It has been a very long time since I have posted a new blog. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure that I would come back to writing. I started blogging with a commitment to chronicle my first year in Tennessee. The new year began, and I was as determined to finish what I began as I was when I posted my first blog. In the first several months of writing I wrestled through the fear of being overly exposed. I fought through trying to find time. I learned to lay aside my insecurities. Being true to self, I anticipated each obstacle so that I would be prepared should I bump up against it. However, there was one thing I didn’t anticipate. I could not anticipate the intentions of a reader.
I assumed that anyone reading my blog would be reading because they know me in some way or was interested in the journey I was taking. I expected that people would find humor in my life relating to the emotional highs and lows of being a single mom or simply read for entertainment sake. If I was going to write with honesty, I anticipated a feeling of vulnerability. I did not factor in that someone may want to use my words as a weapon against another person- that my writings would serve as a public document that could be carved into, consumed and spit back out to do harm to someone. I did not anticipate feeling violated.
Living as a big city girl, I have had my car broken into, my purse stolen and an intruder in my house. I’ve walked down the street and felt the intense stare of some guy undressing me in his mind. I’ve stood at the bus stop after school when some perv asked me for directions while exposing himself. I have known all too often that feeling when someone steps into your space- uninvited with wrong motives. And I felt that as a blogger. It stripped me of the desire to even try to find something to say. Everything that came to my mind to write about was being sifted through a filter of analysis on how someone could twist my words to further a battle that shouldn’t exist to begin with.
But like many areas of life, some things just take some time to heal. Though I was left lying on the ground with the wind knocked out of me, I’ve caught my breath and am standing again. I survived the feeling of being violated, and I am prepared for it should it come around again.
I began to chronicle this first year in Tennessee with an expressed purpose: to have a written record of the joys, challenges, triumphs and failures of a 38 year old woman that could be handed to her daughter later in life when she may want to hear how an average woman overcame the bad and found the good in all things; that all women go through and grow through the same life lessons; that in the struggles, she is not unique. For that reason, I have returned to my blog. This time with self-imposed expectations removed and with a renewed awareness of why I am writing.