Secrets within a marriage

And not the ones you may think

Listen, do you want to know a secret?

When I was younger, I had a boyfriend with a family member who worked for one of those organisations - you know the ones that exist but don’t exist… whose buildings have nicknames like ‘The Doughnut’, ‘Box 500’ or are perhaps based in Hereford. I found this so intriguing - I used to ask him what he knew, what his family member had told him, any snippets of detail… I was way too young to think of my level of questioning being in any way inappropriate. Over the time we were together I gathered a nugget here, a little gem there. I marvelled at the juxtaposition of the person I had come to ‘know’ as my boyfriend’s relative versus the life they led that was ‘unknown’. It seemed unimaginably cool. I obviously expected my boyfriend to tell my EVERYTHING he knew. That’s what you do when you’re a couple, right?

Photo by Kristina Flour on Unsplash

Do you promise not to tell?

Over the time we were together, he did share some of it with me, although I’m sure even he didn’t know the half of it. When he dumped me, I was pretty distraught and mightily pissed off, so I (of course) proceeded to tell all my friends everything I knew about said top secret relative. My mates weren’t in the least bit interested, being a bunch of twenty-one year old girls, but still…there are reasons why some things really aren’t to be shared. #leakybucket

It got me thinking about how, if you live a life where you can’t share things with your loved ones - especially your partner - how do you actually manage that? My husband’s parents met while serving in the British Armed Forces. His dad worked in the Signals Corp, and his mum worked in Intelligence. HIs dad wasn’t able to discuss the technology he was working on with his mum, and his mum (who had higher security clearance) couldn’t discuss most things with his dad. What does that do to the ‘How was your day, dear?’ conversation?

‘I couldn’t bear that!’ I exclaim to my husband. ‘How could they not talk about those things - especially if they were really juicy and interesting??!?!’ I’m insatiably curious, it would drive me mad. He explained that they would just know not to ask. Wow, that’s professionalism. I’d be in full on interrogation mode (and then probably proceed to tell all my friends).

Photo by Vitolda Klein on Unsplash

We don’t talk about Fight Club

When I became an air traffic controller, I signed The Official Secrets Act, although I’m not entirely sure what for. I am allowed to tell you that.

I remember having to go through a lengthy security clearance process for the job itself. It took weeks due to what they referred to as ‘The Irish Problem’. (The ‘problem’ simply being that my parents are Irish). I joined the company just months after the Good Friday Agreement was signed, so it was still a sensitive time with respect to domestic terrorism, although pre 9/11. It seemed pretty fair that they wouldn’t want anyone with ‘malintent’ having responsibility for keeping planes apart…

I was finally awarded the requisite status, although I’m not allowed to tell you what that status is. It’s all very ‘Fight Club’. Fortunately my boyfriend (now husband) was in the same company at the time with the same level of clearance, so in the formative days of our relationship, everything was on the table. We had access to the same ‘TOP’ secrets and could talk about our work lives with freedom. [I feel compelled to note that whenever I talk about my air traffic career and other government related things I have experienced in public fora, I remain careful to only speak of things which are ‘in the public domain’.]

In the latter years of my corporate career I managed a lot of military personnel seconded into civilian roles pertaining to airspace activity, space flight, cyber security and the like. Every now and then one of them would be required to gain higher security status for activities I would not be privy to. I cannot define that ‘status’ in case I spontaneously combust (although it’s all detailed on the UK Government website if you’re feeling particularly inclined to deepen your knowledge). Questions would be asked not just about their backgrounds, but about all aspects of their lives - financial, personal, any other kind of ‘marriage secrets’ they may be harbouring. Basically any areas which could lead to them being vulnerable to blackmail. You really wouldn’t want to be having an affair and working at ‘The Doughnut’. How on earth would you keep track of what you could and couldn’t say to who? I found this level of ‘secret holding’ absolutely fascinating.

I’m sure they never discussed their work lives with their partners…or did they?

Emotional secrets

When I ran my coaching practice, I adhered to ethical boundaries on confidentiality regarding information I received, much in the same way that doctors and therapists do. If I needed to ‘share’ something from my work life, I would do so with my supervisor, in line with the appropriate code of ethics, not with my partner or anyone else. My husband accepted this without question, and would never expect or ask me to compromise that. In my personal life, I hold many secrets that others have shared with me, things I have been entrusted with by friends about their lives. Again, my husband respects that code, and would never expect me to share such things, but I’m not talking about those here, I’m talking about our own experiences - things that have happened to one of us.

So: there are secrets that you keep in your marriage because it is a requirement of your role - for safety, security or ethics. There are secrets you keep simply because you don’t want your partner to know about them (I’m going to bundle affairs, breaches of trust and other transgressions into that). But then, there is another category. I’m going to call these ‘emotional’ secrets.

My husband is now a firefighter. He doesn’t work in a ‘top secret’ environment, but he does find himself in a variety of extraordinary, and often traumatic situations. He is also an international rescue worker and I have a Master’s in Disaster Management, so although I don’t have the practical experience, I have a theoretical grounding in the kind of work he does and can relate to the nature of those environments (on some level).

