I told my husband about my blog last night.
As is true with so many of my writing projects, the idea for this blog rattled around in my head for many a month before it became reality. And as is also true with my writing, I kept it all to myself. I find that as an artist, I am an amazing coward. I am a pianist whose crippling stage fright keeps me from playing for my dearest friends. I am a singer whose throat tightens up when I sing alone (thankfully, I am OK in a choir). And I am a writer who hides my pages and notebooks in a drawer or under my sweaters.
Art touches something…something raw and personal. It opens you to others in a way that other things cannot. And when the subject of that art is rape, the self-disclosure is even more intense and scary.
Hence, my reluctance to share. And my anonymous blog. So anyway, back to my husband 🙂 I said, “I’ve started a blog. It’s about my rape. It’s about Mark”. (Mark is of course not my rapist’s real name).
“Are you sure you want to do that?” he replied. “Won’t that get back to people you know?” I assured him that I had layered the blog in a veil of secrecy that would do James Bond proud and felt reasonably sure that none of my actual information would get out. “That’s awfully brave of you”, he said. I told him I didn’t feel very brave, rather I felt pretty cowardly because I cannot possibly imagine sharing this story with actual people I know. The thought makes my chest tighten up. “Cowardly-brave?”, I suggested. “But I want to share and try to help others. It’s too important.”
He gave me a big hug and said, “No. Not cowardly. You are amazingly brave.”
It was a good feeling 🙂