You have no idea how many posts I’ve written in the past months and published as private. I suppose having a blog is a terror for me at times—when I am being honest with myself, but not being honest with others. I keep quiet about my most personal events, feelings, and transformations, but outsiders only see portions or slivers of the truth that come through when I want to feel connected.
If you read my archives, I used to be so plain, so open and forthcoming. It was a beautiful thing that I’m sure drew people to me, and helped me become who I am now. But perhaps as an adult I’ve learned a different kind of fear, or perhaps a better value for privacy and personal growth that truly is personal. I’m not sure if it’s bad, good, or twisted. But here I am, writing privately on a public medium. Oh the irony.