Why do I keep the most valuable parts of me hidden?

8:09am, in my office, Phoenix, Arizona, Wednesday morning, December 22, 2021, three days until Christmas. No one knows I am a writer. I internally identify as a writer, I have for almost twenty years, but no one knows I write or have this blog. Why do I keep the most valuable parts of me hidden?

Change

5:40am I don’t know how to change. How to be different. I don’t know what I would do if this blog were “discovered.” How would my world change if I received attention? I work in hospice. I have a public persona but the real me remains hidden. Writing these posts is a way to put myself out there to be discovered. But there is dissonance. The hospice director is a carefully crafted facade. It serves purpose. It is a image I use to make money and care for my family. The post writer is the inner me. He is the voice in my head. My best friend. what would I do if people at work saw these posts? What if prospective employers saw them? Family, friends. Strangers? I want more than anything to be known. I want more than anything to remain hidden.

Why?

9:17am do I write these posts to share what normally would stay hidden in my mind? Do I write them for others to possibly discover? Do I want family, friends, the WIL to discover it? Maybe after I die? Do I write them so I can see where I have been, what I was thinking? I just write them.