Before I realized what I was getting myself into, I started blogging about parenting. I didn’t stop even once to consider the kind of reaction I would get. Why would I? I started a little group for my friends, who happened to be like minded parents with an appreciation for absurd, reality based rants.
Reality is so random and so raw. I read all sorts of blogs. I love the opinions. My favorite thing about reading other blogs is feeling the passion behind the message. The strong opinions of writers who have chosen to put themselves out there for both praise and criticism fascinate me. I read a lot, comment very little and think metric fuck TON about the things I am learning from my blog reading adventures.
Now that I have some basic level of understanding about the blog world and the people in it, I’m having much more trouble with my own writing. Blogs about cooking, sports and politics have the ability to keep me riveted and consistently interested because the topics are varied and always changing with the events of the day. Blogs about parenting are harder to follow and even more difficult to love, because the themes of parenting never change. Does what I say matter to anyone but me?
If moms were blogging in the 1960’s, they’d be bitching about the sexual revolution and disconnect between their depression era values and the free thinking/smoking/loving behavior of their rebellious teenagers. The context will always change, but the basic issues that frustrate parents of teenagers will remain. Teenagers were, are and will always be the most exasperating bunch of humans on Earth. Some might argue that toddlers deserve that crown. I can’t disagree. Teen vs. Toddler? How would we even select the criteria to judge? That’s a topic for another blog.
When I write about my experience, I write about the intensity of it. I’m learning about being a person by being a parent. There will rarely be a time when I talk about things that aren’t relatable to others. Specifics about my life and my family are limited to how they relate to others. I’m quick and to the point. You won’t find paragraph after paragraph describing things specific to my family. That shit isn’t even interesting to me. So the question remains, does it matter that I write? I’m just one of a thousand mom bloggers now.
I do have a point here. Bloggers must have thick skin. I didn’t know this when I started writing a blog so it’s good that I’m duck like in my ability to let a lot of the negative roll off my back. There are times when I read something that is so powerful and relatable to me, that is changes my life. I had my “spiritual awakening” of sorts years ago, and it came on with the combination of intense life experience, reading and the combination of these two things. It changed me as a person and those changes made me into a completely different sort of parent. I imagine this has been the experience of millions of mothers for thousands of years. What someone else wrote mattered to me. It mattered so much that my life took on a whole new meaning.
I want to believe that what I say can make a difference to someone who needs life to be different. It happened for me, to me. It will continue to happen to parents until the end of time. Each time a baby is born, we marvel in the miracle of life. It’s no different than the billions of births that came before, yet it is. It’s a LIFE. A new life, open to all the possibilities and with each new life, a parent is born.
I keep writing because it might matter. It mattered to me so I’ll pay it forward.
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