I’ve been thinking a lot about this blog and what I write here and the support I receive, and my past blog and what I wrote there and the support I received. It struck me that my first blog, by the very nature of why I was writing, provided me with a community, and the members of that community adhered to a certain set of unspoken rules, perhaps organically understood because of the common thread that intertwined through all our stories. We knew, for the most part, what we needed from others and so we knew what to give everyone else. That community, and the unspoken rules we all seemed to follow, made me feel safe expressing all manner of thoughts and feelings, even the ones I would never expose to the light of my real life. That space, for a long, long time, it felt safe.
Until it didn’t.
This space has never felt that way, and that is part of why I created it. Once I realized that the safe haven I once had was gone (or perhaps was only ever a figment of my imagination, a thing I needed so much I made it manifest), I abandoned it to write somewhere else, where the expectations didn’t have to change, but could be created anew.
Here I don’t feel a part of a community, at least not in the ways I used to. And here I don’t really feel safe. {Which is good because I shouldn’t feel safe–no space on the internet is ever, ever safe.} Which is not to say I feel unsafe here, I just recognize that not everyone who reads this is coming from a place of understanding. I still chose to put some things out there that I would never expose to the light of my real life–writing anonymously can be a powerful thing–but I don’t do so expecting a chorus of empathy and support. There are fewer common threads intertwining my stories with the stories of those who read me, and many of those stories are unknown to me.
I wonder a lot, what the purpose of this space is, especially when it’s not serving a therapeutic purpose to me personally. What am I creating in this space? Is that creation valuable to others? Does a truthful account, in and of itself, have some inherent meaning? Or is the mere idea narcissistic to the extreme?
As I’ve closed the chapter of loss and infertility, I’ve opened some new ones, and my reading habits mirror that feeling of moving on. I rarely add a new blog about infertility or loss to my reader (though I follow everyone I once read, if they are still writing), but I do add parenting blogs (I suppose “mommy blogs” is the proper nomenclature but I never use it myself), or blogs about minimalism, frugal living and personal finance, or Buddhism and meditation, or creative living, or education. So many of these blogs offer “how to” posts, or offer generalized advice, or present the writer’s expert opinion. There is very little of personal significance in them; I know very little, or nothing at all, about these people’s lives or families, about their doubts or fears, about their challenges or self-perceived weaknesses.
I have to admit, I don’t get as much out of the blog written by the person who already knows it all. I understand why these are the more popular, better trafficked blogs–most people are looking for solid advice to enact real, measurable change in their lives. And when I’m searching for the answer to a question, those are the posts I appreciate finding, the ones with a step-by-step guide of how to get it done, or some expert advice on where to start. But as I’ve explored the world of personal finance and frugal living, I’ve found almost no blogs written by people who struggled to get where they are (which is always a place of success from which they can share their valuable knowledge). Most found the way to their frugal, well-financed life organically, or if they did have to look for it, had no trouble adapting it for themselves. The few blogs I have found where people had to do real soul searching and make difficult changes, are incredibly valuable, but they are rare treasures, the diamonds in the rough. And I haven’t found anything by someone still in the trenches, but then again, I suppose you wouldn’t tout your blog as belonging to the personal finance genre if you felt you were failing at personal finance. Lord knows I don’t.
This post is meandering and I apologize for that. I’m just struggling of late with what I perceive as a lack of belonging, and this perception of myself as having no real niche, or reason for writing. As is always the case, my story is unremarkable. In all the areas I struggle, my struggle is of no real consequence. Yes I suffer from depression, and it marks every day of my life, but I’m not circling thoughts of suicide or even trying to find a medication that works. Yes my daughter is challenging, but I’m not parenting a child with a diagnosable disorder that requires the pursual of treatment or therapies. Yes, my financial situation is barely sustainable, but I’m not paying off hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of debt, or filing for bankruptcy. Yes, my marriage isn’t a great, but I’m not having an affair or getting a divorce.
{And yes, I realize it is GOOD that none of these things are happening to me. I’m not disappointed that my life isn’t rife with drama, I’m just pointing out that it is ultimately unremarkable, that there is no aspect of my struggle that defines me, or might lend definition to my writing, and this space.}
My life is just, my life. My blog is just about that life. I don’t possess any sage wisdom to share or expertise with which to advise. I’m just a woman–many would call me a mommy blogger–writing from her mundane, insignificant point of view. And for what? So eventually some day someone might ridicule me for being both ungrateful enough not to appreciate what I have, and also self-involved enough to write about it?
Ah, now we (me included! I did not realize I was writing this post!) see this post for what it is, the unavoidable (for me it seems) existential blogging crisis, put into words. I write through these feelings every once in a while, and I wonder “aloud” if I’ll keep blogging, and then I always do, because honestly, I have nothing better to do with my time. And without this space, I might never express myself in a meaningful way, or exchange ideas with other adults (especially not ones as intelligent and thoughtfully the women who comment here.) And so I keep coming back here, even though I know it’s not worth much, in the grand scheme of things, and I’m not safe here from those who might hurt me with their words (knowingly or not). I keep coming back here, making myself vulnerable, because it’s the only way I know how to create, and until I can create something different, here I will stay.
I read somewhere once, that we write online so others might bear witness, so that we might feel less alone in our lives. That is surely the case for me. And I know that until I have some other canvas upon which to create, I will come here to write, even if I’m not quite sure who I’m writing for or what I’m writing about.
Why do you write, either on your own blog or in comment sections? What purpose do you think blogs like this one serve?
