Wednesday, 22 December 2010


Sometimes I have something I want to say but I can't find the energy to piece the words together. It's been like that for days now, and I'm now expending more energy on NOT writing than I would otherwise do in making the attempt.

So here goes.

My Blog...

When I first entered the blog sphere, it was as a teacher in search of colourful or comical images which I could use to liven up worksheets and teaching resources I was
A Google Image search for "mountain" may link to a post about somebody's holiday; somebody's love of climbing; advice on mountaineering equipment; an obsession with Everest;
somebody's personal obstacles or victories; the view from somebody's back garden...

I loved it that, just for one moment in time, I could dip into another world, culture, mind, heart. It felt like a privilege to glimpse the world through the eyes of someone I would never know and I loved the bizarre juxtaposition (and I'm sorry to use such a word but I can't think of another) of intimacy and anonymity offered by a blog.

I didn't realise that blogs could be 'followed' by strangers who may become friends in the virtual world. I didn't have a clue that there was a relational aspect to them, and I certainly never dreamed that anyone would sustain interest in anything I wrote.

The notion of blogging became attractive because so much of what I feel and experience feels as though it belongs to a part of me that couldn't be shown to others. A part of me that is too dark, too honest, too pained, too tired... too something.

A diary was too risky. I've kept them before. Dangerous things, diaries. You end up lying half the time... just in case...

I liked the idea that some random person, sitting, standing, lying anywhere on earth, in an office, classroom, lounge, hut, hospital, cafe, bedroom, could hear my voice.
Just for a moment in time.
And that's all this blog was.
A glimpse. A raised eyebrow every now and then. A sound bite.

I like it that I am not 'known' and yet can be heard

I admit to struggling with the fact that not only do some followers feel that they know me, but they have also come to 'care'.
Intimacy is an itchy jumper.

As I type, I am inwardly howling with frustration at sounding so ungrateful.
I have appreciated your words. I have come to care too.
The split in me hurts. I am torn by wanting care and wanting to yell at everyone to stay away from me.

Before disappearing into sleep, I should probably conclude by saying that this blog is not about anyone apart from me (yes, it's a very selfish blog).
Anything posted here is an expression of something I am feeling or thinking about. It will have been posted either because of a drive to somehow put it 'outside' of me, or because of an urge to 'create' words for it.
I have no need to be understood or cared about here. I'm not looking for anything other than a little space, on a vast web, where I can be heard without being known.

Intimate and Anonymous.

I will remember, next time I need to exemplify an oxymoron.


  1. And that is that. 'Tis good to know. Take care of yourself, WS. Adios.

  2. I don't need to know you to care. I care because your words touch me. I think I find a kind of connection with your pain. I can relate to you even though we are different, on different continents, and all I know of you is what you write here.

    This is your blog. Write for yourself and forget about the readers. This is your space only. That is how it should be. If someone misunderstands you, so what.

    Having said all that, I totally understand the mixed feelings about blogging. It's so deeply personal and painful. I so wish I had been more anonymous with mine. I didn't ever expect anyone to read my blog much less follow it.

  3. I too much like you started to blog to release pain without anyone knowing who I was. This is totally your space to say what you need to say without worry about what the reader or followers think. As time went on I became less anonymous and to some degree I regret that. I have found some support through blogging and will treasure that. You need to find what works for you. You are the important one in this story. It is really about what you want and what meets your needs. With that said I do hope you have a peace filled Christmas.

  4. WS, having had a hard time myself and preparing my move to the USA - finally leaving Germany on December 24. Yes, I do care and it is wonderful to read that you are able to write and feel that you care too. How unusual this emotion might be to you - you do. And that is so human, so healthy. Thinking of you and sending you love, care and hugs.

  5. HI WS

    you know how I feel - and it matters not to me how we each found one another - I am just so happy we did. :-)
    Love to you always
    peace and hope for us all

  6. Hey WS...too late...I do care about you. ☺ Your words...feel so much like my own. And like you "I like it that I am not 'known' and yet can be heard." Funny thing about this blog world...I started to blog b/c a writer friend suggested I do that. I never knew too that anyone would care enough to connect to me in ways they have. And the other funny thing about's b/c of the kindness I've recieved from annoymous people that allowed me to have my voice....that I've been able to push past so much of the shame. So WS....I'm your corner...listening...and routing for you....Sarah Hey...and Merry Christmas!!!

  7. what a powerful post. I have written diaries in a cat-scratchy shorthand 'just in case.' In a way the anonymity lends itself to the intimacy