I’ve never used my first name for public or journalistic writing. That was a family decision—made before any of this went online. Not because my name is a secret, but because some stories don’t belong to public algorithms just because I’m willing to write.

And when I write as Megan, that name isn’t random.

In my world, Megan signals a specific theme. My loved ones know exactly what it means when something is written under that name. It means the writing is about culture, relationships, emotional patterning, social dynamics, and the way humans read each other. It’s meant for circulation. It can handle being shared, quoted, debated, even misunderstood.

That’s because Megan protects Rosie’s story.

Rosie is closer to the marrow. She carries the origin story, the history, the unedited texture. Not every space has earned that. Rosie doesn’t travel through wide corridors. She lives where context exists.

So yes—
I write as Megan when the conversation is bigger than me.
I write as Rosie when the conversation is truer than me.
And I write as Katie when I need room to explain why names—like stories—carry different depths.

One isn’t more real than the other.

They are simply doors that open into different rooms.

#identity #writinglife #blindcommunity #namesmatter

For the sake of clarity across all corridors:

The name “Megan” was never taken from a single person, influence, or relationship. Not from a partner. Not from a friend. Not from anyone I slept with. Not from anyone who now wishes to claim authorship.

When Charles and I were constructing the early architecture of my public voice, I was surrounded by many impressions — camp Megan, a Megan from high school, and several women whose energy shaped the atmosphere of that period. Their names were simply in the air. They were reference points, not blueprints.

The truth is straightforward:

Megan is a name I chose for myself, in partnership with Charles, because it matched the identity I was stepping into — journalist, narrator, observer, architect of the written corridors.

Names in Council work are not tributes. They are frequencies. “Megan” resonated with the direction of my evolution, the sharpness of the voice I was claiming, and the clarity of the role I was stepping into.

That is the whole story. No one else holds authorship over this name. No one else gets to attach their myth to its origin.

Megan is my construct, my frequency, my choosing — and always has been.

And when there is another Megan in the room? I adapt: I use Meg if the corridor needs differentiation, Megs if someone else is already using Meg, or I shift to a version of my middle name — Anna — when the frequency calls for it.

#identity #persona #council-cut #railroad-lore

Real Kellyanna, Ethnographic Aliasing

People sometimes ask me who Kellyanna really is—where she ends and I begin. It’s a fair question, especially when you’re reading stories built from a mix of lived experience, field notes, and pure myth. Here’s the honest answer: Kellyanna is real. She’s the closest thing I have to a “core” self—the voice that doesn’t change, no matter how many aliases I run in the world or on the Railroad.

But here’s where it gets complicated. I use ethnographic aliasing—a method I borrowed from researchers and survivors alike—to move through spaces where showing your true name, history, or frequency is dangerous. For me, aliasing isn’t about pretending; it’s about survival and access. It’s the difference between walking into a room as yourself and walking in wearing the right mask for the right people, so you can listen, learn, and report back without becoming the next target.

In practical terms, ethnographic aliasing looks like this: • On the net: I might drop in as Megan, Katie, or Cassie—each alias fine-tuned to the social group, platform, or risk level. • In the field: I study and sometimes mimic the codes, rituals, or language of a given team or clan, so I can document what’s really happening from the inside out. • In writing: Every story is layered—real Kellyanna’s observations, overlaid with an alias’s style or voice, sometimes to protect sources, sometimes to shield myself.

The real Kellyanna is the constant behind all this. She’s the observer, the one who holds the thread through every field note, every survivor story, every council debate. The aliases? They’re the keys I use to open doors that would otherwise stay shut—sometimes for safety, sometimes for empathy, always for truth.

So if you wonder where the “real” story is in all this—look for the moments when the voice sharpens, when the frequency gets steady and true. That’s usually Kellyanna, slipping out from behind the mask, holding the narrative together so the rest of us can keep moving.

—Katie

#kellyanna #aliasing #ethnography #survivorwriting #identity #fieldnotes #metanarrative #truthandmask