have done things he wished he hadn’t, but a lot of the things I learned after his death were things he had no control over – and some things he exaggerated to make himself seem more glamorous and interesting. I wish he had lived knowing that the people who loved him most never cared about that. He was an amazing person to us and his past is what made him who he was.
“they aren’t skeletons. They’re lessons.”
I totally agree. And many times when people finally talk about their ‘skeletons’ they realize that other people don’t react as badly to it as they thought they would.
That’s very true. I don’t talk about a lot for fear of a person’s reaction, but on an intellectual level, I know the reaction would be manageable.
I view myself as quite boring as well. And it’s too bad your dad didn’t realize that you wouldn’t judge him, that he felt the need to stick to the stories he probably told countless times to others as well.
Whatever he was ashamed of ran deep.
Boring can be a very good thing. We tend to stay out of trouble – the bad kind, lol.
[…] sex and kink – or even being poly – a “skeleton in my closet”? In her post, Skeletons, What Skeletons?, fellow blogger and writer Kayla Lords says that for her, it is not. She […]
Yes you are so, so right . . . it’s all “lessons” isn’t it!
Oh, and I love the “running the red light” . . . I’ve done exactly the same. LOL!!! (Thankfully long ago before all the CCTV cameras which are now on every corner).
Xxx – K
Oh good, it’s not just me. /giggles
And thank you. 🙂
Interesting post and perspective!
Thank you! It was strange to write – I don’t think of “skeletons” very often, lol.
Skeletons hide your truth……….hmmm, interesting phrase.
I protect my skeletons because all too often people take my skeletons(insecurities, things I hate about myself the most, and yes, things in my past of which I’m ashamed) and use them against me, to hurt me, and to return me to the time when I did indeed feel that shame so keenly.
I simply won;t allow anyone to have that power over me again.
I’m sorry that happens…
This may sound trite but it’s something I believe in firmly – we aren’t who we are today without what’s happened in our past – good or bad. I hate that the people in your life would do something cruel and hurtful to you because of your past. I think that says more about them than it does about you.