There was a time I wrote and publicly shared anytime something heavy was on my mind, there was a funny story to tell, or I just wanted to share my heart. I don’t remember when, but at some point I just stopped writing. I think part of this unintentional decision was wisdom. Writing about my life in real-time was exhausting and didn’t give me time to process what was going on. I also had kids, a full-time job, and normal busyness of life. There was a season early in motherhood that I blogged regularly and would occasionally share on social media, but overtime, social media morphed into something I began to dislike. I became jaded. The internet seemed noisy and I had no desire to add to the noise. When trends abound, I rebel, and I think that’s what I was doing. I didn’t want to do what everyone else was doing. You tell me to go left, and if everyone else is doing it, I probably won’t go right, but I will dig my heels in the sand and be unmoved. My deep thoughts and stories became suppressed, and in the meantime, I was grieving the loss of a life we were establishing and entering into a season we didn’t expect. A blessed and joyful season, but full of doubts, questions, loneliness, anger, and sorrow. I felt (and still feel) these emotions more than Brent, but I shared them only with him because he was walking the same path. I was certain no one else cared to know my thoughts in real-time. Even if they did, simultaneously talking, living, and processing made my stories seem fuzzy to an outsider.
I keep a note in my phone so I don’t forget all of the things I process, so I guess technically I’ve still been writing all this time. There are times I re-read my notes and can’t believe I’m the author of those words. Not because they are amazing, but because they hurt. I go on walks often and while on those walks I’m either listening to a podcast or music, all up in my thoughts, and I hear God whisper to me on nearly every walk…it’s time to start writing again.
On a recent walk, I asked myself why I rarely share my thoughts anymore. That particular morning, I shared an Instagram story of my breakfast—an omelet with caramelized onions and goat cheese. I’m usually slow to post, always with constant consideration of how my post will make others feel. What about the people who have an egg allergy? What about the mom with young kids that has no time to make herself breakfast, much less sit down to eat it? What about people walking through sorrow and the knowledge of someone else doing something as mundane as eating breakfast makes them feel alone?
I’m an over-thinker, obviously. I can’t control how others respond to or feel about anything I post. But, I can give consideration to what I don’t want this to be about.
I don’t want to appear that my life is anything other than normal.
I don’t want to be unrelatable to people enduring hard seasons.
I don’t want seem aloof to those in a different season than me.
I don’t want people that know me in real life and know me on social media to find that who I am at the core is not the same in both places.
I just want to be a human here with no pretense. If you’ll stick around, I’ve got some stories to tell. No fuss. This is me, taking my heels out of the sand and finally doing what everyone else has been doing, but only because now is the right time.
Hopefully, I’ll discover some deep, rooted wisdom to guide me. And, I hope you’ll bring a sense of humor and not take yourself (or me) too seriously.
I am so excited about this.
I love everything you write because it’s you. You have a way with words and I’m glad you’re listening to what He told you to do. I always get something out of it.