I Love Secrets Too Much

Dear James,

My problem is my big mouth. A friend talks to me about his or her problems, and then I blurt them out to other people. This leads to more problems. I’d like to keep my mouth shut more often, but by nature I find it hard to be controlled and reserved and private. Can you help me?

Dear Reader,

I have this problem too. I’m not a gossip, and I’m not a fink/squealer/stool pigeon, but I do indulge the eros of indiscretion: I’m an oversharer. And sometimes, having limited resources, a finite number of shareables of my own, I might incline toward sharing somebody else’s. I might blab a bit. Which is not to say I can’t be trusted. Your secret is safe with me. But make sure you tell me it’s a secret.

Why do we do this? Why do we blab? It’s a shortcut to intimacy, perhaps—to the kind of juicy mutuality that can be achieved only by an exchange of privileged info. Also: We have poor boundaries. Because we hate boundaries, don’t we? Those prissy, fussy, relationship-stunting boundaries. We want everything to be flowing and billowing and pouring unchecked from one soul to another, right? Blabbing is libidinal; blabbing is a release.

But this is the real world, baby. Things collide. Things have sharp edges. The impulse to connect, which in this case is more of an impulse to dissolve , can get you in trouble. Other people are real. They have their own existence, even if they’re not currently in the room with us, and we need to be careful of their feelings. Like Morrissey says, “Heavy words are so lightly thrown.”

You have self-awareness; that’s a start. More than a start: It’s the beginning of the answer. When you feel that saucy urge to blab rising within you, recognize it, acknowledge it, and then switch gears. Recite a poem instead. (I recommend the first verse of “The Wreck of the Deutschland,” by Gerard Manley Hopkins.)

Sincerely,

James

By submitting a letter, you are agreeing to let The Atlantic use it in part or in full, and we may edit it for length and/or clarity.