RISE, A Modern Guide for the Purpose Driven Woman Winter 2014 | Page 44

Transparency When Is it T Much? oo Have you ever wondered how much about your­ self to share and exactly how to do it? Yea, I did too one time and then... Written by Camden Hoch At 6 years old I knew we were different, or so I thought. My parents were young and had parties with their friends. It was the 70’s with strobe lights and Gladys Knight and the Pips on the stereo blasting “midnight train to Georgia”. My parents and their friends were funny to spy on because they were dancing, screaming, and falling down. You never knew what was going to happen. In the mornings, my brother and I cleaned up the stale cigarettes and left over hi-balls all over the house so we could make it look all pretty before they woke up. They would be so proud of us for making it look nice and mom would be in a better mood if everything was clean and put in its place. It’s exhausting thinking about pretending to be normal back then. What was normal anyway? I later learned that most people I knew had a secret in their family - alcoholism, adultery, anorexia, drugs and more. So I guess you could call us all normal. It wasn’t “Leave it to Beaver” but it’s what we knew. I grew up in the South where I was taught to be seen and not heard. My mother was an alcoholic and my Dad worked a lot.They both loved us very much but they were growing up too. I will confess that I was not much of a Georgia peach. I was a rebel with a cause. My cause was to fight back as much as possible so my parents would send me to boarding school. I just wanted to get away so that everything would be okay. I started sneaking my parents’ alcohol in 9th grade and it snowballed from there into smoking pot, cocaine, promiscuity and more. I set a very successful course for abusing myself and letting others abuse me too. I was a bully at times to many and I was dying inside. On the outside, as you might have guessed, everything looked pretty. On the inside, it was raw, painful and dark. How would I even begin to share my pain? If I did, what good would it even do? If it looked good on the outside, it must be ok on the inside.