Tag Archives: blog anniversary

Two Years

Image by Ray_from_LA

You are a young woman. You are a middle-aged man. You are childless. You are a mother of five. You live in Cambodia. You live in Chicago. You are a marketing professional. You stay at home with your kids. You want to be a writer when you grow up.

I met one of you in person at a suburban Starbucks near where I grew up.  I shared iced coffee and dreams with another of you on the Upper West Side. I talked peanut butter cups and writing with one of you over lunch this summer.  I enjoyed my first weekend away from my three children with two of you earlier this fall. Some of you sent me handmade gifts when my daughter was born this winter. Some of you I only know by a mysterious moniker or a coy avatar.

But all of you – all of my blogging buddies – are my friends.

Little did I know when I wrote a hasty but heartfelt comment on one of your blog posts two years ago that I would be typing my way into a digital community – one that has supported and challenged me with each letter I write and each word I read. When I found myself living in a new town trying to navigate a new identity as a mom, I reached out to you and you welcomed me. You laughed with me. You let me laugh at you. You asked the right questions. You gave me the right answers.

They say it takes a village to raise a child. I don’t know if that’s true. What I do know is that it takes a village to raise a mother. And you – you virtual and very real friends of mine – have helped raise me.

On this, the two year anniversary of Motherese, I thank you for your friendship.

A Room of Mom’s Own

One year ago today, I published my first blog post.

For the first few months, I posted every day.  Then I started posting six days a week.  Then five.  Then three.  Now whenever.  Those all felt right and this feels right too.  For now, at least.

I’m not sure what initially drew me to blogging.  I was definitely inspired by two of the wonderful blogs I had been lurking around for a few months.  I was interested in the idea of finding a creative outlet.  In connecting with a community.  In – to borrow a phrase from Kate at Watercoloring on the Table – “feel[ing] a part of the grown up world.”  In having something to do in my life that was for me and me alone.

And that is the single most important gift that blogging has given to me this year: a virtual room of my own.  One populated by adults, writers, parents, thinkers.

I started blogging at a moment in my life at which I felt very detached from many of the other adults that I interacted with in person.  So I blogged constantly, writing here and visiting you as a means, I think, of creating a community when no real one existed in my offline world.

But, as I wrote more, and read more from you, I started seeing things in the people around me that I had taken for granted before.  I also felt more comfortable sharing the vulnerable truth about me with my friends: I am not a perfect mother and I don’t really want to be.  And, as I shared more, I found that others started to share more too.

Counterintuitively, blogging reinvigorated several of my friendships offline.  And, as that happened, I found myself online less often, but still enjoying the fruits of the blogging “work” I had been doing.

Another benefit that I’ve gained from blogging has also increasingly lured me away from the computer.  I’ve fallen in love with the art of writing and I want to do more of it, learn more about it, practice it.  Joining this community of thinkers and writers has therefore helped me get in touch with a part of my non-mom identity that I hadn’t tapped into before.

Last, but not least, I think blogging has made me a better mom (well, at least it has since I stopped spending every waking moment online).  I’ve been inspired by your stories, by your struggles, and by your honesty.  I’ve learned more about riding the waves and rolling with the punches.

Above all, blogging makes me happy.  And I didn’t realize until I built this room of my own – this room for this mom – how important my own happiness is for the well-being of my kids.

Thank you for being here this year, for being part of my journey.

Image: Windows #1 by michaelgoodin via Flickr under a Creative Commons license.