The only way I find redirection, comfort, and peace is when I sit alone, reading books that give insight on life, people, and the world, while sipping on a cup of black coffee or some drops of lemon juice in hot water.
My relationship with people keeps going down the drain day by day in my quest for peace, relief, and a sense of purpose. I can’t help but stop and declutter every single negativity or noise that adds nothing positive to my soul or well-being.
Recently, a woman I had grown to love proved to me that some secrets are best taken to the grave. The secret that cannot remain a secret is the one you’ve already told someone else in confidence. The moment you say, “Don’t tell anyone,” that’s when it becomes 7am headline news. The only real secret is the one that stays with you.
This woman is a very good person and a friend. I met her two years ago when she opened a grocery shop right across from mine. I’ve helped her in many ways, and she’s always grateful for that, in fact our bond has grown strong. But her problem is that she has a “leaking mouth.” I never knew how bad it was until I took time to reflect on a recent issue between us.
I was scheduled for an ovarian cyst surgery. Since she was the only one close to me in our business line, and I knew my customers would come asking after me, I told her I was sick but recovering but I specifically asked her not to mention anything about the surgery.
During the final preparations, a scan was done and the cyst had disappeared. No one could explain it. Three scans were done that same day, showing it to be 7.3 cm and 6 cm in size, but the final one showed nothing. It was a miracle, that’s all we could say.
By the time I resumed work, customers began asking about the success of the surgery something only she knew about. I was filled with rage but kept my emotions in check. To avoid assumptions, I asked some of them who told them, and they all gave the same answer: “Your neighbour.”
The more I reflected on my relationship with her, the more I felt angered, with a strong urge to confront her. This wasn’t the first time she had done this. If I didn’t set boundaries, I might be forced into an open battle I didn’t want.
There I was, sitting near my window in Grandma’s old iron chair, sipping hot lemon tea while flipping through a book titled You Can Begin Again. I was wondering how possible it was to untrust someone and still maintain the relationship. Before now, I would’ve let go, cut ties, and moved on treating such people like traitors or weeds to be uprooted.
But what do you do with people who naturally enjoy gossip and uncovering secrets, yet are still good at heart? What better way is there to keep them at a distance, knowing they’re also a source of noise that needs to be silenced?
I found a way to quiet that noise. I didn’t respond with gossip. Instead, I asked her directly to clear the fog, but she denied everything and even suggested it could’ve been my husband or younger sister, both of whom had no access to my shop at the time. I simply said, “Okay,” and ended the conversation.
An hour later, she came into my shop like someone whose conscience had dragged her out of her comfort zone. She admitted to telling just one person. I still said, “Okay,” and left it at that.
I knew then that if I wanted to protect my peace, I had to withdraw. I simply rearranged access, no hate, just limited entry into my life. From that day forward, she knew nothing about me except what she already knew. I don’t have to be available for every discussion. You’ll always find me inside my shop, focused on my business not outside, where anyone can reach me for idle talk.
The surgery never happened, yet the entire area believed it did. Words had travelled far and beyond. But the truth remains with me and my family. As a minimalist, betrayal doesn’t define me, and it shouldn’t define you either. What it does is refine what you value: truth, peace, and people who honour simplicity with integrity.
Betrayal and gossip are weeds in my garden. If a weed invades my garden, it not only covers up the clean lines, it creates a mess and makes it difficult to maintain.
That’s why the best metaphor I can use to illustrate simplicity in this story is: ”peace is a closed door” In this case it is self-preservation, honouring my well-being that is in play.
