It’s the day after Thanksgiving and the inertia, the pull to slow down, turn inward and rethink and revision is present as the final brown leaves of Fall cling to naked trees, revealing the scrawny, exposed branches. Those tiny twigs give birth to such a firestorm of color before turning inward. I haven’t ever really appreciated the courageousness of a naked tree. The trees just stand there, exposed, damp decay all around.
This year, I’d like change the way I have been writing. It was cathartic to
start a “blog” almost three years ago. It gave me a vehicle to communicate with others and myself as I got sober. It also forced me to start writing again. I am thankful for all of this.
Now, the idea of “blogging” has become a container in my mind that I don’t feel like I fit into. It’s constraining. Blogs feel like they need to written thematically and “listy” and there is something about a “blog” that pushes my mind into those spaces. There were many times in the past 3 years when I would have something to say or want to write, but I would stop myself, because I didn’t feel like I has a title or a theme or anything. I can’t help but think of other blogs I have read and admired and then subconsciously try to mimic styles or concepts that are already “out there.” It’s derivative in a way that counteracts authenticity, so I need to abandon the idea and construct of “blogging.” (Though I believe the definition of a blog is just stuff you write on a webpage, so technically what I am doing next is still blogging, but maybe you get the drift. If not, who cares?)
I’d like to write more in the New Year, specifically around motherhood. I’d like to be to connect with others around what it means to be a mom and how motherhood shapes us. For me, motherhood is more conducive to writing in smaller, more frequent and raw bursts; rather than preconceived ideas or themes that build up inside over time.
I’d also like to write to piece my identity back together. Motherhood requires us to rebirth ourselves. It has also worn me out and slowed me down. When I had my second miscarriage, I ran a moonlight half marathon while listening to classical piano music to cope with the pain and loss. Now, I can’t job .5 miles without leaking pee into the liner of my running shorts, my sitz bones aching as each foot hits the pavement. I am also a workaholic who is working less now. So writing is a way to find meaning in the slowing down, to force a sort of sleep deprived poetry from a mind that often feels numb, a body that is achy. How can I eek some beauty out of my ever-present malaise of laundry and sleep deprivation?
I also want to write in a new way, so I connect with people I love more deeply. I am incessantly texting and scheduling phone dates with friends, but even in the catching up, there is often not enough space to drop into the marrow, the joyous and painful heartbeat of whats happening within each of us. Thats ultimately my motivation for writing—to integrate and to connect and to do so in a way that feel more authentic and true.
So, I envision what follows to be an online journal written during nap times and possibly at 4am. So, feel free to follow this new journey from close or afar. So, please reach out or comment or email me if you want to follow or if something strikes you!