It's no secret that kids keep secrets from their parents. Whether it's a small fib about finishing their vegetables or a bigger lie about their whereabouts, children are known to keep things hidden from their parents. While some may argue that it's a natural part of growing up, others see it as a cause for concern. The truth is that there's no one-size-fits-all answer to this issue, as every family dynamic is different. However, it's important for parents to understand why their children may be keeping secrets, and how they can foster an environment of trust and open communication.
I had a morning paper route that required me to wake up at 3:30 am every day. Not wanting to wake my parents up, I would go outside each morning and pee in the yard before heading to the paper drop location. My father had a hedgerow alongside our driveway that consisted of eight bushes.
Every morning I would pee on the same bush, the second one from the end. It didn't take long before the bush decayed. He planted a new one in its spot, and I ruined it the same way. This went on for three years. He was baffled as to why no bush would grow in that one spot. I lost track of how many times he replaced the bush. A few years later, things got even more interesting.
After graduating high school, I quit the paper route and went to college out of state. Miraculously, his next attempt at replacing the bush was a success. The following summer he had a perfect hedgerow. He never figured out what had happened, and I never said anything about it.
That was forty-five years ago.
When I was in grade school, there was a stray black cat that would hang out in our neighborhood. My parents told me we could not adopt it and I really wanted to keep it. We lived in a one-story rancher, and once my bedroom door at night was shut I would let the little cat in through the window. For weeks I fed it and let it sleep in my bed. When my mother found out, her jaw dropped.
You can imagine my mother’s face when she came in one morning and saw her daughter cuddling with a straggly-haired stray.
I'm sick. Not the “I'm a disgusting person” type of sick, but actually sick.
Two years ago, I was diagnosed with a lymph node tumor. There are things in my neck and chest area nearby—I still don't know what it is. I literally gave my first blood test two years ago. There was actually a small lump on my neck, only one, that made me and my parents think, “It ain't that serious”. However, the reports said otherwise. They were shocking—apparently, I had more than eight tumors spread across my neck.
It has been two years. I look perfectly fine from the outside. But every night I battle pain. I don't tell them because we can't afford to get it fixed. After all, my mom is the only one working, so I can't put any more pressure on her.
I can manage it, mom. Trust me.
I have serious kleptomania and my parents have no clue!
I’ve always had it. When I was a kid and we used to visit our relatives' place, I always swiped something from there. Nobody would notice. I would go to school and I would swipe other kids’ pens, pencils, erasers, and sharpeners. This slowly got worse and I started swiping toys from relatives' places. It could be a toy car or Legos. I knew it was harmless, and maybe that’s why I never stopped.
By the time I was a teenager, I would go to these supermarkets and flick small chocolates...just put them in my pocket and walk like nothing ever happened. If I felt adventurous, I would go talk to the cashier about what a mess the supermarket was.
When I was fifteen, my cousin's brother moved to live with us. One day, he suggested that we should flick something—and the mischief in me lit up. So we went into a newly opened supermarket and we started searching for something to steal. He spotted a deodorant bottle and we started planning. He hid it in his pants, and we planned to walk out in a way that people wouldn’t notice. The plan was that I would walk very close to him so that nobody would notice the bulge in his pants.
That looked very awkward I guess because two of the staff members started running towards us when we were almost at the door. Oh, how we ran out of the place! We never looked back; we just ran until we couldn’t anymore. It was fun, but we never spoke of it after that.
I’m working on it now—I still have the urge to just take something and run away—but it’s in control.
I was around nine years old at that time. My grandfather was a regular smoker, and his stuff was always lying around in his room. I was a curious kid and wanted to know how they tasted.
I lived in a small town, so power cuts were a thing. I was in the room with my grandmother and grandfather—I was playing with paper and matchsticks, and suddenly, the power was out. This was my chance. So, I grabbed one and had a puff. I felt terrible and threw it away immediately. My grandparents probably thought that I had lit the paper I was playing with.
If anyone from my family had found out about this then they would have beaten the living daylight out of me.
I am moving to Finland, which is on the other side of the world from where I currently live—at the time of writing this. Two years from now. But here's the thing...I’m probably going to tell my parents next year when I turn 17...
My parents are old and feeble now, and I'm not exactly a spring chicken anymore. My mother likes to remember things: She can't remember what you told her two minutes ago but remembers every little thing about her children growing up.
