The hazards of the confidences

Now and then, two thoughts may coincide which lead to my sharing some of my 'wisdom.' (Not that I'll ever have wisdom - my judgement is dreadful, and I'm the type who'd have Jack the Ripper in for tea if he gave me the impression he was on verge of conversion...) I heard from a young woman this week who, understandably, was upset because someone who'd seemed to be a close friend, and whose troubles she'd heard (without ever betraying the confidences, mocking, using them against the other, or other dreadful tactics that some who invite confidences employ) endlessly, was now avoiding her. I'm equally good-hearted - and just as naive, my only advantage being that I've lived longer. (I'm a cynic of sorts - but, as I once heard somewhere, cynics are not realists but burnt idealists, so I fit the bill.) I'll get back to this in a moment.

I had an odd memory this week as well, possibly because I was thinking of my mother (Chip - a bastardisation of Cipi, which is a generic Italian nickname), since this would have been the day of her 89th birthday. Chip must have insulated herself extremely well, because she was so innocent that she'd have made me look worldly, and a part of her was like a child till the day she died. She often told her daughters a story that had an incredible impact on her, which I'll relate here.

When Chip was still in school (aged 12 or so), the girl pupils once heard an address from a lady who had been a headmistress somewhere, and Chip would never forget said headmistress's tale of caution that no one should ever confide in anyone else. It seems that Margaret, whose mother had a drinking problem, confided this in her closest friend, Anne. Anne told Margaret's boyfriend, Danny, about this (she probably had her eye on him for some time...), and Danny abandoned Margaret as a result and became Anne's new boyfriend. Bear in mind that Chip would repeat this (I heard it easily a hundred times) in ominous tones, as if she were relating someone's visit to, at the very least, the Castle Dracula.

Towards the end of my mother's long life, she recounted this tale to me once again. I could no longer resist expressing that I was very surprised that someone who, at this point, had walked this earth for more than 8 decades did not see that the headmistress's story made three things very plain to me. First, Margaret was most fortunate that she never married Danny - if he'd toss her aside as he did, I can only imagine the grief she would have had with him for a husband. Second, between them Danny and Anne were not worth a brass farthing; they deserved each other; and good riddance to them both! Third, Margaret's only fault here was poor judgement in her choice of friends/beaux. (As a postscript, I have a strong sense that the headmistress well may have been speaking of herself. Too bad that she ended up the stereotypical 'old maid schoolmarm,' seeing herself as unfit for the marriage market because some other little bitch might tell another potential spouse that Margaret's mother drank.)

I myself am a private person, and prefer to confide only in close friends. I think the current trend - where people not only tell every last detail of their lives to all and sundry, but indeed might post intimate secrets on the Internet - is far from wise. Yet I believe that being able to share concerns with others is a great blessing.

It is sad but probably universally true that all of us have experienced a 'down side' to confiding in others (or even having others know details about our lives). We all have had the experience, at one time or another, of someone's using information about us to degrade us (usually because they see some advantage in it for themselves, even if it is only to feel self-important as the one who is 'in the know.') Most of us have known the pain of a confidence being betrayed (with malice at times, at others merely because someone who hopes to help us assumes actions on the part of the hearer that are different from the result.) Considering that the Headmistress was addressing girls just entering their teens, her rather excessive stress on 'tell no one anything' might have temporarily been good advice. To love to reveal whatever one knows about another, especially if it will shame them or cause them embarrassment, can win points with other 'friends' during the teenage years. (Sadly, some people never grow out of this.)

I feel genuine sympathy for my young friend (of the first paragraph), and have to admit that, as one who heard many confidences (the more because I was in religious work, and because I was definitely the sort who did not betray what others told me), I myself still am saddened by the 'negative side' of hearing what others have to relate. It is not unusual, for example, for someone who has poured out a woe to later be embarrassed at what happened at the time, and to avoid the other (even if she never refers to the situation) just knowing she knows. A friend who hears many sad tales can also find she is thought of more as 'counsellor' - there for support, but not one to be included in social events.

There also is much in this world that is illogical! (Think about it - someone could know another for twenty years, know nothing ill of him, yet will be ready to believe the first 'dirt' she hears, even if it is untrue or grossly exaggerated.) I'm sure that all of us have friends whom we love dearly, but who dislike one another - and normally we'd no sooner bring them together, if we sense the tension, than we'd place a lion and lamb in proximity anywhere except in scripture study. Yet, by the time we should be mature, we also know that, for example, differences of opinion (and those of us who love the academic spend half our time listening to or reading of just that, while respecting both sides) do not have to mean dislike of another.

If "I" am friendly with both Jane and John, I may get wind of that they have points of disagreement, but I probably will not be aware if they hate each other. (If Jane knows John is my friend, she will save her tales of hating him for other ears!) Yet Jane may well assume, however incorrectly, that I must be 'two faced' (and gossiping about her) if I am friendly with someone she dislikes.

Now, I'm sure you knew I would move into the religious realm, so I shall not disappoint you. There indeed are many times when those who are troubled in spirit, conscience and the like absolutely ache for someone knowledgeable and compassionate in whom they can confide. Turning to the clergy, sadly, can sometimes lead to such reactions as treating one as immature, or recommending joining groups, or "offer it up" (well, that one is rather out of style, but I remember when it was rampant), or "go to therapy." But here I am speaking of an important element which those who may genuinely be compassionate need to remember.

Even if someone does ache to confide in another, that 'other' should not be assumed to be oneself. (I remember a ghastly woman I knew years ago, who would pester people about their situations, and could not accept "I don't care to discuss that" with "but it's reality!" Yes, I dare say they knew it was reality, since they were the ones living with the problem. They were not denying reality - they were saying "I don't care to discuss this with you.") Second, never push for details. On the one hand, it sometimes can mean a personal wish to feel important or superior - but, even when there is truly good intent, it can be mistaken for meddling. Third, one must quickly become resigned to that, in most cases, there is nothing one can do. Listening in itself can be a great gift - but wanting to be Mrs Fixit will not only cut off all genuine listening (which will masquerade as such, but actually only be listening for key words in order to share one's own ideas - which may have nothing to do with what the other said..) but can lend to smugness.

So much for my sermon for today. But it indeed is difficult, for those very devout, to realise that actions which are charitable, caring, and truly kind can be resented later. I have no answer to that one - except to say it must be faced.