Keeper of Secrets

By Wendy B. Mattell

Unveiling the Unspoken: A Journey from Innocence to Resilience - An Emotional Odyssey of Deceit, Hope, and the Relentless Pursuit of Unconditional Love Amidst Life's Trials.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing
• Release date: Jun 25, 2024
• ISBN: 9798822947757

Wendy B. Mattell

Wendy B. Mattell, a Northeastern University graduate, began her journey in the corporate world before being drawn to the Healing Arts in 1991. She dedicated her life to studying various healing traditions across the globe, becoming an Ordained Minister and an Initiate of Inca Wisdom. Wendy established a practice in 1992, providing a safe space for clients to share their stories, understanding the power of untold secrets. Through her book, Keeper of Secrets, she hopes to inspire others to find the courage to share their own stories. Wendy believes in the gift of truly listening to understand, not just to respond.

Book preview

Keeper of Secrets

The nightmares began coming more frequently. I was haunted by things I was convinced I had tucked deep down inside. Memories began escaping my subconscious as I slept. My thoughts began to resemble the broken pieces of glass inside a kaleidoscope. Memories began coming back to me like a jigsaw puzzle with pieces missing. Echoes of threats from long ago rang in my ears, and feelings of guilt and shame began creeping into my thoughts.

I woke suddenly; fear filled my mind, and my heart was pounding. It was dark, and I was out of breath. I was sweating as my heart raced with an overwhelming feeling of terror. It was irrational. I was home, safe in my bed. I reached over and felt the warmth of my husband's skin. The rhythmic sounds of his breath as he slept calmed me. I was safe.

It is time for me to tell my whole story in the hope that it will give others a space to feel safe talking about their stories. Ultimately, allowing myself and others to release the past and be able to move on and enjoy our lives.

The stories in this book are based on true events. Names have been omitted to protect the guilty and the innocent. These stories represent my journey from a loss of innocence far too young to finally and unexpectedly finding true love.

So, when I am an old lady sitting on my front porch with my friends, sipping a cocktail and sharing the stories of our lives, my stories will never begin with, I ordered a salad.

Christmas Spirit:

The Feeling of True Love

Excitement filled the air as the holiday season quickly approached. It was cold enough to see your breath, and snow was gently falling, causing a hush to fall over the yard. I watched as the trees began to look like they had sugar icing on their branches. Rays of sunlight sparkled like diamonds across the white blanket of snow on the lawn.

In the evenings, my family would ride around town, admiring the Christmas lights. People left their shades open so you could see the trees lit up and decorated with angels and stars at the top. The shopping plaza in town came alive, complete with a cage for Santa's live reindeer. There was a platoon of twenty-three toy soldiers strategically placed throughout the mall, standing ten feet tall. They had blue pants, a red jacket, and a tall blue hat with a feather. Positioned at their right hand was a shiny black rifle, ready to defend us. In the center of the courtyard stood the twenty-foot-tall general with the same uniform and a fancy feather on his hat, ready to command them. In the center of the courtyard were enormous wooden blocks that spelled out Joy to the World and a Christmas tree that stood over two stories high. Magic was in the air.

One of my favorite Christmas traditions was our family gift donation. My father's company sold gift sets to the major retailers this time of year. He always ordered extra sets so there would be enough to donate to the local churches.

Every year we set up a long table with brilliantly colored reams of wrapping paper and large rolls of scotch tape. Beside it, lay boxes upon boxes of gift sets. There were bath salts, sleeves of elegant soaps, and perfumed body powders with soft puffs and fragrances in fancy bottles nestled into gold foil packaging. There were also sets that had kid's bubble baths, character shampoo and conditioner, and bath toys. We spent a few hours every Saturday and Sunday wrapping until each gift was finished off with a beautiful bow and a tag. It read, From: Santa. I loved the idea of being one of Santa's helpers and imagined how happy the children or adults would be when they opened them to see the surprise waiting for them.

