Grounding
Have you ever paused to consider the difference between what you choose to keep to yourself, and what you actively conceal from others?
So much of our relational lives are shaped by quiet agreements: the things we assume, the boundaries we inherit, the lines we never name out loud. And yet, these unspoken contracts around privacy and secrecy carry enormous weight in how we connect or disconnect, from one another.
In this edition of The Common Ground, I’d like to invite you to explore this subtle but significant distinction. Together, we’ll reflect on how privacy and secrecy are understood differently across relationships and cultures, how they affect our sense of trust and intimacy, and how we can begin to articulate our needs with greater clarity.
On the Surface
Privacy and secrecy. Two words. Often blurred, seldom defined.
Privacy, is an expression of autonomy—a healthy boundary that protects our sense of self. It honors the right to solitude, internal dialogue, and personal history.
Secrecy, on the other hand, is usually motivated by fear. It withholds. It hides.
What counts as “private” versus “secret” varies dramatically by context:
In some collectivist cultures, family members are expected to know each other’s whereabouts and decisions and withholding can be seen as disloyalty. Also they are expected to keep internal affairs strictly within the home, even at the cost of not seeking help.
In more individualistic settings, privacy is seen as a personal right, and sharing too much within the family may feel intrusive, while turning to outside resources is often considered natural, even encouraged.
Whether you grew up with whispered family stories or locked doors no one questioned, your view of privacy and secrecy is shaped by lived experience.
This matters because every relationship has silent contracts—unspoken expectations that only become visible when crossed. And misunderstanding privacy or secrecy can rupture trust in ways that feel disproportionate but are deeply human.
Digging Deeper
Here’s where nuance lives.
Privacy isn’t a withdrawal—it’s a rhythm. It’s the pause that allows us to regroup, reflect, and return with more of ourselves to offer. Whether it’s needing a solo walk, keeping a journal, or choosing not to disclose every past experience, privacy honors our autonomy.
Secrecy, however, often creates disconnection. It’s not simply the absence of information. It’s the emotional weight behind it: shame, fear of judgment, power dynamics, punishing the other, or concern about consequences.
That said, this is distinct from being intentional about what you share, with whom, and when. This act is out of self-awareness and relational care.
These blurred lines come up all the time in my work. Be it between partners, family members or even colleagues:
“You flirted with someone and didn’t tell me. What else are you hiding?”
“You read my diary. Don’t I have any space to myself?”
“You shared my medical news with your family. Was that yours to tell?”
“You come into the room every time I’m on a call or in the restroom. Can I have a moment alone?”
“You copied X in the email exchanges. Wasn’t this our project to work on? “
Often, the rupture isn’t just about the content, it’s about the meaning behind it. Was there a breach of trust? A dismissal of boundaries? A fear of judgment that made secrecy feel safer?
These questions don’t have one-size-fits-all answers. But bringing awareness to them is a first step toward trust that is chosen, not just assumed.
Literacy:
Here are some questions to explore your personal map of privacy and secrecy:
What do I consider private, and why? Who taught me that? Have I ever changed that definition (specially across my relationships)?
What do I keep secret, and how does it feel to do so? Is it out of love, fear, protection, obligation, or power?
Have I ever accused someone of being secretive when they were simply private or vice versa? was there a way for me to differentiate?
In which relationships do I feel free to have privacy? In which do I feel secrecy (at least around certain things) is the only option?
What parts of me do I wish someone would ask about but I keep hidden just in case?
Think of these not as judgments, but gentle invitations to know yourself better. Remember, Relational wisdom begins with the courage to look within.
Fluency:
Practices for Everyday Connection
To bring these insights into action, try the following:
Define your terms, together.
In your closest relationships, ask: “What’s something you consider private that others may not?” “What’s something you’d call a secret, and why?” Use curiosity, not interrogation.
Turn a moment of suspicion into one of curiosity.
Instead of asking, “Why didn’t you tell me?” we might ask, “Was this something you needed to hold for yourself, or something you were afraid I wouldn’t understand?”
Practice “invited transparency.”
Instead of demanding truth, invite it. Try: “If there’s anything weighing on you, know I’m here to listen when you’re ready.” This builds a climate of safety.
Use the Window & Wall Exercise.
Draw two columns labeled Window and Wall.
List what you’re open to sharing vs. what you keep for yourself.
Then ask yourself: Is anything behind the wall due to fear that might deserve reevaluation?
Check your cultural compass.
Acknowledge that others may define these terms differently. Rather than assume someone is hiding something, consider asking: “Is this something you normally share in your family or culture?”
Schedule a check-in.
Your definitions of privacy and secrecy might evolve over time so make sure to schedule a seasonal or annual check in, specially in your close relationships so everyone is aligned.
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