Not long ago, she remembered how I went through Europe on a Eurail pass in the 1970s. I sat up straight and said, “What Eurail pass? I never bought a Eurail pass”. "Oh yes", she said, "You wrote all about it in your letters. How you went to England, to Norway, to Belgium... Those Eurail passes were cheap, and that's how you got around Europe".
I shook my head. She got something wrong. Then it dawned on me. I must have lied. I never told her that I hitch-hiked. Of course. I never told her.
"Oh yeah," I said to my mom, "those Eurail passes were cheap alright".
Yes, I grew up, got married, got a job, had kids, had more contacts, and hid more and more.
Some secrets are for you, and some secrets are for the protection of others.
You can’t always tell what's on your mind when you're trying to protect someone. Emotions are very useful tools. They tell us immediately what we are thinking, so we know whether we are doing right or wrong. It is good to have a clear conscience.
I have a 90-year-old grandma, and last year, tragedy struck my family—one of my grandmother's grandchildren left us for good. Everyone in the family kept visiting her, without telling her anything. Her kids even told the neighbors not to say anything, fearing that she could not accept the sad news.
She still doesn't know it, but one of her grandchildren is gone. To tell the truth, whenever I saw her, it always felt a little inhuman, a little cruel. However, my family was afraid that she could not cope with it and finally decided not to tell her. They were trying to protect her from the harsh truth.
It was a secret she did not know, but it was hers alone.
Once, at a physics department meeting, I asked the other professors, “How many of you made gunpowder when you were a kid?” About two-thirds raised their hands.
I found chemistry to be pretty boring, except for explosives. In New York City in the 1950s there was even a store that specialized in selling dangerous chemicals to youngsters. It was called “Wynn Chemical”. If you were under 13 you needed an adult to come with you. I recall waiting in line behind a young kid and his grandmother. When they got to the front he asked for “one ounce of potassium nitrate, one ounce of powdered charcoal, and one ounce of sulfur”.
Those are the three ingredients in classical gunpowder, although the ratios are not 1:1:1. The sales clerk asked if the grandmother approved, and she did. He didn’t say a word about what the kid was obviously going to make—and neither did I—I doubt very much if the grandmother knew.
At home, I would sit at my desk with a homemade scale—I used coins as weights—and mix the ingredients. Then I would put them on a piece of cardboard, attach a short fuse—those could also be bought at Wynn—open the window, put it all on the sill, light the fuse, and close the window. Then I would watch the flash and smoke and see how cleanly it all burned.
One day, after I had been doing this, my mom came into the room. My heart jumped when she said that a policeman had seen some smoke from my window—I was on the third floor of an apartment house, across the street from St. Mary’s Park—and was investigating. I knew I was busted. He came into my room and asked what I was doing. I told him I was doing chemistry experiments. He looked at me, and at my desk, and said, “Oh…” and then turned and left.
I realized that what he thought he had seen was not an out-of-control teenager, but a boy genius, a young scientist, one of those types he had read about in the newspapers or seen depicted on TV. I knew better; I was just making gunpowder and other explosives. But I fit into a stereotype that was beyond his ken, and he seemed to be the one who was embarrassed. Through some miracle, I had survived the encounter. I was highly amused at the way I had survived.
My mom seemed happy enough too. If the officers—presumed to be experts—were satisfied, so was she.
In high school, I had a friend who had an unhappy story. He was badly burned by an explosive experiment gone wrong, and his parents took away all his chemicals.
Please don’t take my story as an excuse to make your own explosives or to encourage your children to do so. It is dangerous. And teenagers and preteens love to do dangerous things. Until they get hurt, they feel invulnerable. Take care.
I am part of the LGBTQ+ community. I use she/they pronouns. I identify as female but I have a girlfriend. This is completely normal; nothing is wrong with this, right? Wrong. My parents are extremely against the concept.
This saddens me because I love my parents—but if I tell them this secret, they will disown me. The only person in my family who I can trust with this secret is my brother. That’s why I plan to come out to him soon.
I definitely have more secrets but this is all I can think of for now.
I never told my mom that I found my biological father, my stepmother, and my other half-brother through a private investigator. I didn’t tell her because I thought it would hurt her feelings and she would think that I didn’t love the man I call “Dad”. The man I call “Dad” adopted me when they got married. A year later, they had my half-brother—who I know and claim.