Two weeks before Christmas, we finished wrapping the last of the gifts and stacked them neatly in the living room when the doorbell rang. I stood behind my father as he opened the door. We were greeted by the chief of police. He was in full uniform and looked very stern yet friendly. Beside him there was a boy around my age. He introduced him as his nephew and the special helper to distribute the gifts. I smiled shyly at the tall, imposing man, shook his hand as I was taught to do when introduced to an adult, and said hello to the boy. He politely said hi and, as any ten-year-old boy would do, then proceeded to ignore me.

I watched closely as they both made several trips in and out of the house, filling the back seat of the cruiser. When they came back in for the last boxes, they both thanked us for the gifts. This time the boy smiled at me as he said goodbye. I felt like we were connected, helping to bring Christmas cheer. The pure love and joy of the Christmas spirit filled every part of me. In my heart I felt that he had something to do with the spark of joy that touched me that day. I was convinced this was the feeling of true love, pure and unconditional.

I often wondered what happened to that boy and his uncle, the chief of police. I don’t remember ever seeing them stop by the house again. Every other year after that, we would wrap the gifts and deliver them to the local churches ourselves. He remained in my memory so clearly that I could recall his smile when I closed my eyes. I hoped that someday I would meet him again and perhaps find out why he had such an effect on me.

I don’t remember any gifts that were under the tree that year; only that feeling of pure, unconditional love and joy filled my heart. The fresh, crisp air allowing me to see my breath, the warm crackling fires, and the twinkling lights on the tree were my favorite gifts.

Loss of Innocence

The next year, my parents let my younger brother and I know that we would be having another person join our family. My mother explained that this boy was her half-brother and that his parents had passed away. She and my father planned on giving him a home and raising him. Although he was our uncle, we were to consider him to be like an older brother. My younger brother and I were very close before he arrived. After he came into our home, my younger brother preferred his company to mine. Our new uncle was sixteen, I was eleven, and my younger brother was eight. My younger brother was thrilled to have an older brother; they got along wonderfully, but there was something about him that made me feel uneasy.

My uncle had a bit of a mean nature toward me. Before bed he would tell me stories designed to frighten me. He seemed to take great pleasure in this and encouraged my younger brother to join in. As the boys began joining little league and football teams, I was feeling excluded. I was reminded by them as well as my parents that I was a girl and it was not appropriate for me to play these games. I began to feel quite invisible as I sat on the sidelines, expecting to cheer them on. I was offered ballet lessons in the fall and winter and swimming lessons in the summer.

I loved listening to the classical music played during dance class and my ballet teacher's instructions to feel the music and allow our bodies to move with it. I dreamed, as most little girls do, of becoming a ballerina, but in one of my lessons, I overextended one of my legs and pulled it so badly that I could not continue with classes. I was instructed to take warm baths with Epsom salts to help relax my muscles and heal my injury. My leg never healed completely, so once again, I became the audience for my uncle and brother.

I enjoyed the feeling of the warm, healing baths. Stepping out of a luxurious and relaxing bubble bath, feeling peaceful and full of joy, I wrapped myself in a warm, fluffy towel. One time, unknowingly, I opened the bathroom door to be greeted roughly by a pair of strong hands. It was my uncle. He grabbed me, dragged me across the hall, and threw me on the bed in the next room. At a time that should have been an age of innocence, it was suddenly and violently taken from me.

In seconds, my adolescent bliss leaped from joy to surprise and confusion, then quickly to fear. For a moment, I thought he was just teasing me to frighten me, but as he attempted to pull my towel from me, I realized he was not wearing any pants. My first thought was that he was angry with me for some reason, but he kept saying he wanted to show me how something worked. I was scared and began to cry for him to let me go. I called out for help, but we were alone in the house.

I tried to get away from him as I felt his powerful arms holding me down on the bed. I began kicking, and by chance, my knee caught him squarely and firmly in the groin. He doubled over in pain, releasing his grip enough so that I could escape. I hurried back into the bathroom and locked the door.

My heart was racing as tears stung my eyes and streamed down my cheeks. My ears filled with the sound of banging on the door and loud threats of payback that would come. I pulled the towel around my naked body and huddled as far away from the door as possible, waiting for the sound of the front door opening so that I would be rescued.

