Even an open book has to be bought if you want to take it home to read.

Just contemplating this strange balance of keeping my mystery, while also growing in a willingness to be seen, heard and known. What good is a writer who insists on hiding? She'll have nothing worth reading if she won't spend herself in the pages. But what value does a woman retain, if she's spilling all her secrets to the masses? While processing and praying about it yesterday, I was reminded anew of the delight God takes in mysteries concealed... womanhood seems to me to be equal parts having a beauty to reveal, and a beauty to conceal. Don't sell your secrets to the masses, or your pearls to the swine.

That said, as long as you're growing deeper every day, there's always a little more you can dare to give away... and trust that the few will know better, that there's always more hidden for the one who can seek.