I write because that is my love language. It is my medium by which I choose to communicate. I remain a stranger hidden behind this screen and although I allow myself to be vulnerable in this venue I am aware that I have also made sure that I cannot be found thus exposing my fear and insecurity to everyone. Like most of us, I imagine, we want to be known and in that most vulnerable of places we want to also feel safe and therein lies an unspoken problem. That most intimate of combinations – feeling safe and being vulnerable is so elusive and so intimidating to try and create that I suspect most of us don’t bother.
I know I don’t.
My vulnerability to my reader – and I do desire to remain vulnerable to my reader – is covertly made safe because I keep my identity hidden. It would take a lot of effort on my reader’s part to read my entire blog in order to piece together the clues as to who I am and I suppose if my reader were to put in such an effort and discover who I am then perhaps that effort alone would compel me to be known to them as well.
In the meantime I use this disguised medium to allow myself to write, to be vulnerable, to search my heart and my mind, exposing both the lovely and the dark. I find it therapeutic. I find it real. Because, in my day job there is not a lot of space for real. I need to be professional. I need to lead. I need to instruct. I need to inspire. But it is dangerous to be real.
And I am not ready to be known like that.