After what seemed like an eternity, I heard the sound of my mother's voice calling out hello as my parents came through the door. I flung the bathroom door open and ran down the stairs to my mother. With my heart racing and tears covering my face, I told her what had happened. She brought me to my room and stayed with me while I got dressed.

When we came down the stairs, my uncle and my father were seated at the kitchen table, chatting away, as if nothing had happened. I was, however, so hysterical that surely something had happened. My uncle remained calm and insisted that he had no idea what I was talking about. My parents were aware that he was having a difficult time processing his mother's death and decided it was time to seek professional help. They called a family therapist and made an appointment for the following week.

At the first appointment, the whole family was required to go. The therapist spoke with us individually. He had me go into his office first. I found myself sitting in a chair across a large, ornately carved wooden desk, with an intimidating, large, strange man sitting behind it. I felt small and frightened to be alone with this stranger. He spoke gently and encouraged me to tell him my side of the story.

As I recounted the events, the therapist listened and nodded occasionally with no expression. When I was done, he asked me what I thought had happened. I told him that my uncle was trying to force me to do things I didn’t want to do. I was scared and uncomfortable talking to this strange man. He took a few notes and walked me out into the waiting room. I heard him tell my parents not to worry and that I was just fine. He recommended that my uncle have counseling to help him work through some issues. When we drove home, I sat quietly in the back seat next to my uncle, still scared and confused. I was far from feeling fine, but the conversation was over as far as everyone else was concerned.

After a short while, my uncle started to take revenge on me in small ways. He would sneak into my room before bedtime and lay in wait under my bed. Just as I was about to fall asleep, he would reach up and grab my face. During the day, when we were alone, he would brag about a new knife that he got and would menacingly show it to me. I became so frightened of him that I started sleeping on the floor at the foot of my parents’ bed to feel safe.

My parents could not tolerate the upset in the house, and it was decided that my uncle would be sent to a private school. They felt it would be in everyone's best interest, and I felt relieved. I thought I would finally be safe.

The Boy Next Door

One day, soon after my uncle left for boarding school, there was a knock at the door. I went to open it, and there was his best friend. Assuming that he came to say goodbye, I told him that he had left already. He said he knew, and he knew why.

This friend stepped through the front door, put his hand over my mouth, pushed me into the hall closet, and told me to stay quiet. It was dark, and I felt his strong arms wrapped around my small body with his hand held tightly over my mouth.

I heard him whisper deeply and menacingly in my ear again, not to make a sound. He threatened that if I said anything to anyone about what he was going to do, people I loved would get hurt. I was terrified. I had no reason to doubt what he was saying, and I didn’t know what he was planning on doing. I was too scared to move or make a sound.

He told me to tell my mom that we were going to the basement to listen to some music. As he led me down the basement stairs, she barely looked up from preparing dinner. Once downstairs, he informed me that we were going to play a game. He would tell me what to do, and I was to follow his directions.

He turned the music up so that nothing could be heard from the basement. He told me that I was to just lie down in front of him and not make a sound. I closed my eyes, trying not to cry, and did as I was told. I felt his hands touching my body in places I knew should not be touched. He left my clothes on, told me that he would be back the next day, and warned me again to keep quiet. He left me there on the cold basement floor. I listened as he went up the stairs, and I heard him say goodbye to my mom as he left the house.

The next time he came over, the reinforced threats that I was never to tell anyone or there would be consequences, were repeated. Truly frightened that I would be harmed or somehow hurt anyone else, I did as I was told and kept our encounters secret.

He began introducing me to various methods of foreplay, touching me in places that stirred feelings I truly did not understand. I was far too young to know what was happening. After the therapist and my parents’ response to what happened with my uncle, talking about this subject was not an option, especially with the added threat of harm. Once again, I was left scared and confused, with nowhere to turn for answers.

His visits were almost on a daily basis, and he explored parts of my body I had not yet even discovered. He was beginning to awaken feelings