Privacy vs secrecy is something I’ve wrestled with for years. I believe everyone has the right to privacy, yet I find secrecy incredibly difficult to live with in close relationships. For a long time, I couldn’t understand how both things could be true. Since learning more about my ADHD and rejection sensitivity, I’ve begun to understand why secrecy affects me so deeply, even when I know it may have nothing to do with me.
For years, I thought there was something contradictory about me.
I would defend someone’s right to privacy without hesitation. We all have thoughts, conversations and experiences that belong to us alone. I have never believed that loving someone gives us unlimited access to their life.
Yet when someone close to me becomes secretive, something changes. I don’t become curious; I become unsettled.
For a long time, I couldn’t explain why. Now I can. Not perfectly, but enough to understand what my brain is doing.
Privacy and Secrecy Aren’t the Same
I’ve realised that what I struggle with isn’t privacy. It’s secrecy.
To me, privacy has boundaries. It says, “This isn’t yours to know,” and, although I might not love it, I can usually respect it.
Secrecy feels different. It feels like something has changed. Conversations become vague. Things don’t quite add up. There are gaps where there didn’t used to be gaps. And my brain hates gaps!
My Brain Doesn’t Leave Gaps Empty
I’ve noticed something about the way my mind works.
When information is missing, it doesn’t simply wait for more information. It fills in the blanks, and it fills them extremely fast.
The difficult part is that those stories rarely end well. Instead of assuming the best, my brain often lands somewhere around:
“I’ve done something wrong.”
“They’re upset with me.”
“They’re hiding something because of me.”
Logically, I know there could be dozens of explanations. Emotionally, however, it rarely feels that simple.
Knowing my brain does this hasn’t stopped it from happening; it has simply helped me recognise the pattern.
When Trust Feels Uncertain
This is probably where rejection sensitivity comes into the picture.
Someone else’s secret can feel like exclusion. Not because I believe I have a right to know everything, but because exclusion has always felt physically painful to me. And that pain can be surprisingly intense.
I know it won’t make sense to everyone. Sometimes it doesn’t make sense to me. But emotions don’t ask logic for permission before they arrive.
The Part I Find Hard to Admit
There’s something I’ve only really understood recently.
When secrecy enters a relationship, my instinct is to leave. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a friendship, a family relationship or a romantic one. I want to run. Not because I don’t care, but because I care so much.
People often assume ADHD means constantly chasing excitement and novelty, and there’s some truth in that. However, underneath all of that, I have an equally strong need for safety.
Trust creates that safety. Therefore, when trust begins to feel uncertain, the safest option can suddenly feel like distance.
Sometimes I put up walls before anyone has actually hurt me. Not because I know my fears are true, but because I’m frightened they might be.
“I Was Trying to Protect You”
Sometimes people keep secrets because they believe they’re protecting someone they love.
I don’t doubt that this happens. However, for me, it rarely feels like protection. It feels like being left alone with my imagination. And my imagination is exceptionally good at filling empty spaces.
I’d rather hear a difficult truth than spend days or weeks inventing possibilities that may never have existed.
The truth might hurt, but the stories usually hurt more.
What I’ve Learned About Myself
The older I get, the less I need certainty about everything. But I need honesty.
I don’t expect people to tell me every thought they have, and I don’t expect perfection.
What I hope for is openness, consistency and the confidence to have difficult conversations.
The people I feel safest with aren’t the people who never bring bad news. They’re the people who trust me enough to tell me the truth.
Sometimes It Feels Safer to Be Alone
This is perhaps the saddest realisation.
Sometimes being alone feels safer than wondering.
Not because I don’t want connection. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.
I want relationships where I don’t have to spend my energy wondering whether my brain is telling me the truth. Where I don’t have to fill in gaps that were never mine to fill, and where trust feels steady enough that silence doesn’t automatically become suspicion.
A Final Thought
Writing this has reminded me that privacy and secrecy are not the same thing.
Privacy protects people, and secrecy can create distance.
I’m not suggesting everyone experiences this in the same way I do. I’m simply sharing what happens inside my ownmind.
Perhaps knowing that will help someone understand themselves a little better. Or perhaps it will help someone understand a person they love.
Either way, I think it’s a conversation worth having.
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