She was visiting for the weekend. Looking for a phone charger. I was in the kitchen making tea when I heard a drawer open – the wrong drawer – and then a pause. A very long pause. I ran. I was too late. She was standing there, phone charger already found in a different drawer, looking at the contents of the drawer I should have locked. Silk blindfold. Leather paddle. A small collection of things I had never planned for my mother to see. The silence lasted approximately three seconds and approximately three decades. Then she said: “Well. At least it’s well organised.” And then she closed the drawer and asked if I had any biscuits.
The conversation we actually had – two days later
I thought we were going to pretend it never happened. That’s what my family does with uncomfortable things. But two days later, as she was packing to leave, she said: “I’m glad you have things that make you happy.” She didn’t look at me. She was folding a jumper. “Your father and I – we never. It wasn’t done. I hope you’re doing better than we did.” That was it. That was the entire conversation. My mother, who had never said the word sex in my presence in 30 years, told me she hoped I was having better experiences than she did. The shame I’d felt when she opened that drawer was mine. But the silence she’d lived with – that was hers. The drawer opened both.
If your parents ever find your things – the awkwardness will pass. What might come after is something you never expected: honesty. From them, not just from you. Sometimes a opened drawer opens a conversation that should have happened decades ago.
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