I keep running away. But from what?
Some of you may have noticed I shut down the blog for a while. It was spurred by spontaneity one night when I was alone watching a show about Internet predators. It struck a chord with me because I've exposed a lot of information and details of my family on this blog and guilt and regret rushed through me as I scrambled to protect our privacy. I sent a text message to my immediate family to apologize for giving others an intimate look into our lives and let them know it will no longer happen again as the story can't go on.
But something still didn't feel right about my decision because for most of my life, I've let fear and pessimism limit the roads I take. When you don't let yourself believe and choose to see the good and bright side, you've already written the end of your story. I truly don't know why I've had such issues in the past year writing on my blog. Part of it was because I fell into deep postpartum depression during the winter months and have been struggling to pick myself up since then. The other part was simply due to the fear of the unknown. I didn't know where I was going with my blog anymore, who I was writing to and for, and what others were thinking of me.
I felt limited with what I could say and how I could present things in my life because I was afraid of losing readers and offending people. I was helplessly lost in my depression but so desperately trying to hide my inner struggles from the world that writing became a chore. I was putting on a meaningless puppet show for the sake of performing.
I was afraid of sharing how things truly were for me because I didn't want people to laugh and say "I told you so."
I told you so because I chose this path for myself and YES, there are still days I wonder how life could have been if I never had my baby. The road getting back to even, getting back to where I was two years ago before my life spun off-course has proven to be an on-going battle. A battle of aimlessly searching for what once was and what I could still recoup and have.
Or am I fruitlessly trying to regain and repair what is no longer mine? A singleton life without limits and bounds? I am a mother, a partner to someone who loves me very much, and things are different now. This is life, evolving, changing, and moving towards a new normal instead of constantly checking over your shoulder and checking in with what could have been.
In this past year, I've lost weight, friends, happiness, career ambitions, and many other sacred and defining parts of me. But what I refuse to let slip through my fingers is my voice even when it's muddy and unclear.
I am lost because I don't know what I am doing anymore. But my twin, Carly, reminded me this morning that nothing in life matters if you don't do things with purpose, passion, and gratitude. So that is where I am at now: I love to write. Period. I love to write about feelings, emotions, relationships, family dynamics and drama... I love to read and write things that make people tingle on the inside. I love to read and write things that tug at heartstrings and make people breathe "Wow. I totally get it."
I once thought I wanted to be a rock star. But money and notoriety aren't things that matter to me or would make my life any more worth living. It's time to scale back, to break things down to the basics, and do what I love unabashedly and without fear. Write without an audience in mind, without limits, and without anxiety. A blog is a personal space and outlet, and readers will hang around if you add value to their lives.
King is literally clawing down his playpen as I write in frustration that his ever-attentive mother has put him down for a few minutes so she could possibly hodge-podge together some words. Ah, my time's up again for now.