I've been spending some time looking back at posts I wrote while I was pregnant and those I wrote when Emerson first arrived. So much of what I saw was inspired by what I had previously read on other mommy blogs. And I began to wonder, was what I wrote truly mine? Was it real, from my heart? Jared and I were sitting by the chiminea, out under the stars the other night and I told him about my worries. He listened and asked if maybe the thoughts and experiences of expectant and new mamas are in many ways collective or universal and that what I wrote was just a reflection of that. I knew there was truth to what he was saying. There is certainly a familiarity among us mamas and our experiences, but were those my words or the words of others, adapted and modified to fit me? Of course, I allowed these thoughts to consume me. To the point where instead of gathering up in my heart all of the things I have to be thankful for this holiday season, I wrestled with thoughts of not being good enough. It seems that lately, I've felt that my voice, my words aren't enough. That the things I have to say just aren't interesting or inspiring or creative enough. Instead of writing from my heart, from a place that is all mine, I find that instead, I create boundaries for my own writing within the margins of others'.
I was talking to my dear friend Danielle the other day. Her life's story has led her to be wise beyond her years and we often turn to each other to talk about those things that are heavy on our hearts. I asked her so many questions. "What is it that I'm doing exactly? Why do I allow self-doubt to get in the way of doing what I know I can do? Why do I think that what others have to say is more important or somehow more skillfully written than my own thoughts? Why do I feel the need to alter, correct and adjust each word I write?" You know the feeling you get when someone just gets you? Like they're right there inside your head, and they just know? That's what often happens with Danielle. And what she said to me that day filled me up and opened my eyes. This space is for me and it's so many things. A place to collect my thoughts, to share the things that inspire me, to string together words and to make sense of things . It's a refuge. An outlet. And a passage into that place of realization and awareness. I can write whatever I want here. And the urge to edit and revise is unnecessary.
Really, all I can do is write whats on my heart... (And give myself a break. Hello, it's taken me 4 days to write this. I have an infant that won't take naps and wakes up at least twice a night. I'm freakin' exhausted!) What I'm passionate about, what inspires me, what I love, what make me smile and fills me up. My hopes, my thoughts, my dreams. Some days my voice will be positive. Gratitude will saturate my words. On other days I may be melancholy, and that is just fine. Pensive, reflective, moody, deep, shallow. Whatever. I guess that's what this little space is for. It's for me, really. It's mine. And if I'm able to touch the lives of others through it, then that is certainly something to be happy about.
Future writes:
Growing in Gratitude
Thanksgiving
Our balcony garden
Emerson (Obviously)
Pretty little things (Pictures)
Decorating for Christmas
