Guest post for blog share

Friends and readers! As promised, here's the post that was written by an anonymous (not me) blogger taking part in blog-share. Enjoy!


After signing up for Blog Share, I realized that the idea of writing anonymously about something I wouldn’t normally share is terrifying. It is not as if I am loaded with dark secrets and shameful thoughts. Overall, I feel fairly normal with a hint of quirk and a slight case of crazy. But my dirty little secrets probably aren’t so secret. In an age of full disclosure via Facebook, blogs, and My Space, there is little left to the imagination. Sexual escapades and hospitalizations are quite the norms. Stories of child birth and very sadly death are shared. What is left?

For me, it’s my insecurity. Since middle school, I have been insecure about being the odd girl out. I felt that I was never quite part of the “in” crowd, although I never really wanted to be part of a clique. It continued through high school where I felt constant worry that my friends were deliberately excluding me from parties or social gatherings. It might have been all in my head but I didn’t think so. Any slight felt like a deep stab to my heart. I knew they really did not want to hang out with me. After all, I’m not that interesting, or that funny, or that pretty.

College seemed better. I found a group of friends, joined the debate team, and started dating more guys. I felt more confident than ever. Or so I thought. But the hint of: “We like you but . . . we rather do something without you” kept being whispered in my ear. Before my junior year of college, one of my best friends went to England for the semester. She came to college before departing so we could hang out and have some fun together. Of course we ate, drank, and laughed until it happened. The big slight. One of our friends, with whom I was not as close, invited Esther and Gertrude (not their real names) to a party but not me. This time that cold knife sunk deeper. I could not face Esther and Gertrude. I especially could not face Bertha. Yes, Bertha and I had our differences but when they left after dinner to go to a dinner without me, a party that I could have been invited to go as well, that whisper became a shriek.

Time passes but wounds don’t always heal. Eventually I forgave them but I still feel the slight now when I think about it. Esther and I talked about this situation years later and she told me how badly she felt and wished it had never happened. She apologized and I accepted.

As a woman, I feel the insecurity less. I feel like I have “come into my own.” I suppose confidence grows with age but now there is a new world to feel the old lack of confidence: the blogging world. I’m not blogging necessarily to make new friends but for some reason, the little whisper comes back into my ear. Am I not interesting enough? Are my posts not worthy of comment? Are my comments not worthy of response? Certainly, I am no great writer. I enjoy blogging and really am doing it to counterbalance my intense and pressured work environment. But still. The whisper is in my ear no matter how many times I bat it away. Despite my dislike of cliques, I want to be a part of greater community, and the world of women bloggers is just amazing.

And then I remember. I am a woman blogger. I am part of this group. I have the confidence to say what is on my mind and publish it along with the thousands of other young women who do so.

So I will say it: I am proudly part of the inspiring, eloquent, irreverent, sarcastic and a delightful group of women bloggers.