I love reading blogs with photographs. It gives me a sense of who the writer might be and it adds depth, another aspect of authenticity to their important story. The blogs with which I am most familiar, have each shared images with readers. Some I follow, involve the writer sharing images with each post, daily some of them. Over time, I have read about their experiences and I have witnessed them grow and transform, become better mothers, fathers, partners.
My favourite blogs are not the highlight reels, to borrow a term from my pal, Chrissie Swan. They don’t just share the best bits of life, A La Facebook. The blogs I like are the warts and all, candid, scary at times, true accounts of someone’s reality. It’s an honour to read about someone’s reality, the good bits and the not so good bits of life.
I admire the way these bloggers share their images, especially photographs of themselves and their families. This type of writer is an intrepid writer, courageous. To find the words to write about your life is one thing, however to include photographs is downright gutsy and an incredible gift to give to humanity.
I cannot be so intrepid.
I cannot reveal myself in the physical sense.
I just can’t.
I have thousands of excuses: I’m a high school teacher. What if my students read it? What if my kids find out? My Man doesn’t really like my blogging. What if no-one reads my blog? What if someone reads my blog? I don’t want someone I know reading my blog!
A thousand excuses, thousands of stories…
The real truth is this: I’m embarrassed to share the pieces of me that I’ve spent years trying to hide. I’m incredibly proud of some things, but frightfully ashamed of others. Some parts of life I want to relive, celebrate, wrap with a huge bow and give to the universe. Other parts I want to hide, I act as though they didn’t happen, I ignore them, try to forget them.
If you’ve read my blog, especially the very first post, you will know that I am writing for Clarity and for Me. Achieving clarity will involve writing about all of those truths, the good bits and the not so good bits.
The dilemma is that if I’m just sharing my stories, I don’t have to hide and I can tell you absolutely everything. But if I tell you who I am, I may shut down and perhaps never write again, never utter another word. What irony!
So to those who need to connect with a visual here is my response:
I’m not as hot as this:
And I’m not as bad as this:
I’m somewhere in the middle.
I’m just not that courageous yet.
So for now, please, no photos.