“I am not my secrets”

There is beauty in mystery, a beauty I feel I am lacking. Albert Einstein claimed that “the most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious.” More often than not, people keep their secrets bottled up. I have never taken that approach. Whether it be my deepest emotion or hardest experience, I somehow manage to inform the world. It could be that I spill my heart out because I seek the validation of outsiders, or maybe because saying it out loud helps me reconcile with what I am going through. I also happen to be intrigued by those who are closed and come off as mysterious. Thus, my trusting nature and ability to let people in has ultimately become my insecurity.

Every person has walls that can be broken down and layers that are covered. Similar to our secrets, our insecurities are usually kept private. However, neither of these hidden aspects of ourselves define us entirely. Whether you’re an open or closed book, you are more than your secrets and far greater than your insecurities.

It is easy for me to open up and share my flaws, but at times that attribute puts me at a disadvantage. I admit that feeling like an open book is an unusual insecurity. Gradually, however, I’ve come to terms with it, mainly because I find it more troubling to be alone in my thoughts than to just express my downfalls and welcome the support of others.

After many encounters with people who dread sharing their insecurities and seeing the effects on their mental health, I realized how therapeutic opening up can be. I finally concluded that possessing a mysterious edge is not worth the inner turmoil that comes with keeping my secrets private and dealing with anguish on my own. Breaking down my walls and uncovering these layers may not be the most grueling task; that’s not to say it’s a fruitless pursuit. I may be an open book, but it’s a book worth opening.