I cringe when I see people and they tell me, “Hey, I read your blog!”
I cover my eyes every time I log on and see how many “unlikes” I’ve gotten on Facebook, how many readers were so annoyed by me that they decided not to just “hide” me, but to banish me forever.
I worry each and every time I post if I’m being too self-promoting, if people wish I would just stop writing and get a life already.
The thing is, I know blogging is weird. It’s weird for someone, especially someone like me, who is frumpy and overweight and really not that talkative in real life, to pour my guts out online and talk about things that I don’t even talk about to my own husband.
And yet, here I am.
I started this blog simply to write. To try and inspire that secret longing I’ve had my whole life, since the days I would hole up in my room on beautiful sunny afternoons and write little stories. To prove to myself that with the mere act of committing myself to producing words on a screen regularly I could be transformed into a writer. And in a way, I’ve accomplished a small step towards my goal. I’ve published my first articles and will have the opportunity to call myself an author. The closeted writer in my me loves this little space to call my own and spin words into my art.
But it’s more than that.
I blog to make sense of this, my little world full of things that seem so small and insignificant, and reconciling it with the rest, the big and the scary and sometimes, the painful.
I blog because I love the words of others; the words I will stumble across at just the moment when I feel like I am falling. The words that will make me whisper a quiet “yes,” alone in the dark because someone has captured, just perfectly, what I needed to hear.
I blog because I hope I can in some way, or some small form, be that “yes” to a mom out there…just when she needs it most.