Coming back to this blog, recommitting myself to talking endlessly to whoever may or may not be listening, was not an easy choice for me. I've had a big love/hate relationship with blogging for a while now. You can ask my blogging friends how many times I've used the term "love/hate relationship with blogging" over the course of many soul-searching e-mails over the last six months. I have most certainly lost track.
And like I said before, part of it was trying, constantly, to be someone I wasn't. I was concerned, as many people told me I should be, with "branding" myself. I needed to package myself a certain way, fall within the confines of a certain box. I could pick the size and shape and color of my box, but at the end of the day, it was still a box. I'd still run into a wall sooner or later.
So in coming back, I decided that if I was going to become serious and fall in love with this space as I have always longed to, I would have to put away my various boxes. I came back with the caveat that I would have to be constantly and authentically and radically myself. No more branding. No more business first, me second.
I want this space to make me happy. I want it to make you happy too. Maybe someday it will make an advertiser or two happy (or maybe not). But I want it to be my happy place first.
So I'm not going to pretend to be the crafty mama who is constantly roaming Pinterest, because I make approximately one craft per 4-6 months and pat myself on the back for weeks afterwards. I'm not going to pretend that I am super edgy and cool and artsy, because I am hopelessly uncool and not the awesome photographer I imagine myself to be in my head. I'm done trying to fit under the mom blogging type, because I'm so much more than a mother. I'm not going to share my inspiring fitness story with photos of my increasingly rock-hard abs (not that that was ever in the cards, but I've thought longingly of becoming the next Maria Kang from time to time).
And while I may share some tips and tricks I've found in this short romp in adulthood, I'm not going to pretend to be the expert anymore. I don't have this mothering thing figured out. I'm still working out how to keep my house somewhat clean while still keeping everyone fed and at least partially clothed and while still finding time to write and figure myself out. I mean, what am I, a magician? I even make food that sucks sometimes. Ask my husband about the crockpot chicken teriyaki that will haunt us for eternity. Everything in my life is a constant work in progress.
I'd say I spend pretty much all of my life in a 30/70 ratio of things that I feel I am rocking and things that are a complete, unsolved mess. Some days the ratios switch, and I am an all-star. Some days are 40/60 or 60/40. And that's okay. I'm just happy I have any part of the equation figured out at any given time. Maths is hard. And so is life.
So this is me, stepping out from behind the curtain. I'm currently wearing sweatpants, my pregnant belly is hanging from beneath a baggy midriff, and I'm drinking water from a mug because it's the only way I can trick myself into drinking the recommended amount of water each day. Cheers to me.