Yes, I’m writing about not writing. I figured it was a good place to start. Writing again, that is.
Let’s face it, I’m not a famous blogger with a huge expectant audience nor am I a mommy blogger with a cult following of close friends and family. And as I have discovered I am not a prolific writer with an ever ending need to put pen to paper. At least, I’m not anymore. Here’s the breakdown of my blog post stats, so you can judge for yourself.
Beyond JEMS Posts
- 181 – Since I started blogging March 08
- 38 – Since January 09
- 5 – Since May 09
I started out strong. Blogging daily, sometimes more than once a day in fact. But I never considered myself a real writer. At least not as much as I wanted to be one. Writing for me was an outlet. A release of pent up emotions and a wild roller coaster ride in the life of a woman, wife and mother of 2 year old twins who had just been served divorce papers.
What baffles me at times is looking back on it all. I mean, just do the math. Last year in less than 10 months, I wrote 143 posts. That’s approximately a post every other day. In the midst of my crisis called life which included going through a divorce, being a single mom, moving 3 times, training to run my first half marathon, starting a new career, and the infamous breaking of my right arm, I still managed to find the time and the where with all to write. How did I find the time?
Honestly, I neglected a lot. A lot of things got pushed to the way side, including cooking and cleaning and more often than not my kids. “Want to watch another movie? OK” to “Please go watch TV” Not something I am very proud of, but it is the truth. My house, as well as my life. was in shambles and more importantly, I really didn’t care. Step over the laundry, do the dishes another day, none of it really mattered. It can wait. I have to write. I have to dive in to these emotions right now or I will burst. That’s how I did it. Again, nothing I am really proud of writing about now, but it is the truth.
Healing is an all consuming process at times. Did my kids suffer? Yes, superficially, temporarily. But permanent, long term effects? Maybe. I’m not sure. My therapist says no. But he can discuss it with them when they’re 20, deep in their own life crises and blaming some of it on me I’m sure. But it was all that I could do at the time. It was cathartic. It was my way of keeping me sane. In fact, I defended it to the nth degree when challenged at times. I remember a conversation with my sister, when she was lovingly telling me she didn’t understand why I did A, B, and C, instead of X, Y and Z. My reply was something to the effect of “Well, the last time I checked your husband didn’t divorce you and move to Europe leaving you to raise two small children alone. But if that happens, be sure to let me know how to deal with it the RIGHT way. You seem to be an expert all ready.” I’m sure you can hear the words dripping with sarcasm as you read. Oh, and they were. I was horrified by most people telling me I was doing it all wrong, when they had never come close to my circumstances. So I kept writing.
Then life changed. Things slowed down a bit. I started some freelance web design work, bought a house and settled in, kind of. The kids started doing better in school and having fewer nightmares. I started feeling whole again. And that’s when my need to write started to dwindle. Partly because life had taken on a new schedule with work and soccer and single mama madness. And partly because I was no longer in the midst of a crisis trying to find my way out and using blogging as a way to do it. I just had less to say because there was less drama I suppose.
To further the distance between my writing and me, I started a new relationship with an old high school friend. That’s when my muse left me for good it seemed. Not only did I write much less, I twittered less too per my Twitter friends. As I ventured in to this new long distance relationship, I didn’t feel the urge to write as much. I didn’t have as much to say to just anyone who should stop by my blog. Instead I talked to him. John became my new best friend. The one who I poured my heart and soul out to on a nightly basis, sometimes for 3 to 4 hours at a time. My writing muse had turned in to a talking muse. Poor guy! But seriously, we loved it! There is nothing like a long distance relationship to really encourage volumes of oral communication.
Sure there have been plenty of times I have felt like writing or had something to write, but they were just pushed to the wayside. Now I had to clean the house, make dinner and do the dishes. Ok, that’s a joke, I cook dinner, John does the dishes. But I felt myself staying more in touch with daily life and family stuff. Now my nights and spare time are spent with John and the kids. We sit down at the table every night for dinner. I enjoy cooking again. When the kids go to bed, I don’t turn on my laptop to occupy myself. More often than not, John and I watch a movie or do crossword puzzles. Yes, we’re geeky crossword puzzle freaks.
But I think I miss writing. I wish I felt like I had more to say or time to say it. In fact, the only reason I’m writing right now is because the kids are out of town at my dad’s and I felt inspired at 2:30 am. So knowing I won’t be up at the crack of dawn with little ones wanting waffles, I decided why not just bite the bullet and go write.
As I sit outside on my deck writing and listening to the crickets sing their late night song, I am enjoying myself. It feels good. John constantly tells me I have to take more time for myself to do the things that I love to do just for me. And I think he is right. I’ll let you know when I post again.
Take care my friends!