I need to confess. It's a secret I've never told anyone, but I've decided to confess on this blog with a simultaneous YouTube video and a national "Confession" tour (not to be mistaken with Madonna's "Confessions"--plural-- tour of 2006). I've sold my secret confessional to People magazine and the book Fessing Up will be out next month.
What is with all the public confessing? Isn't the act of confession supposed to be private for the most part? Between you and your God, therapist, best friend or, at most, jury? Don't get me wrong -- I'm all for Good-Will-Hunting-like moments where you remember/admit that you hate your mother/father/self, which leads to catharsis and healing. But nowadays I'm starting to feel as if I, too, should confess to something. Anything at all.
Last week I was left with the image of Barbara Walters pushing folders off her desk, hopping up and breathily saying, "Oh, Eddie, take me" to a now 88-year-old former Massachusetts Republican senator Edward Brooke (granted that was thirty years ago). Jodi Applegate let us know beforehand she was going to tell us a secret, and every day some politician or pro-athlete is trying to prophylactically confess about drugs or alcohol (so it seems as if it were guilt-fueled rather than motivated by fear of the AP).
Confessing is not as simple as it used to be. You have all types: the preemptive "Can't fire me cause I quit" confession, the apologetic confession (which includes gifts like 4-million-dollar purple diamonds), fraudulent confession (think alleged JonBénet Ramsey's killer John Mark Karr), and compassionate confession (like Brooke Shields' admission of post-partum depression). The latter can be tremendously helpful -- encouraging discussion about adoption, depression, miscarriages, suicide. They give unpopular stigma-filled topics airtime that no public education campaign can.
I was on Good Morning America talking about financial infidelity (when couples confess to hidden spending), and on Tyra as an expert, when the cheating boyfriend confessed, then dropped to one knee and proposed to his scorned lady (she declined). Despite the media blitz, confessions are definitely losing their "umph." I don't want to know about cheating or bariatric surgery anymore -- it's none of my business, and not even that interesting as far as confessions go. I do wonder, however, if people are exchanging the nonjudgmental stance of confessing in therapy for a larger audience.
The preference for public flogging unquestionably has a narcissistic element to it (I can't wait for Dr. Drew and Dr. Young's new book on narcissism, The Mirror Effect!). The phone lines are packed when I go on to Maxim's Sirius radio show (yes, Maxim does radio, stop laughing) once a week. The DJ, "Stretch," revokes "man cards" from anyone who's done something like sleeping with a friend's wife or not admitting to an STD.
Maybe it's just that confessing has become too routine: we confess to our nutritionists or diet counselors about our "cheat foods" and late night snacking, we confess partaking in retail therapy, or pilfering our husband's supply of Ambien. Then we turn on the TV and hear all sorts of "real life" confessions from murder to desperate housewives ménage a trois. And it makes us feel mundane.
So why does confessing feels oh-so-good psychologically? At best, confessing and apologizing are part of recovery; at worst, it helps dilute the guilt. It's a huge relief when you tell the truth and no thunderbolt throws you to the ground. Before you raise your hand to admit you "did it," just realize you might have some competition from other martyrs who want the spotlight -- the running-home-to-tell-your-mom-yourself-before-the-principal-calls type.
Nowadays, there are virtual places where you can confess -- about not recycling or for having premarital sex (different sites), but I am suggesting a HuffPost confessional right here and now, to assuage you from last week's transfat snack or genital Xerox copies at work. Or, even better: if you can foretell your transgressions for next week, feel free to give us a lead/insider's tip on that. We promise not to tell.