Stealth Mode Off. Surveillance Terminated!

I am the oldest of my siblings and cousins. First-born grandchild. All eyes were on me—until they weren’t. Around age seven, my mother remarried and decided to start a second family. Enter Mark and David, born when I was nine-and-three-quarters and eleven-and-some-change. They were night and day—Mark, a bold and boisterous firecracker; David, a quiet and cautious shadow. Together? My personal pint-sized chaos committee. They tattled, pried, cried, and raided my room like it was their full-time job.

I was fourteen and “in charge” of a three- and four-year-old. At sixteen, I had a five- and six-year-old under my weary wing. I was more resentful older sister than willing stand-in parent, and by the time college loomed, I was fantasizing daily about my exit strategy. But here’s what stuck: those two, in all their boundary-pushing glory, taught me how to hide. If I wanted privacy, peace, or a moment alone for any reason, it had to be covert. Mark was obvious in his mischief. David was invisible. And me? I perfected the art of getting away with things quietly, undetected. Honestly, I should’ve earned a merit badge.

I got so good at it, I once scaled the olive tree next to our pergola just to sneak a smoke. I’d tightrope the beams, haul myself onto the flat gravel roof of our mid-century modern house, and hide out with my cigarettes, a journal, and my Vivitar camera. It was my personal rebel retreat: above it all, alone, and free—at least until I had to quietly shimmy down again like nothing ever happened. I did this regularly, mind you. Not exactly “occasional contraband.” This was a daily creativity exercise in stealth, privacy and pleasure. Honestly, part of me still loves how ingenious it was... but also, wow. That’s a lot of effort just to find five quiet minutes, have a puff, snap a cloud photo, and avoid being observed by a duo of toddlers with loose lips.

Let’s talk sneaky. Like dirty talk, but less sexy and more... strategic dysfunction. I recently had a meditation session where my inner guidance—my DMGS—lovingly called me out. It showed me how sneaky has survived into my current life as a subtle, habitual form of self-sabotage. Not bold or dramatic, just slippery. A muttered internal “just this once” or “don’t mention it and maybe it won’t count.” And I’m noticing: it’s not just a behavior. It’s a vibration.

Take the chocolate almond incident. A few nights ago, I was rummaging for a cooking tool and stumbled across a container of Trader Joe’s dark chocolate covered almonds. I'm pretty damn good at hiding shit from myself, mostly! Instant trigger, Sneaky activated: Don’t tell Chris. He’s on a diet. I'll ration them, make them last. Uh huh. Night one: too many almonds, bad sugar hangover. Night two: I made a show of putting some in a bowl, out in the open... but said nothing. Chris said nothing. We both knew. The energy was weird and weirdly familiar. That’s what got my attention.

This wasn’t about almonds. It was about access, control, and the ancient belief that if I don’t hide what I want, I won’t get it—or worse, I’ll be judged for it. Sneaky is how I learned to survive when I didn’t feel articulate enough to explain, confident enough to claim, or worthy enough to ask. It’s not just about avoiding consequences. It’s about preemptively disqualifying myself from authenticity.

But here’s the thing: I’m turning 60 next month. I’ve got tools now. I’ve got pause, breath, awareness, and a very sassy inner guidance system. I know that when I feel that slippery sneakiness arise, I can wait. I can raincheck my reaction. I can trust that clarity will come. I can speak from integrity without bracing for attack. I don’t need to squirrel away what I want like I’m still under surveillance. I can be honest. I can be seen. I can be free.

And while we’re at it, can we talk about the invisible audience in my head? The peanut gallery of imaginary critics who seem deeply invested in how I load the dishwasher or whether I’m using enough elbow grease in the shower? Who are these people? Ghosts of judgment past? An inner panel of exasperated relatives? The worst part is, they never leave—it’s more of a vague disapproval cloud, like I’m being watched by someone who’s perpetually unimpressed. Even when I’m alone. Even when I’m doing something incredibly helpful, like shoveling snow so no one breaks an ankle. Apparently, my inner surveillance team isn’t big on gratitude. But now that I see them clearly, I’m tempted to wave and say, “We’re good here. You can go.” Or better yet—hand them a clipboard and put them to work for a change.

Here’s the connection I didn’t see before: sneakiness is a response to imagined judgment. If I didn’t feel like I was being watched, evaluated, or silently disapproved of—why would I need to be sneaky at all? Sneakiness only exists when there’s someone to hide from, even if that someone is a dusty inner voice from the 1970's. The surveillance feeds the sneak. The sneak confirms the need for surveillance. It’s a self-sustaining loop of unworthiness, and every time I act from it, I reinforce the idea that I can’t be real and be safe at the same time.

But I see it now. The pattern. The payoff. The cost. I can shift it. I can pause, take a breath, and check in with my actual self—not the jury. I can move from this weird little jail of judgment and manipulation into something that feels a hell of a lot better: freedom, creativity, transparency. A kind of badass clarity that says, I want this. I don’t need permission. I trust myself. Sneaky had its time. But this next chapter? This one’s wide open. No secrets. No surveillance. Just me, free and clear.

Here's a few fun affirmations to help me remember in the moment. I'll print them and put them around for a few days! (or longer)