I haven’t written a blog post in almost 11 months. For all intents and purposes, I’m really not doing enough to call myself a blogger. Truth be told, I’ve never felt comfortable calling myself a blogger. I love this community, love reading others’ words and making connections, finding a tribe of like-minded reader/writer/mothers. But I’ve never felt quite “enough” to be here- I don’t blog enough, I don’t have a particular niche, I’m not funny enough or deep enough or stylish enough. I don’t really fit in. Everyone seems to be doing it all so much better.
And still, I’m drawn to being here. It would be very easy to simply fade out and never post again, but I don’t. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out my blog persona, what I can offer, how to craft posts that are witty and insightful and heartfelt and don’t offend my parents, or my husband, or the dog. I wasn’t always writing for myself. The blogs I love the most are simply authentic. I realized I want to be here for me. I want a corner that’s mine to share my thoughts and my words, to recommend books, to commiserate over parenting and working and writing and trying to figure out this one life we get.
I found a blog post I had written on my daughter’s first birthday. It was sweet and filled with the mundane details of our day. Details I had already forgotten a few months later. I treasure that post, those words, that glimpse into time. Taking pictures or writing down memories seems to me to be a way to unlock time, for just a moment. When I read the words describing her birthday morning, I was there once again. It keeps a piece of her there, for me, and for her when she gets older. This is why I want to continue here.
So I am here, once again. A slightly new look. A slightly new outlook. I hope my words contribute to this community that has sustained me time and time again. And if they don’t, if these words are just left floating here, it will still be enough to say I was here, I thought this, I existed.