Blogging is personal. Well, I guess it doesn’t have to be. But all the blogs that I find engaging and worth going back to are personal. And whether I need to or not, I have tried to be personal here.
Living a public life can be complicated though. You’d think that after over a year and a half of blogging, I would have worked out all the “don’t publish that” kinks. But I haven’t. David, my husband, is a much more private person and it’s a constant give and take between us over what I can publish or not. Him, constantly feeling that I’m putting too much out there; me, constantly feeling like he’s trying to clip my wings. And then there’s me, sometimes realizing that he was right, and thinking too late that maybe I shouldn’t have shared after all.
Despite the fact that I have shared some of my most personal moments, there are other things I haven’t shared. I have written about my battle with depression, about my struggle to figure out what to do with my life, my failings as a mother, my self-doubt as a writer. You would be forgiven for thinking that I had shared everything. But you would be wrong.
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