In the end, heartbreak caught up to me. My biological father and his family made it crystal clear that they don’t want to get to know me.
The story goes something like this.
I was dating this perfect girl. She wasn’t perfect, but she was pretty darn close. She was kind, sweet, funny, intelligent—essentially, everything that I could have wanted in a girl, right down to an amazing smile.
When I introduced her to my mom, they instantly clicked. My mom even said she saw me settling down with her. She became my ex’s greatest fan. The admiration was mutual. My ex loved my mom’s personality and her sweetness as well.
I had been planning our future together, both in my head and out in the open. We would move in together, our fingers entwined, looking at apartments together, and talking about how lovely it would be to have one of them to ourselves.
Then, suddenly something awful happened. I don't have the audacity to tell my mom about what had happened that led to our ugly breakup. She still thinks we are together. She is happy that I am happy.
No mom. No. We are not together anymore.
I’ve always kept big secrets from my parents because their reaction to everything was exaggerated, but the biggest secret I kept from them is that my ex-husband cheated on me.
Believe it or not, there was an even bigger reason why we got divorced, but also he cheated on me—twice. For technical reasons, I had to explain to my parents many details about my marriage when I was going through a divorce, but I never told them about the cheating because I know one of two horrible things would have happened: My father would get so mad and he would literally end me ex-husband’s life, or he would have a heart attack.
I know how protective they are with me, what they know about it it’s already too much for them to handle, telling them that part wouldn’t change anything, it would only hurt them even more.
Sometimes, I sneak out of the house at midnight to meet up with my friend who lives about a half mile away. Sometimes we go to the park, while other times we go to our old elementary school. We usually play card games and light small fires. I bring my skateboard on all of these excursions. It's usually harmless fun, but one night, I had the worst of luck. While I was skating, I didn’t see a rock and fell.
I broke my arm, and I broke the tip of my left ulna right near my wrist. I had to wear a cast for eight weeks because of a stupid mistake.
I am 21 years old. I have hidden this from both of my parents since I was in middle school. My biggest, darkest secret was an intense one—I wanted to be a girl.
This year, I started to transition. I only told my dad because I actually trust him the most.
My mom still doesn’t know, and I feel awful for not telling her. However, she’s really religious and would start an exorcism and stuff like that if she finds out. I’m really just afraid of telling her—obviously, she will find out.
Near the end of my first year in college, I moved out of the apartment where I lived with my friends. I moved in with my boyfriend. For the next two years of college, we lived together and made many memories.
It was the best of times, but there was one thing always weighing me down —neither of my parents knew about it. It will always be a secret.
I was 15, a sophomore in high school, and my parents were very strict about me dating or hanging around with boys. They were completely against it. I was not allowed to have any guy friends at all. So of course when I was in my secret boyfriend’s car while he totaled it, I hid it from them. I wasn’t allowed to be in his car under any circumstances! Whoops.
I live fairly close to the ocean, and there was a hurricane off the coast. No seriously dangerous conditions here, but it was raining pretty hard and they dismissed us from school early.
One day, as my boyfriend drove me home from school, we heard some sound in the back seat—as if the door might have been slightly open or something. As a young and inexperienced driver, he absent-mindedly turned around for an instant to look at it. All of a sudden, BOOM. We rear-ended the truck in front of us.
It’s absolutely pouring rain, and the other driver comes out with a baby—they were both completely unharmed—I look at my boyfriend, he seems fine. I felt a bit shaken up, but no visible injury. The entire front of his little sedan had been crushed. Our doors wouldn’t open, so we had to crawl into and out of the back seat to get out of the car.
Ten miles from my house, I panicked, left the scene, and walked to the nearest gas station to call a friend to pick me up. I waited on the curb—miserable in the rain and still terribly anxious from the impact.
My friend arrived and took me home, no questions asked, and we pretended that we had been together the whole time. I later realized that my chest and shoulders were bruised pretty badly from slamming into the dash, and then the locked seat belt, but I figured there was no internal damage or anything to worry about. We played it cool! My parents never knew.
My boyfriend stayed and handled the insurance, and the fact that I was ever there was quietly covered up. Thank God! No injuries, no trouble.
One day, maybe when we’re old and reflecting, I’ll tell them my little secret, but for now, I’ll let them think I always follow the rules!
