I've been busy writing a piece for a book of tales of psychotherapy - patients' tales, therapists's tales etc. I'm not a therapist so you can guess which type I'm writing.
However, I'm not sure now that I'm going to submit it.
When I was younger I wrote a lot of articles, book chapters etc which dealt with the daring subjects of lesbian and gay politics and aspects thereof. I thought nothing of revealing details of my personal life and thoughts. Yet, as you may have noticed, this blog is pseudonymous and some of that is for practical reasons of work and motherhood, while some of it is because as I've got older, I no longer feel as ready to publicly reveal all. [Publicly meaning under my real name.]
I'm not sure why that is. Part of me does think: publish and be damned. Words can never hurt me (but will words lead to sticks and stones? That's another question to consider.]
Another part of me hesitates. I ask why I want these experiences to be published. Even if I were to publish them under a pseudonym.
What was so valuable in the early days of the women's movement (and still is) is that so many women shared the intimate details of their lives and relationships with each other and that sharing was what made such radical changes possible. It made dramatic changes possible in my own life. I'd like to be able to go on writing like that. Still, something makes me pause...
The deadline is tomorrow. I'm right at the end of my piece and simply have to email it to the editor. I'm still not sure if I will.
Recent Comments