Would The Real Glowless Please Stand Up

Before last weekend I could count on one hand the number of people (other than friends and family) who knew the person behind the blog. Who knew my name. Who knew Map Guy and Tricky's names and what we looked like.

Now, there are what can only be described as lots, and for reasons I'm yet to fully understand, it scares the shit outta me.

I'm not so completely full of myself that I think anyone I met even noticed my name tag or could recall my name five seconds after meeting me (to the vast majority I'm still nameless) and I'm not so vain to think that anyone besides me actually gives a shit.

So why am I still struggling? I should feel liberated, shouldn't I?

This blog was my cocoon. I was safe inside here; growing; developing. In to what, I'm not sure. The word 'writer' gets bandied about quite a bit on the Blogosphere but I'm definitely not one of those or I could have thought of something a little more descriptive than 'lots'.

Being anonymous meant there was little chance of any repercussions. If no one knew me, I couldn't get hurt. I could divulge my deepest secrets and it wouldn't matter.

I was Glowless; a persona; a character. Sure the real me was there, she came out in glimpses; but she was hidden under many layers like a Bloggy Babushka.

As Glowless I stood at the top of my Blog mountain, shouted "I'm a nutter" and was applauded for helping to break down the stigma of mental illness. Now that I'm 'out' though, I'm afraid to write. I'm shying away; censoring myself. I'm scared to say what is really there.

My friends, who are already familiar with the many skeletons in my closet, have stood by me in spite of them. Maybe because of them. But the newer friends? The ones that don't know my sordid past? Will they run if they see it here? The real me?

If they know how broken I really am, surely they will leave; relegate me to the 'Too Hard' basket and be on their merry way, perhaps looking back once to cast a pitying glance at the chaos that is my life and shake their head in disgust at the girl who can't get her shit together.

I know that people who leave when it gets hard aren't real friends. Part of me wants to be the bigger person; let them walk away. Even give them the finger and say good riddance. But there is that other part of me, the part that I wish wasn't there; that little corner of my soul that still yearns to be accepted. To be liked.


I have the words "be authentic" ringing in my ears. But how authentic? Where is the line between moderation and censoring? Between privacy and secrecy?

This shit just got real and I have no idea what to do.

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Glowless rocked the Aussie Bloggers Conference thanks to

HealthyChart and Baby Goes Retro and Simply Colors