Well, the first night my friends and I arrived in New York, we didn’t spend the night in the Indonesian Consulate. We did something else completely different and much riskier...sorry mom and dad!
They didn’t have any rooms for us that night, so we actually pulled an all-nighter at JFK Airport until the next day. Not only that but also at 3 am, I got bored and I took the subway to Times Square—just to see the lights.
I think this is why my mom and dad can’t see any Facebook updates from me. I think I may have hidden my notifications from them at that time so they wouldn’t see the evidence of my escapades, and then I sort of forgot to undo it…
I'm an introvert, and I am in the early years of my adulthood— where I cannot control my you-know-what urges. So I get on these websites where people chat with unknown people.
One day, I made a bold action that makes me cringe to this day. I accidentally sent some “au naturel'' pictures to a guy who doesn't know me nor has any idea who I am. Hopefully, I don't get into trouble and face any repercussions. I didn't send my face or anything!
This still makes me laugh. I was absolutely not allowed to watch any movie rated over PG-13 for what felt like ages. My mom was super strict about it; she would find out what movies would be shown at birthday parties when I was 12 and if they were PG-13, guess who wasn’t allowed to go?
When I was 13, I still wasn’t allowed to watch R-rated movies, but for some reason, I desperately wanted to see The Silence of the Lambs. I managed to get my hands on a copy and, as I was lucky enough to have my own TV and VCR, this was 1996, I put it on one Friday night, shut my bedroom door, and turned down the volume.
Literally right as the title screen appeared, my mom knocked and entered. She looked at the TV screen, then at me, and her expression was priceless. But rather than get mad, she said, “OK. I’m going to let you watch this so you’ll see why I said you couldn’t see it”. The door closes, my heart rate returns to normal, and the movie continues.
That movie scared the bejesus out of me. I slept on the floor in my mom’s bedroom with a lamp beside me for weeks. She was gracious enough not to say “I told you so”, but she didn’t need to.
A few days back, my dad suffered cardiac pain, and he was rushed to the hospital—he had 98% blockage and had to undergo an angioplasty.
So he was admitted to the hospital and his surgery was planned for the next day. My sister called me to inform me about his condition. Then, the cardiologist came to the room and he told my dad that they will take him up for an angioplasty at 10 o’clock in the morning. He then turned to our family and said, “You all may leave and take rest, the nurse will take care of Sir”.
My dad replied, “Please make everyone go and let Pooja only stay. She is my only child who doesn’t cry.”
I smiled at dad and talked to the doctor. After the doctor left, I told my dad that I will have a coffee from the canteen and come back soon. I reached downstairs and just broke down. I cried, cried, and cried. I love him way too much. I just could not see him lying down in an ICU bed being a doctor myself. I washed my face and came back to see if my dad had slept.
“What took you so long? You must be on the phone?” he said. I said obviously. He smiled, and I kissed him goodnight.
I made plans to run away. Multiple times. Plans that I never fully executed. I never quite left. I first wanted to when I was 12, but it never became more than just a thought I had often. At 13, I was standing at the door and almost left, but I’m glad I decided against it as I had nothing packed. Also, if I had left, who knows if I would’ve seen my mom again before she passed.
When I was 15, I thought about it again—but this time was different. I had my cousin who was in a similar situation and we thought this would be a great way to do it as we would have each other for protection. Unfortunately, my cousin’s father found out, so I had to break my morals and lie about it being purely my cousin’s plan.
I faked an offense in which I was taken away unlawfully when I was in the ninth grade. It was the time of the ninth-grade final results and I had got 88% in my finals. My report card was filled with four As and one B, and my mother—who is a very strict parent—had been scolding me every day since the results came out. Her wrath was brutal. It made me feel horrible. I felt depressed.
So when I was returning from the tuition class, I took a long route and came back home late. I then told my mother a fake story about being taken away. I did that because I wanted to take their attention off of my results. I know that it was an awful thing to do but I didn't know better then.
When I was about 13 or 14, I called some premium rate you-know-what lines.
This was a year or two before we got the Internet, and I can't remember where I got the numbers from—but I'm pretty sure they were overseas numbers as they came with some overcharging per-minute rate. Normally, these ended up on our home phone bill, and it was obviously me who made the calls.
However, I'm pretty sure that this event coincided with some articles in the news about phone engineers tapping lines to make calls to these kinds of numbers, and I have a feeling that my dad might have managed to get the charges refunded!