During the early days of the job, he would come home and share details of incidents with me. There were some truly horrendous things, but I was glad he had an outlet, and hopefully one that enabled him to ‘offload’ on someone who could handle receiving it - me. As time went on he told me less and less, which I didn’t notice straight away, but then…I did.

When he attended the aftermath of what we now know is ‘the worst land-based UK peacetime disaster since WWII’, he didn’t talk to me about it afterwards. He was withdrawn, clearly harrowed, and only wanted to speak with others who had been there. He wasn’t at that tower on the day of the fire, but he was there in the aftermath to ensure the safety of the police and forensic archeologists as they set about their critical investigative work, victim identification and body recovery.

When I asked him what he experienced, he wouldn’t tell me. We spoke about the work of the different agencies, whey they were there, what their roles were generically, but he would not tell me what he saw. The disaster was all over the newspapers (and devastatingly still is, 7 years later) and I wanted to understand more, to comprehend, to help him process. I was insistent…he refused. I pushed…he was steadfast. He said with some finality that he didn’t want me to even begin to hold the images he had in his mind, as once seen, they could never be unseen. He would not be discussing it further. I left it alone, but I’m ashamed to admit, I did so with a modicum of petulance.

Why wouldn’t he tell me about his work? Me? His wife.

When we know a loved one is keeping a ‘secret’, regardless of how well intended, a barrier forms. Even when it is constructed with love and care, there is a human reaction to manage: the feeling of being ‘left out’, or ‘not in the know’. I experienced this again when he returned from earthquake rescue in Turkey. Of course I know that this is ‘not about me’ and that there is such an enormously bigger picture, yet I think it’s good to acknowledge what happens at the fringes, and where we lay ourselves vulnerable to cracks. I could see the strength of the connection with others who were there, how they needed to process it together, and how I would rightly have to remain outside of this. I watched as he paced up and down in the garden, phone in hand, sharing stories with others who understood. Those words were not for me, and never would be.

Whilst I objectively agree with and feel hugely cared for by these actions, I also feel emotionally impacted…I feel sad. When I try and express this, I hear myself sounding like a spoilt child. I then question myself - why do I want to know? Is it really because I want to be his ‘everything’, to counsel and support him? Am I clinging to some imaginary ideal of partners operating as ‘one’? Or is there an element of voyeurism? Am I being a rubbernecker once-removed…my curiosity about the world tipping into a desire to access knowledge that isn’t for me? To satisfy the strange human condition of wanting to know the grotesque, horrific and bizarre? Which door am I trying to prise open and why? I honestly don’t know the answer.

Recently he went to dinner with a friend who is involved with disaster victim identification. I know he needs to have these conversations with others. I am grateful that he has a space where he can ‘share’ without boundaries, or fear of upset, or recrimination. It’s akin to having a supervisory or peer conversation as a therapist, except this is not bound by ethics, it’s determined by choice. I think that’s where I’ve found it challenging. It’s not that I have to respect the Hippocratic Oath or the Official Secrets Act, I have to respect his personal determination of where to draw the line.

When he came home that evening, we didn’t discuss the topics of his dinner conversation (obviously), but he did mention to me how surprised he was to learn that his friend tells his wife everything about his victim identification job. All of it. The bodies, the fragments, the environments, the horrors. You can guess where this conversation went…

‘So why don’t you tell me?’. Fragments bursting out of my internal monologue of ‘Am I not worthy of the same trust?’, ‘Does that mean our relationship isn’t as close?’, ‘Do you not think I could handle it?’, ‘Why does she get to know?’, ‘How bad can it be?’. Et cetera…et cetera…Am I being ridiculous? Selfish? Childish? Or simply…human?

(Un)settled

The thing is that I can manage it, because I really, really trust my husband. I’m glad that I’m not a jealous type so I don’t slip into: ‘well - what else aren’t you telling me?’ thoughts. I trust that he holds his secrets for the best of intentions, and while I do worry that he holds them (for his sake), I also trust that he knows how to manage that and I see that he utilises support that is available…sometimes.

I also accept, rather begrudgingly, that I don’t need to know everything, although I really really want to. I consider that I don’t tell him half of what I’m up to, but that’s either because I can’t remember what I did five minutes ago, or because I think I’ve told him but it’s actually another conversation I held inside my own head. He also doesn’t have the same curiosity gene that I have, and so wouldn’t really even think to question my in a reciprocal way. He’s more likely terrified of probing too deeply into what goes on inside my head and so gladly keeps a distance.

Either way, we have a marriage with secrets, and it’s ok. We’d probably fall into Rumsfeld’s ‘known unknowns’, and as for the ‘unknown unknowns’? Well, they’ll just have to remain where they’re meant to be. I must respect that. For now…

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How do you feel about ‘well-intentioned’ secrets? Do you keep your loved ones in the dark about things to protect them? How does this feel? How would you feel if you knew loved ones were keeping secrets from you?

It’s a fascinating subject, and one where I could write an offshoot essay from every single paragraph, but I’d really love to hear your thoughts.

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Love & lemons 💕🍋

Em xx