I’ve been having a hard time blogging lately. Did you miss me?
This THING happened recently, and I haven’t been able to get past it.
Someone whom I made angry decided to use what she knows of me from reading this blog to write the meanest, most ugly, unkind criticism, critique, whipping, beating, roundhouse blackout punch blog post about me, my lack of intelligence, and my lousy mothering skills.
Minutes after I commented on the post, she deleted it.
I’ve been wanting to just move on. Keep blogging.
But I’m stuck. I don’t want to fan the flames, but I cannot go on, saying nothing about what happened.
I know. She’s probably not the only one following my travails with a mixture of fascination and horror. That’s the risk I take by putting myself out here in the world. By being the introspective, honestly flawed, occasionally fearful person that I am. “Calm” mama. Ha!
Not calm. Not usually.
There are many ironies in this story. And a few other thoughts besides.
* * *
One.
Recently I’d been wondering to myself about how I might get a little more encouragement and emotional support from friends, family, internet compatriots. It’s hard out here for a mom. It can get isolating so easily. I’ve lost touch with old friends. I’m shy with new friends. Some days it’s hard to pick up the million pound phone and call anyone.
And scary. Trying to be a good mom. Trying to be the best me I can. Trying to give this boy everything he needs. To do that, I need: connection, friends, mom-and-baby activities, non-baby activities, conversations over tea, hugs.
There have been times when I’ve received a lot of support and encouragement. Especially in the beginning. In person and on this blog. I’ve loved every word.
I think maybe people feel like I’ve been at this for a while, I’ve got the hang of it. No need to give me gold stars anymore.
But I’ve been needing some gold stars. Compassion, love, a little keep-on-trucking.
When I called a friend after this incident and pointed out this irony she said — Look. It made you call me and ask for support.
Ah. Yes!
* * *
Two.
In a week, I may be writing for a bigger audience. More people to possibly find me ridicule-worthy. More people to woo with my wit.
No pressure or anything.
I’m often told I need to have a thicker skin. It is the irony of being me. I feel positively DRIVEN to share my experiences with others, in print and onstage. For years, I was a performance artist and improvisational actor. The majority of my work was non-fiction, based on my life. Before that, I got a bachelor’s degree in Anthropology. I used to joke that the performance art was the same, it’s just that the fieldwork site was inside my head.
I’ve always struggled with the etic/emic perspective. Am I watching myself from the outside, making clever observations in my notebook, or am I speaking from within the thick of tribe, having gone native with myself.
Okay, that’s confusing. File under: Being John Malkovich.
It isn’t enough that I have to wonder what my mother and mother-in-law will think when I write?
That has always been the problem. I’m sensitive. I’m afraid of being judged. I hated being edited the first time I wrote a story for publication. It took me a while to get good at accepting feedback and corrections. And in acting/theater? Ugh. Worse. Torture.
Yet I am driven. I go back for more. (Heh, funny typo. I accidentally wrote ‘I go back for me.’)
I guess it’s a good thing. A call to arms. A reminder. I need to worry less about what anyone thinks of me. I need to judge myself less and be me more.
* * *
Three.
This incident made me stop and ask this question: Why do I blog?
Some days, I do it because I want to be loved. Not just for how brilliant and funny I am, but in a way that isn’t useful. I see people out there on the internet, loving each other. And I want in. I want people to send me “perfect post” badges. I want a big famous blogger to like me and tell all her friends and then they’ll like me and we’ll all Twitter together.
But here’s the thing. The big fat silly stupid thing. I’ve made wonderful friends on the internet. I’ve been given badges, featured on other blogs, had wonderful things written about my writing, invited to guest post. I helped throw a virtual baby shower for a woman I’ve never met. I’ve had amazing bloggers guest post here. It’s been lovely. Also awe-some: Some of my internet friends have widely divergent religious and political beliefs from my own.
I’m sure I’d have more internet friends if I Twittered more, read and commented on more blogs, figured out Stumble Upon, wrote something on BlogHer. You get what you give, and truth be told, I’ve always been terrible at the social networking side of blogging. I connect in spurts, and then it gets quiet again. Maybe when Jonah is older I’ll have more time and energy for it, or not.
But you know when you’re feeling bad about yourself and a little lonely and then you do go trotting around the internet and it seems like everyone else knows each other and they’re all at this big party and you’re just weirdly eavesdropping?
But the feeling, that’s the thing that isn’t real. It isn’t true. It’s just a movie. A bad movie projecting against the inside of my head.
Turn on the lights!
* * *
Four.
I will say that my greatest achievement in this blog might be these three posts which seem to get the most traffic on any given day:
how to (not) buy a glider chair for the nursery
more prenatal tests: don’t worry
I can only assume from the search terms people are using that the first post helps them realize that one faint and one dark pink line on the pee stick means you are in fact pregnant.
The second post must be a nice comedic time-out from all the gear shopping (since it’s not really teaching them how to build or successfully buy a glider chair).
The popularity (click count) of the third post is the highest, and the most unexpected. When I was diagnosed with a two-vessel cord during my pregnancy, there was little, if any reassurance on the internet as far as I could google. I am so grateful to the people who have shared their personal experiences and advice in the comments on that post. I feel lucky to have created a gathering point for the people who might be as worried over that diagnosis as I was. It’s not all good news in the comments. It’s honest news though, heartfelt, and helpful.
* * *
Coda.
Why do I blog? Really? The love, yes. I need love. Cliche, and true. But also, I wanted to be of service. I share my experiences because I hope someone will read them and say, me too. I’m not alone.
The thicker skin, I’ll work on.
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