Tag Archives: secret blogger

Anon

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You’ll all know by now that I’m an anonymous blogger. What you’re not really call Mrboosmum, I hear you cry… I’m also a secret blogger. No one knows I write this and I steal moments (like now while I’m drying my hair) to write posts on my phone.

There are various and complicated reasons why I’ve made these choices. I don’t want my work colleagues or students knowing as much about my personal life as I lay bare here. I don’t want family to know how much things hurt or get to me sometimes. But it would be wrong to take my anonymity as a sign of fear, crippling modesty or acquiescence as my students often do when I teach novels (often, but not always, by women) of the past. (By the way, these are almost never the real reasons why historical writers published anonymously.) In my case, I just don’t think I could write this blog as I do without the shelter and freedom anonymity provides me.

What you get here is unedited me. I don’t really exist in this form anywhere else that’s visible. I can thank my anonymity for that.

There was a fascinating pbloggers chat a few weeks ago about blogging from the heart, which as you can probably tell is a subject and practice close to my own. Several of us were saying that we couldn’t blog honestly without anonymity and others started to think about how their blogs might look if they were linked to their real identities.

Then I had a bizarre run of emails and blog comments asking me what my name was or requesting that I self-identify on the blog. Some went so far as to say I was shooting my blog in the foot by being anonymous. That it would be more successful if I wrote under my name. Depends on the success you strive for, I guess. Honestly, you know so much more about me from reading my blog than you would from knowing my name.

All of this got me thinking about anonymity some more and I thought I’d share what it means to me.

A place where you can say and work through what you think and feel with

N o inhibitions

O r concerns that you will be overburdening anyone else who cares about you with your anxieties.

N o beating around the bush because

Y ou have to self-censor to

M ake others feel better. An

O pportunity to say things that are important to you and others and to

U nderstand a little more about yourself.

S omehere to be me and to celebrate all the wonderful and difficult things in my life.

I hope you understand why I’m anonymous. And that if you blog, whether you are anonymous or not, you feel able to blog from the heart. It’s liberating.

Getting Over Being Overwhelmed

I woke up this morning full of optimism. I’d had a reasonable night’s sleep by my paltry standards, my fab Homestart volunteer was coming to give me a couple of hours to catch up with myself, and I was going to get lots done. Heck, the sun even came out in smpathy.

But within a few hours, that all-too-familiar tidal wave of anxiety came over me. The knot in my stomach drew tighter. I was drowning. I had prescriptions to sort out, appointments to chase, emergency childcare to arrange when it turned out that the two next week, which I’d been assured would be mid-morning, clashed with school pick-up. I had a DLA form to complete (the shortest road to depression I have yet encountered – it’ll hit you by page 3 guaranteed) and two carers forms to fill out. I even had to chase a 3-month old referral to the keyworker who is supposed to be managing all our referrals. I kid you not.

Every form in which I had to list Mr Boo’s problems – PVL (brain damage), likely Cerebral Palsy, infantile spasms, developmental delay – felt like a punch in the gut. I needed distraction, and another cup of coffee was not a good idea, not if I didn’t want to do my best Mrs Overall carrying the macaroons impression. So I checked my blog stats.

I know this is not advisable for morale, especially as such a newbie blogger, but a few people do seem to read this (thanks!) and I love that. But before I got to the stats I stopped in my tracks. I looked at my blog header and just stared.

I long to put photos on this blog, I am a rubbish (and I mean rubbish) photographer, but I have a ton of photos and because my kids are in them they are fabulous, even if I do say so myself. More to the point, I know how much photos mean to blog readers, perhaps to none more so than readers whose children were born prematurely, or who have disabilities or special needs. To SEE how your story may develop is thrilling. If I could make one NICU parent smile by showing them what a robust and cheeky monkey Mr Boo is now, my day, week and year would be made.

But I am a secret blogger. No one knows I am writing this, not even The Grumposaur, who I fear might not get it or approve. Unless and until I out myself, I can’t very well put up pics of our kids on this blog. But I do have the joy of being able to see the real Mr Boo, to look at our header pic and see how far we’ve come.

The knot in my stomach starts to loosen and I can breathe again.

You are so much more than a list of diagnoses, Mr Boo. You are a marvel. And I love you and your sister more than I can say.