Anyway, one thing is clear—I am not going to bring that one up with them ever to find out their side of the story.
I was quite a lonely boy and I longed for a relationship. On holiday, I met a girl who seemed interested in me, and we had fun: We walked, climbed, sailed together, and did a lot of talking. At the end of the holiday, we exchanged addresses and corresponded for a year or so—I kept all her letters.
One day, she wrote to tell me about her new boyfriend. He was wonderful—apparently Being rather immature, I felt betrayed. I had no reason to feel this way, we were only friends and I should have felt glad for her, but hey. Teenage angst.
I took all her letters, threw them into my metal litter bin, and set fire to them—in my bedroom!
I had the window open, and there was no one else in the house, so that was cool. I remember the immense satisfaction of watching those letters burn. When the bin cooled, I decided to bury the ashes, and with them my heart. I lifted the bin—and there was a perfect bottom-of-the-bin-shaped hole in the polyester carpet.
My heart did not just sink—it scuttled itself. I knew that Armageddon would ensue were this to be discovered, since my father was fairly physical in terms of punishment.
In a panic, I looked around and realized that my room was a perfect oblong. The bin-shaped burn was in the left corner and my bed was in the opposing right corner.
I have, up to this day, never worked so hard or fast in my life. I removed the furniture from my room, managed to lift the carpet, desperately salvaging the carpet tacks, turned the carpet around, nailed it back down, and replaced the furniture, with the bed covering the offending burn.
My parents wondered why I suddenly announced my decision to assist with the housework by taking responsibility for all upstairs vacuuming and cleaning. They were surprised but pleased: I was desperate to keep my misconduct concealed.
I am now 59. My father has passed away, but my mother still lives in the family home. And the burn is still under my old bed. 45 years later, my crime remains hidden.
My sister was the person who introduced social media to my mom. And from that day, my mom keeps a track of every family member, scouting through their feed, and wishing them on family WhatsApp groups. She now holds the reins of many WhatsApp groups too! Although, the innocent her, still thinks of people with more followers as popular!
The other day, on the breakfast table, she pointed out the lack of social life I have. Then she taunted me BIG time, saying: “You should socialize a bit, meet new people, and gain a bit of popularity! Your cousin has 1000 friends on Facebook, so many people see his pictures, so many people follow him, so many love the way he lives”.
There I realized the biggest and most recent secret of my life. The secret is that I write on Quora! The secret is that around two million people have read my answers so far, that around 4.5k good people follow this lazy introvert who doesn’t even exist for the family WhatsApp groups, that some of my works do bring a smile to someone’s face, that though not fans but I’ve got few admirers. Whoof!
Every time my mother made a meal that included food that we hated, my brother and I would start a fight at the table.
This used to result in us being banished from the dinner table and eating in a different room, at which point we would open a window and throw the food items out the window. The best part?
Our parents never figured it out.
I knew when my father was cheating on my mother with our neighbor… but I didn't tell her for one very important reason. I knew she had made his life a nightmare with her constant torment. I wished they'd just get a divorce. I have the texts they sent each other, and I have seen him coming out of the neighbor's house when she was alone. I know everything. Yet I keep quiet.
I remember that when I was six years old, I was curious to see if a girl could pee like a man. Plus, I thought it would be fun to aim for the toilet bowl while standing up. So one day, I decided to rush to the bathroom and test it out—I don’t know why I thought that this was a good idea.
Not surprisingly, I failed…obviously! I was so embarrassed, but it got EVEN WORSE—my aunt opened the door to find me standing there with my pajamas and underwear soaking wet. She was nice enough to keep it a secret from my parents but she laughed the entire time.
I had two diaries. One my parents knew about, the other they didn’t.
I have been writing journals since I was seven or eight years old. At first, the journals were just scribbles of my daily routines, later they became more personal. So, I had two: One that would lie in plain sight, containing what I did in school, my schedules, and reminders, and another one. The second one was intended for something COMPLETELY different. IT stayed inside my pillow case, and there I wrote "God knows what” things that I don’t remember anymore. I think I made up stories back then on those pages.
Anyway, that was a hidden pleasure. Writing when no one was looking, keeping it inside the pillow case, and trying to not attract any kind of attention to it.
I still have two diaries. One for “Things to remember”, one for “Things to forget but I can’t”.
