Privacy Is Not Secrecy

Sometimes I don't have the spoons.

That's usually enough information. It means I don't have the energy or capacity for whatever is being asked of me, and I need to say no. There may be a longer explanation behind it. There usually is. I just may not want to give it.

I've had to learn that this isn't dishonest.

For much of my life, if someone asked me a question, I answered it. If they wanted to know why I'd made a decision, I explained. I tend to believe the best of people, and my first assumption is still that someone asking probably has a perfectly reasonable reason for doing so. Sometimes they do.

But being asked a question doesn't create an obligation to answer it. Someone can be curious about why I said no, why I made a particular decision, what happened in a relationship, or what I'm thinking about. I can decide that information is private. They may not like that.

Learning to have boundaries around my privacy has also meant learning to be okay with someone else's dissatisfaction. I can be honest without being completely accessible.

And sometimes the reason someone is asking isn't what I assumed.

I've learned that interest and concern can look remarkably similar from the outside. Someone can offer help because they genuinely want to help. Someone else can offer the same help because getting closer gives them access to information they want.

Not everyone who shows up at a bereavement is there for the bereaved.

Suspicion doesn't come naturally to me. I tend to assume people mean what they say and that kindness is being offered because someone intends to be kind. I still prefer that instinct to assuming the worst of everyone.

I just don't think trusting people requires giving them immediate access anymore. Privacy gives me time to learn the difference. I can accept someone's kindness without handing them every vulnerable thing I know. I can let trust develop before deciding what I'm comfortable sharing.

And sometimes the information isn't mine to share at all.

A private conversation doesn't become public property simply because I was one of the people in it. Being told something isn't the same as being given permission to repeat it.

That has become especially important as a parent. My children need privacy too. They need to be able to talk to me without assuming everything they say will immediately travel beyond the conversation.

There are limits, and they know that. If something they tell me means they or someone else could be harmed, keeping their confidence may no longer be the right choice. Privacy isn't absolute. Neither is secrecy.

That distinction matters because secrecy isn't automatically wrong either. Sometimes keeping information from someone is protective. A person may have trusted you with something vulnerable. Someone may be trying to leave an unsafe situation. Sharing what you know simply because another person asks could do real damage.

But privacy can't become a convenient name for withholding information that another person genuinely needs. If what I know affects someone else's ability to make decisions about their own life, calling it private doesn't make the consequences disappear.

I think less about whether information is being withheld and more about who it belongs to and who is affected by it.

The internet has made all of this stranger.

We voluntarily put enormous amounts of ourselves into public view. Photographs, relationships, vacations, opinions, meals, celebrations, bad days. I publish personal essays. I am choosing pieces of my life and thoughts and putting them somewhere strangers can read them.

Choosing to share something publicly doesn't mean I've agreed to share everything. Telling one story doesn't grant access to the next one. Being open about one part of my life doesn't turn the rest of it into public property. I decide where that line is. So does everyone else.

I've become more interested in what happens when I choose not to share.

A person can ask. I can decline. That should be allowed to remain a complete interaction.

Someone I trust doesn't need to turn my boundary into a puzzle. They don't keep asking from slightly different directions, assume reluctance means something suspicious, or treat closeness as permission to keep pushing. They understand that I don't want to talk about that contains all the information I'm offering.

And when I do choose to share something, they don't mistake being trusted with information for owning it.

I think that's the part I misunderstood for a long time. I thought honesty meant answering. Explaining. Making sure the other person understood. Giving enough information that nobody could mistake my intentions. It doesn't.

There are things I can choose not to explain. There are things other people have trusted me not to repeat. There are parts of my life I can write about publicly and others I can keep entirely to myself. None of that makes the things I do say less true.

Privacy is the bare minimum respect we give to others.

Maybe you earn someone's trust by showing them they don't have to tell you everything.