writer, blog, through it all I blog

I blog, therefore I am

Through it all, I blog. There is honor and integrity in a blogger who writes in real time, through the pain and the joy, in the face of the most uncomfortable times in her life. This is the blogging standard that I have set for myself since I began blogging. If you are afraid to hit the publish button, you know that you are being true to yourself. Because, lets face it, there is nothing quite as scary as telling the world your deepest, darkest secrets or exposing your weaknesses only to have those very experiences thrown back in your face and used as a weapon against you.

When you are raw and vulnerable, this is when you are at your best. This is when you are genuine. This is when you are relate-able and real. This is when you are your most human. If I wanted sunshine and rainbows blown up my ass, I would read fairy tales. I read blogs. Don’t get me wrong, fairy tales have there place but honest, raw, gut wrenching flawed life is what gets me through the days. I have blogged through some of the worst days of my life. This is where I find support and genuine connections. Who can find a connection if it’s draped in superficiality and bullshit?

I am afraid of perfection. I certainly don’t know it well. It is out of my depth. Quite frankly, if you are always rainbows and unicorns I feel like you are not being honest with yourself and you are definitely not being honest with me. I want understanding and commiseration, not judgment and aloofness. I want to see a part of myself in you and I want to recognize you in me. I want to connect not be talked at. I want to be talked to and more important, I want to be listened to.

I blog because I am a writer.

I survive experiences by writing them down and wading through the thick of it. I use those same experiences to look back and get perspective. I use my words to get to know myself on a deeper level. My words help me to expose myself in a way that I may otherwise be too afraid to share. My words can scream words that my mouth is too terrified to whisper. The judgment and condemnation of my words is not immediate. I don’t have to see your face or disapproval. I can just tell my story to the world and hope that somewhere, someone else can relate. Every thought I have may not be earth shattering, whose is? But my words may be just the thing that is so relate-able that it saves someone else who’s suffering. My words are a life preserver. Someday they may comfort my children when my voice can no longer speak to them.

Writing is as crucial to my survival as breathing. Writing is my safe place. Writing has saved my life. Without it, all the feelings of helplessness, anger, vulnerability, sadness and confusion would’ve eaten me alive. Writing, for me, is about more than words on paper and never about writing just what others want to hear. Anyone who has ever read my blog can attest to that. Sometimes my truth is so brutally honest that I offend myself. I cringe, I blog my truth and hit publish anyway.

Why do you blog?

Through it all, I blog

 

 

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