I’ve been silent here for a long time. My little subscription email project, Friday Feelings, has lain dormant for nine weeks. On Facebook these days, I’m strictly business: concert announcements, links to things I’ve written, a harmless Christmas photo. In the way I present myself online these days, I’m leaving out a great deal. And the omissions feel strange.

As writers, artists, and performers of all kinds, we live part of our lives online. For me, it’s a way of staying connected with the individual hearts and minds that constitute my creative community and, let’s face it, my friends. I once heard friend and composer Marcos Balter say in an interview that the most interesting thing we can offer others is ourselves. I couldn’t agree more, but I’ve been struggling with how to do that now.

My personal life, see, has undergone an enormous change. For more than two months, I’ve been separated from my husband. I’ve moved into a different apartment. I am taking small steps forward and plenty of steps backward as I grieve the loss of my old life. I’ve told family, friends and colleagues one by one, hesitant to allow this great sadness to make its way into my online “image.” I don’t always feel free to speak about it — perhaps most of all because the story, and the grief, isn’t exclusively my own.

I’ve been maintaining the awkward silence of a friend who has a secret so big, she can’t even make small talk at the party. But I guess I’m an Internet extrovert at heart. The kind of writing I aspire to do is the kind where I write about the world through the open lens of my own life.

When a major relationship ends, there’s such a big sense of failure or wrongdoing. By telling you this, I feel like I’m installing a big neon sign flashing I AM NOT PERFECT over this blog and over my entire being. But that’s probably for the best.

I won’t talk about my separation in detail, but it’ll still be with us. If I write about yoga or meditation or cooking or music, you’ll know that behind each paragraph is a person in major transition. You’ll know that each word was written in the context of grief, pain, fear, change, hope, and love. You’ll know that I need to stay silent about some things because I need to respect the privacy of people I hold dear. In the meantime, hugs — here and in person — are welcome.