“A lot of us have parents have a secret. We joke about this secret. Casually laugh it off as if we don’t mean it. Sign a friend up for wine club with a silly note. Occasionally post a “real life” photo on social media.
Then we go and lock the bathroom door. We sit in our secret spot. Maybe we take our phone, maybe a book, maybe we sit there staring at the bathroom wall.
There’s water running; we can hear the drops of water hitting porcelain.
Drop, drop, drop.
When the faucet lets out that repressed guttural moan we are reminded it’s our eyes running. Our tears are hitting the porcelain.
If we’re lucky, we’re doing this without hands under the bathroom door, without someone screaming our name, without hearing things break in the living room.”
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