We never grow up, do we?
When I was around nine, we had a little nest of sparrows in one of our bedroom windows. We all loved them dearly—even their noisy chirps. The whole family used to rally around them. Occasionally, we even left around some food when they were away.
When they laid three eggs, my mother strictly told me to keep my hands away because she didn’t want me to ruin the eggs with my scent.
One afternoon, I was alone with the nest. I decided to pick one of the eggs, and I was thinking “This isn’t so bad”—until it was. I tossed it up a couple of times and caught it. However, the third time I dropped it and broke it. Oops!
I quietly cleaned up the little mess and kept the shell back in its place, so the broken part was hidden. A few days later, when only two chicks appeared in the nest, my mother said, “I guess the third egg must have gone bad”. I kept sheepishly quiet.
I remember being five years old, my first day in school, and realizing I could never tell my parents lots of things about my life. So I didn't.
I remember once in high school, my mom was driving and she really got me angry. So I told her all the bad things I thought I'd done—and it was super intense. "I got juiced up, etc..." We stopped at a red light. She turned and looked at me and said "No you haven't. Don't be ridiculous." And that was all there was to that.
They're both gone now. I don't think they needed to know a lot of things—I never told my mom that her home had been vandalized by partying teenagers who'd broken every window, set a campfire in the living room, and tossed out her and my dads treasured things on the lawn and scrawled their own names on the walls… Still, I most definitely wish they would tell me more of their secrets. I think I would be much wiser now if they had, but probably much sadder too.
I miss them, and I feel like I barely knew them.
I can not tell my parents that I'm still a virgin even after almost three years of my marriage. My husband has erectile dysfunction. Within a few months of marriage, when he never went ahead of foreplay and stuff, I had to share this with my mother. She shared the fact with my sister in laws who further tried to worsen the situation for us by making my husband go against me.
A year into marriage and we lived like strangers out of love. We never went on honeymoon, only family trips, and he never took me to his workplace which was a town 500 kilometers away from his hometown where I lived with his parents for a year.
After a lot of heated arguments between our families, it was decided that he'll get himself treated and I'll live wherever he lives, with him. A LOT of drama happened. Just because I was so much in love with him, I gave this relationship another chance.
Today, to be honest, while living together separately, away from his family, we've grown so fond of each other, our bond has strengthened so much that the person who never expressed his feelings for me expresses it openly. I was already in love, and now he is too. Romance has grown tenfold.
But the love-making part hasn't happened yet.
He and I, both are still virgins. Nothing like we didn't try, we did, and he went through medication of all sorts. He did whatever he could, for the proper consummation of this marriage, but still, we failed.
I sometimes break down whenever we try doing 'it' and it doesn't happen. I'm in my late twenties and he is in his early thirties and this makes it even worse for both of us. We desire each other. But it doesn't happen.
My tears make him feel worthless. He consoles me in his own way. Feels sorry for me. He says, “Don't worry babe, I'll make everything alright. Just give me some time. I'll make it up to you”.
I somehow feel that it'll never happen to us. We'll remain this way. Cuddling couple who never go beyond it.
I CANNOT let my parents know about this. I do not want another chaos in my married life. I do not want to leave him just because he can't satisfy me in bed. I love him too much.
My parents now know that everything is going fine between us. Our private life is great, for they can see our chemistry in our pictures together—that's because our love shows in it. They know everything but the truth.
I know they'll come to know about it eventually. I fear that day all the time. We fear losing each other. Only for this reason. He still fears that my family will break this marriage if it doesn't happen soon. I've told him that I'll not leave him for this reason. I'm not with him for getting laid. I'm with him because I love him unconditionally. I care for him too much.
There is a top secret that I'm hiding from my parents and I would never like them to know about that.
When I was in ninth grade, I had a crush on one of the most beautiful girls in my class. I was not able to gather the courage to express interest in her. At that time, I had gotten my first phone, So I texted her stating, “If you love me then it's very good otherwise it would be very bad”. Unfortunately, her PARENTS read that message and filed a complaint against me.
I was in deep trouble. I got to know this from one of my teachers, who was very close to that girl. The moment I came to know this, I was shocked—I broke my SIM card and threw it somewhere. I was in deep trouble because the girl’s uncle was a very dangerous man. I apologized to them and requested to withdraw the complaint. Luckily, they did it and I was saved.
