The Life of a Non-Average Blogger
I was reading this post on BlogHer about a woman who started blogging about a year ago and she wrote about how awkward the process was. I mean, you put yourself out there and, at first, it's really difficult. For the first few months or maybe more, you are simply writing and sending your thoughts across the Web and not really knowing if the message is being received by anyone. So you build followers through time and your work typically gets better with time too, and you hope that one day people will look forward to your posts and maybe feel connected to your life in some way. Because really isn't that why most bloggers blog? We like to share. We like to be heard. We like the acknowledgement and the connection.
Anyway, one woman commented that she sometimes felt discouraged when she started looking around and comparing herself to other bloggers. And she thought to herself that maybe she didn't stand out enough.
I felt like she was writing it straight from my brain. A fear that I've had. Something that I think about every time I check my blog stats.
Am I too average?
I blog about my kids, but my blog does not entirely consist of child-related material. So would I still be considered a mommy blogger? I'm not affiliated with a specific religion and I don't stand on either extreme of the political spectrum, so that removes at least two types of audiences. I occasionally post about DIY projects and recipes I've tried that I love, but not enough to consider myself a DIY blog or a cooking blog. I'm really starting to love fashion, but the challenge of keeping myself spit-up free in designer clothes seems too arduous a task for me at the moment. Cue the removal of the fashionista crowd.
I'm funny sometimes, but I'm not a comedian. I can write eloquently and seriously and poetically, but that's not how I write all of the time. I take some nice photos, but I'm not a photography blog. I get nervous around guns and slept a little too much through history classes in college, so I couldn't be a military, history or pro-gun blog. I don't live in New York City or Los Angeles or in a foreign country. I don't speak a second language. I'm not a vegan or an all-organic person. I care about the environment, but apparently not enough to stop driving my SUV or using disposable diapers.
So where do I stand?
Does anyone really want to read about an almost 26-year-old stay at home mom with two kids, a husband and a tiny dog living smack dab in the middle of America?
Sometimes I think the answer would be no.
Then I think about all of the things you don't know about me yet. Like how I attended 10 different schools over the span of just 9 years of my childhood. And no, it wasn't military-related. How about that we often had to flee apartments, taking only what could fit in a trash bag, because we were so behind on rent? That we lived in poverty for several years. There were countless times when the utilities were cut off. Imagine living without water or electricity. Not even a phone to call 911.
A lot of my newer readers probably don't know that I had to leave home a week before my high school graduation. Most don't know that this was the day I resolved never to depend too much on anyone, because I felt I had been let down my whole life. You probably wouldn't know either that Mr. B was the only person that attended my high school graduation. That instead of going to a graduation party to celebrate new beginnings, I spent the night "celebrating" by watching cartoons in my apartment while crying into my Spaghettios.
|Our first apartment|
Most don't know that I put myself through college. I got up every day, put my sadness aside and went to work to support my education. Even when it got tough and I was working a full-time job, a part-time job and going to school full-time, I didn't give up. I finally got that degree.
You wouldn't know just by looking at me, the kind of life that I had. I could tell you some crazy stuff! You read my cute stories about my children and my silly conversations with my husband and maybe you think you've got me pegged.
But I look at myself and I don't see average. I see an almost 26-year-old woman with two kids, a husband and a tiny dog living smack dab in the middle of America that fought hard to get to where she is today. That is tough and brave and smart. That loves with every fiber of her being. I see a woman that is challenging the notion of normal and forging her own path. Who is continuing to learn who she is and who she wants to be.
|Bug's First Halloween|
|Baby Bean's First Halloween|
I see a woman that loves a good hamburger, a tall glass of Sweet Tea and indulges a little too much in dark chocolate. Who is a neat freak around the house and a slob in her car. A woman that believes in family, marriage and the ever-changing dynamic. A woman that cries during Humane Society commercials and stops traffic to save misguided turtles from the middle of the road. Who says "ma'am" and "sir" and stands firm in good old Southern values. A woman that has a Twitter account, but still doesn't really grasp the concept of it. A woman that would rather be outdoors communing with nature than be planted in front of a television. That listens to the All 90's station on iHeart Radio and sings N'SYNC at the top of her lungs. (And let's be honest, pretty much every other song on that station too. Love it!)
|A woman who also loves a good Margarita...or two. ha!|
I see a woman that sees potential in everything and everyone. That can be annoyingly optimistic. I see a woman that likes to dance and who loves to laugh. A woman that can find just about anything amusing. A woman that can pay the bills and do all of the grown-up stuff, but can still conquer the monkey bars at the playground. Oh and she owns the big slide. Like. a. Boss. A woman who's husband is constantly rolling his eyes (but also inwardly smiling) at his wife's antics.
A woman that loves to write.
|The First Book I Wrote|
|A chapter from my first book|
A writer that is still trying to find where she really belongs in the blogosphere and isn't scared to admit that she's afraid she doesn't belong at all. But she's going to keep writing and she's going to work harder. She's going to continue to live life to the fullest and document it right here in this sacred space. Because if those hellish formative years taught her anything, it's that you don't let anything stand between you and happiness.
I am a writer.
Writer of: Defining My Happy