Anonymity

The Rebel and I have the kind of marriage where there are no secrets. I trust him completely, wholeheartedly. And I tell him the truth about everything, sometimes candidly so, omitting nothing aside simply from those things I forget. With this blog, however, I have backed myself into a corner and created the first lie by omission, the first unshared notable experience. The first secret.

While the writing has been enjoyable, keeping this secret from my life partner and best friend has not been. I have itched, burned to tell him so many times. But a fierce, protective urge kept me from it. Until yesterday. Finally, when I reached the edge of the cliff — should I say the words? should I not? — I spontaneously pushed myself to jump. I told him that I had been blogging. For about a month. Following his suggestion. As a form of therapy. To deal with all that baggage with my father.

Funny how once the words were out of my mouth, they tasted stale. As soon as I had divulged it, my secret lost its sheen. And I realized how instead of inviting my husband into the joy of sharing this secret with me, I hurt him retroactively by not having done so from the start. He was hurt, and it surprised me, for about a second. I then became afraid I hurt my marriage. I kept a secret from the Rebel and by doing so, I broke a little piece off our trust in each other. By so doing, I also gave him the right to keep a secret from me.

Writing here has been an intensely private and trying process for me, pulling all those thoughts and feelings and analysis out of myself and onto the screen. It is akin to therapy, and as such, it is not something I feel comfortable sharing with those around me. I have tried to maintain my anonymity in every way, shape and form while I blog. I am well aware that this shield is not foolproof but that does not matter. The concept of that anonymity is what matters, rather than its absolute success. For others’ sake as well as for mine. A relatively incognito online existence allows me to protect those in my life about whom I may speak frankly here, while giving me space to be honest with myself about the whole process.

I told the Rebel I didn’t want him to read my writing here. I don’t know if that was accurate. I feel unsure about the whole thing. About him knowing, about him not knowing. About him reading, about him not reading. I resent having to keep this a secret from him. I would like for us to share it. For him to have that insight into my heart and soul. Yet the game loses its purpose if he becomes involved.

It all comes down to the magical benefits of online anonymity. No one in my “real life” knows I write here. I know this is a common attribute among many online scribes, understandably so. The pseudonymous nature of this endeavor allows me to avoid pressure of any kind as I put words onto the digital page. I only owe myself to write. As I begin to have readers, the pressure is mounting to keep my prose up . But this is welcome encouragement, tied into the complex process of self inquiry. My whole point here is to be truthful. Without anonymity, considerable real life ramifications come into play. How can I be unreserved if I become afraid it may hurt others or my relationships with them?

Looking back on my spontaneous decision to unmask myself to my husband yesterday, I am mostly happy and relieved. The Rebel can be tremendously respectful. He is also brilliant. I know he can figure out where my writing lives on the internet. I also know he is smart enough to visit this place without my awareness. Should he decide to be curious and come upon this site, he grasps the importance of my anonymous safety and has the heart to let me believe it remains so.

I will continue to push myself toward self-truth and awareness, as if he weren’t part of this online world. I will pretend I cannot hear that little voice that tells me otherwise. And he can use the key to my domain of anonymity as he wishes. I owe him a secret, after all.