This was an incident in my life that my friends and I still talk about and laugh our lungs out.
My parents never came to know about this—fortunately.
On December 1, 2015, my friend was going to start a start-up company and seek my support. I gave a nod but didn't tell my parents. I went to his hometown for support, and we started it. It was good at first, and I thought it would merely take a month, so I lied to my parents about my location and my work. Days went on, and he told me to be there with him full-time—and that's when things got worse. I was still not in the right place to tell them the truth.
Days went on and we tried a lot to make it a successful project, but we failed each and every time. There had been many ups and downs, and I had many occasions where I thought it was better to give up.
My parents know virtually nothing about me. My latest secret, though, would probably be the ‘‘worst” thing I've done—in my Chinese parents’ eyes.
If they ever find out or I tell them, if the right time comes, they will give me an hour-long lecture, take away all my devices, possibly kick me out of the house temporarily—you get the idea.
Today is Friday. I went out with my friends on Tuesday. Guess what we did? I pierced my ears. I already had one regular piercing on each earlobe which I got four years ago when I was ten. I got three more on my left ear.
I’ve managed to hide it because my hair is long and thick, and my usual hairstyle hides it anyway. Although, I’ve had to take more care to hide it because of the wind.
I never told my parents about my affair with one of our neighbors’ aunts, who stayed in our colony. She was new in the city and close to our family. Her son also studied at my school and I used to take care of him. One day, things between us changed drastically...and in a bad way. We got very close, but no one ever found out about the truth—I really felt ashamed for what we have done.
Generally, I don't need to hide anything from my parents because they are cool and they understand me.
But they don't know one thing. They think that they raised a very strong girl who is capable of doing anything.
Their so-called strong girl is not so strong. She cries. She cries for even the silliest things like when a puppy looks cute when she is not allowed to eat panipuri, or even when she can’t fit into her own old jeans.
I used to cry more than three years ago, but I learned to control my emotions or at least not to show them on my face. I may sometimes just pretend to be that strong girl.
When I was very small, my friend showed me a trick with Silly Putty, the stretchy, rubbery sort of material. She smoothed her hair flat across her hand, rolled the putty into a ball, and rolled the ball right across her hair. Wow! It didn’t stick! How cool!
In bed that night, for some reason, I thought of this. I went to my table and found a Silly Putty. I then decided to replicate the trick…. in the dark.
As you can imagine, the putty got stuck in my hair. The more I tried to get it out, the more hair got tangled in it. I was reaching desperation. There was no way I could let my parents know this—I’d die from the embarrassment.
So in the middle of the night, I found a pair of scissors, hacked the chunk of hairy putty out from my hair, opened my window, and threw the glob out into the rainy darkness.
I don’t know if it was ever found.
When I was in high school my parents got divorced. They didn’t tell me the truth, maybe because they didn’t want to hurt my feelings, but it had already been too late—I accidentally found the divorce papers under the bed. I put the papers back and didn't tell my parents anything.
I kept it a secret for nearly seven or eight years, until I found their remarriage certificate, again accidentally! Still, they don’t know that I knew everything. The point is we are happy together in the end.
My brother, because of his studies, lives apart from us. My dad undoubtedly loves us equally, but he does not show his love to my brother. What I mean to say is if I am demanding anything worthy or anything else, my dad fulfills it right away, but in the case of my brother, my dad shows some restrictions before fulfilling it.
So, when my brother visited Manali last week, he didn't tell my family about his secret trip. Since his friends made the plan in one hour, he had to go there without any preparation. He went there with his pocket money only, no extra money, which was inadequate for the trip to Manali. So he borrowed the rest of the money from his friends. At the end of the trip when he had to repay his money to his friends, he had no money left...and this is where I came in.
Since he could not tell mom and dad about this matter, he asked me for help. He said he is going to withdraw some money from dad’s debit card, and what I have to do is just delete the message about his withdrawal from dad's phone which is linked to the debit account. I did it secretly—my dad and mom still don’t know.
I haven't told my parents how much money I have in my bank account. I have told them half of what I have. My intentions are to save for the rainy day. If I tell them how much money I have, their expectations are going to skyrocket.
And how I saved the money is yet another secret I have kept from my parents—one that I can never tell them. I have never told them my exact salary. I have always told them about 20% less, and that is how I have been able to hoard the amount that I haven't told them about.
