“SECRETS KEEP US SICK,” RICHARD SAID DURING GROUP on Day 4. It sounded like the tagline for a horror movie, too melodramatic to have any impact. “They keep us from being our authentic, real selves. So we’re each going to tell one.”

Richard was working with us that afternoon. Or evaluating us. I could never tell which. He was always jotting things down in a notebook, nodding when we spoke or asking generic questions like “Can you say more about that?” or “How did that make you feel?” and consistently failing to offer any insights or useful advice. The counselors didn’t seem entirely comfortable with him, either, and I was getting the sense that he didn’t work there year-round, only in the summer, like he was the seasonal guest star in a long-running series. I wasn’t particularly shocked by Molly’s or Alex’s secrets; Alex had slept with a man while his wife was away at rehab, Molly had stolen money from her parents to bail her boyfriend out of jail. After sharing, they were each required to ask the group for forgiveness. I was uncomfortable with the forced pardoning, though both of their secrets seemed pretty forgivable. But Greg’s involved “possibly” taking advantage of a drunk Tri-Delt when he was a Kappa Sigma at Vanderbilt. His voice was solemn when he told the story. He looked up at Richard when he was done.

“Now, ask your group members if they think that makes you a bad person,” Richard said.

Greg asked us each individually; Molly and Alex each pardoned his behavior. When he looked up at me with a pathetic but expectant look of hope, thinking I would absolve him of what I deemed to be rightful shame, I was tempted to respond, Yes, that does make you a bad person. You should probably be castrated. I imagined he would then attempt to defend himself, and I would quickly dispel his efforts. Poor you, I would say, she’s only been through a lifetime of therapy for what you did to her and here you are, a middle-aged man ten minutes into rehab thinking this can all go away! He’d then break down into sobs and I would really lay into him, continuing to describe what this poor woman had likely gone through on account of the unfortunate coincidence that they’d attended the same frat party. I smiled, imagining this situation playing out, until my fantasy was interrupted by the sound of my name. “Helll-ooo!”

I looked up at Richard. “Huh?”

He chuckled along with the others; apparently he’d been trying to get my attention for some time. “I said, ‘Do you want to share a secret?’”

“Do I have to?”

“You don’t have to divulge anything if you don’t want to,” Richard assured me. “But I bet you’ll feel better if you do.”

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