I sat in a meeting this week and my daughters Psychiatrist looked at me and said one day you should write all this down.
I've realised that blogging is my primary self care, it's where I put most of my thoughts. I spill out all my feelings, thoughts and ponderings. Just doing that is often enough, ugly, beautiful, raw, funny and frustrating thoughts.
Then I breathe, I feel better.
So I cut and paste, edit and polish, sanitise and fashion into something that doesn't offend, something that raises a smile or brings some hope. I protect the innocent and guilty alike and try to be fair. Then I release it into the wild, the internet, and walk away feeling better. My blog is about me.
I always had a hunch that losing my anonymity would present challenges of confidentiality and consent or worse. Right now that all seems very real and I don't know what to write anymore, I fear eyes are watching and looking for fault, picking up on words or intention. I've lots to get off my chest, perhaps more than ever before but as I sanitise my posts to the point of being bland, vague and indifferent they there's no catharsis just indifference and frustration.
There's stuff I can post, #cpv, DfE and the like, but that doesn't scratch the itch.
So, I'm waiting and seeing and writing boring posts like this, though I do feel a little better.
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