It's been a while since I've really felt like writing. I can do it in my head, in the middle of making dinner or folding laundry or bathing a kid. But by the time I make it to a point where I can sit and breath and write something down, I'd rather do something else. I'd rather curl up with my husband or read a book or spend time with friends.
At first, I felt guilty about this. Blogging, once a cathartic activity, had become something I felt I had to do. People fussed at me when I didn't post
regularly. I was trying to please those people because I'm an oldest
child and I want to promote harmony, but I'd lost the joy writing.
One day I found myself sitting in the middle of a blog conference surrounded by women who were concerned about 'branding' their blogs and should they monetize or not and how could they attract more readers and keep those readers loyal and blah, blah, blah.... when suddenly, I realized I just didn't care. It was freeing to simply sit and allow my blog to stagnate.
And I lost the coveted 'readership' only to realize that I was okay with that, too. I was investing my time into people and growth, even if I didn't want to write about it.
For quite some time, I've just been trying to document the milestones, achievements, the silly stories that I know I'll forget. I've tried to capture some of the joy and the heartache, the pride and the frustrations or both my children and this role I find myself in as a Mommy to Many.
Now, though, it's time to write again. The words are back, the stories are begging to be put down. The ones my children will laugh at themselves over in years to come. The ones my heart is working through. The ones that are sculpting my today and my tomorrows.