Although my parents warned me a billion times not to do it, I joined choruses until I graduated from high school. It’s because I love singing more than maybe anything else.
One day, at a hotel we all stayed at for the congress we organized, on the very last night of it, I played Band Hero with a Swedish, an American, and an Egyptian guy at the bar of the hotel. I sang and they tried to play the instruments. As we kept on going, people filled the room to listen and watch. I got so many compliments on my voice that day, and even two of those friends I made there insisted I go on professionally in the music field. After that moment, I knew what I had to do.
My parents have no idea, but I’m planning on doing so in the near future.
So when I was 11 years old, I saw one of my friends wearing headphones and I was fascinated. As usual, I demanded it from my parents and as typical Indian parents, they denied it for obvious reasons. But I was determined to buy it. During that time I used to cycle a lot. So I came up with a devious plan—I told my parents that my bicycle chain is broken and told them that it will take ₹1000 to repair it. So my father agreed, but he wanted me to bring a receipt.
Then I took ₹1000 and bought headphones. I had ₹100 extra so I went to the repair shop and told the person to give me a receipt, which was ₹100.
So I used my big brain and added a zero at the end, and I gave it to my father. Then, I called my big brother–who was working at the time—and told him to tell my father that he gave me the headphones. Firstly he was reluctant to tell my father about the gift, but then he told my father. So this is the secret that I am still hiding from my parents. They still believe that the headphones were gifted by my brother and that ₹1000 was used in repairing my bicycle.
I am 95% certain that I have a schizoid personality disorder and bipolar II disorder. Nothing really wrong with that, but here's the thing...
I hate it when people worry about me, and I don’t want to be forced to get help for something I don’t actually consider a problem. Bipolar II disorder, however, definitely has its problematic moments. Also, my parents are pretty much bound to overreact because I’ve been hiding the schizoid personality disorder issues from them for years and my paternal grandmother had bipolar I disorder.
My parents are gone, but as children, my three sisters and I kept lots of little things hidden from them. In fact, just this morning, I told my sisters that I bought the same kind of clock that we had on our TV stand as kids. And one of my sisters reminded me of the CONSPIRACY we were involved in years ago when we had accidentally broken that clock—she had replaced it and our dad never found out.
Actually, if they were here now, I would tell them and we’d all have a good laugh.
During the years that my mom was suffering and fighting cancer, I didn’t visit her much. Unfortunately, I never told her the real reason. The real reason was that I spent some time behind bars… I did not want to make her worry about me, because I knew she would.
When my dad kicked me out at the age of 19, because I came home past my curfew, I moved into my then boyfriend’s house. He knew it, but he didn’t know about the scandal following the move-in. One day, my ex-boyfriend lost his temper—and things spiraled real quick. Suddenly, I knew I wanted out of this relationship and this house. A couple of seconds into our heated argument, his mom intervened when he pushed me. She begged me not to call the officers or I’d have to leave the house.
It was almost 2 am and I had nowhere to go or no one to call. I played nice and asked if I could sleep on the sofa that night. Once everyone, including his parents, left the next morning to go to work, I called my best friend who helped me pack my stuff and took me to her place for a night. After that day, I never saw my ex-boyfriend again. I lived in my car for about two weeks.
I came home when no one was home to shower, or I showered at the gym because I was too prideful to call my dad and run back home.
Actually not just from my parents, but I also have secrets that not even my friends know. This is the biggest secret, and actually the biggest truth of my life: I'm infertile. My mom thinks I'm just missing my periods, but actually, I did a lot of research, contacted online health firms, and finally understood that I'm infertile. I'm gonna be this way for my whole life. No medication, no treatment can change this.
I know they will find out as soon as I'm diagnosed. My mother has taken me to some doctors, but of course, they cannot tell me anything without any tests, so I'm just waiting.
When my father was laid to rest, my mother collected $80,000 in life insurance. She used it to pay off a bunch of bills, but once that was done, she still had $40,000 left over. I’m her adult son and the only person she trusted with her money. I had her write four checks for $10,000 each—to me, my wife, and our two kids. This was the most she could “gift” to us without it being taxed.
I told her that I would keep the $40,000 in savings for her and that she could get it back any time she wanted. But the truth was different. With the money, we paid down our credit cards. If she wanted that money back, I could get it for her, but I’d have to take out a loan or charge it back on my credit cards.
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