This chapter explores why keeping certain knowledge protected is essential for security, influence, and long-term survival.
Keeping Secrets
Loose Lips Still Sink Ships
There is a reason women have been burned, drowned, tortured, and disappeared for whispering the wrong things to the wrong people. And, there is a reason governments have always feared the quiet ones who know too much. Information is power. And power—your power—is not something to be handed out freely.
You must learn to keep secrets. Not just because it is prudent, not just because it is useful, but because, in an era where surveillance is constant, where trust is currency, and where they are counting on you to be careless, your ability to stay silent can mean the difference between safety and destruction.
They expect you to spill. They expect you to vent, to confess, to seek validation in the wrong places. They will give you microphones disguised as friendships. They will hand you platforms and beg you to document your every thought. They will reward your openness—until the moment they decide to use it against you. Don’t make it easy for them.
Not Every Thought Needs an Audience
This world has conditioned you to overshare. To believe that transparency is always good, that confession is always cathartic, that being an “open book” is a virtue. This is a deception. Your plans are not for public consumption. Your fears are not for mass distribution. Your alliances, your strategies, your doubts—these are not things to be shouted into the wind and hoped for the best.
They want you to believe that secrecy is dishonesty. That privacy is something to be ashamed of. That if you’re not openly declaring your every move, you must have something to hide. You do. And you should.
The Mechanics of Keeping a Secret
Keeping secrets is not just about silence. It is about strategy. It is about knowing what to say, when to say it, and most importantly—when to say nothing at all.
Here’s how you make sure your secrets stay yours:
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Practice the art of the blank face. Not everything needs a reaction. The less you reveal, the less they have to use against you.
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Know who truly has your back. Not everyone who smiles at you is a friend. Not everyone who listens is an ally.
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Use misdirection when necessary. Not all lies are spoken. Sometimes, the best deception is letting someone believe what they already assume.
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Limit your digital footprint. They don’t need to know where you’re, what you think, or what you’re planning. Don’t hand them the keys to your life on a silver platter.
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When in doubt, write it down—then burn it. If you absolutely must get something off your chest, make sure it can turn to ash when needed.
First Task: Build Your Inner Vault
Your mind should be a fortress, not an open field. Your life should be layered, not an unlocked diary.
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Decide what is sacred. What information should never leave your hands?
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Identify your trusted circle. Who are the people who, if asked, would protect your secrets as their own?
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Practice discretion daily. If it is not essential to share, don’t.
"Three may keep a secret,
if two of them are dead."
— Benjamin Franklin
Historical Reflection
Anne Lister
Anne Lister sat in the quiet of her study, pen in hand, filling the pages of her journal with words no one else could read. To the world, she was an unconventional but respectable landowner, a woman of intellect and sharp business sense, independent in a way that made men uneasy. But within the pages of her diary, hidden in a cipher of Greek letters, algebraic symbols, and personal abbreviations, she documented a life that society would never accept. Her coded words held her deepest trust, her ambitions, her desires, and the love she could never openly express.
Born in 1791 in Halifax, England, Lister was raised with the expectations of marriage and quiet obedience, but she rejected them outright. She dressed in dark, masculine-coded clothing, managed her own estate, and carried herself with a confidence that earned her the nickname “Gentleman Jack.” While others viewed her refusal to marry as eccentricity, the truth was far more dangerous—Lister was a lesbian in a world where exposure meant social ruin. Unlike men who could conceal affairs or women who married for protection, she had no blueprint, no legal recourse, and no safety net. The greatest threat was not the law but discovery.
So, she did what few could, she safeguarded herself with secrecy. In her meticulously coded diaries, spanning over four million words, she chronicled her relationships, her conquests, her fears, and her strategies for survival. She navigated society with careful precision, choosing what to reveal and what to withhold. She wielded selective honesty like a weapon—bold enough to command respect, restrained enough to avoid catastrophe. While the world saw a fiercely independent woman, only the pages of her journal held the full truth of her defiance.
For nearly two centuries, her secrets remained locked away, her coded words unread. It was not until the 20th century that her journals were deciphered, revealing one of the most detailed accounts of LGBTQ+ history ever discovered. Her existence had been hidden, but it had not been erased. She had written herself into history, ensuring that her life—her real life—was not lost to time.
Anne Lister understood a fundamental truth: secrecy is not always a burden, it is protection. Some truths are too valuable to be left unguarded. Some identities too precious to be placed in untrustworthy hands. Her story is not one of fear, but of strategy. She knew what to conceal, what to reveal, and how to protect what mattered most. Her secrecy was not weakness. It was survival. A secret kept is a truth protected. Not everything must be shared. Not everyone has earned access to your truth.