From the Confession Booth
Real souls. Real weight. Real release. Every name protected forever.
"I have not spoken to my father in four years over something that, looking at it honestly now, was mostly my pride refusing to bend. He is seventy eight. I know I am running out of time and I still cannot make myself pick up the phone."
"I have been married for fourteen years and I still think about someone I knew briefly at university. Not romantically exactly. More like wondering who I would have become if I had been brave enough to pursue that path. My wife is wonderful. The thought still comes."
"I ghosted someone who was kind, funny and clearly into me because they were not conventionally attractive and I was worried what my friends would think. I am ashamed of that version of myself."
"I was given too much change in a shop once. A significant amount, nearly thirty pounds. I noticed immediately and walked out. I have never gone back to that shop since, partly from shame and partly because I do not want to return the money."
"I confessed here about never calling my mother enough. I have called her every Sunday since. She has not said anything about the change in frequency. Neither have I. We just talk. About nothing much. It is the best thing I have done in years."
"I have wished, in dark moments, that certain people from my past would encounter difficulty. Not harm. Just difficulty. Enough to understand something of what they made me feel. I am not proud of the arithmetic of that."
"I uninvited my brother from my wedding because my in-laws did not approve of him. I told him it was a venue capacity issue. He believed me. He gave me a card and a generous gift anyway. I have never felt smaller in my life than I did opening that envelope."