Some time ago, I was having a conversation with an acquaintance who's a talented, albeit extremely sheltered published writer. Their advice to me was to 'write every day'. That kind of pissed me off.The privilege of that, I thought. I have an actual life, you know? I don't get to wake up at any time of my choosing and decide what house plants I'll water today and which ones I'll let die. I don't get to feed the squirrels on my off days and play video games or spend hours surfing the internet. I have to cook meals and attend to feelings...and break up fights and schedule the next day and listen, listen, listen. Cause if I don't, I'll miss something.
Truth be told, it's the best and most exhausting 24/7 gig of my life. But man, all I feel within me is that I have to be there for my kids. I'm their touchstone. Sure, they're not little little anymore, but they still need me. I'm still busy with them. They require constant nurturing and guidance. But on the other hand, it's possible that I hide behind being a mom sometimes too.
I mean, sure, I could write daily for five minutes but it wouldn't be meaningful writing of any sort. Everything I do has to have meaning attached. That's a me problem, I guess. But with kids and the endless tasks of being present for them, being their source of comfort, joy, and safety, I'm used to abandoning my inner urges (even basic ones like going to the bathroom without being interrupted) and letting my more frivolous needs fall by the wayside. Not that writing isn't important or necessary, or that I couldn't just jumble some words on paper or jot a thought down in my phones notes section (as I very often do), but just that I need that time to be set out for me. I have to start allowing myself to do these things. I resent saying no to myself at the end of a long day, or telling the kids I need 15 minutes to myself in the middle of the day. So I have to make time. Maybe not every day, but more regularly and consistently than I have been.
The other part of it is that this isn't a typical mommy blog. Or at least I think. I'm not speaking solely of motherhood, but also of the state of being a woman, and a human being, a body with a soul. I'm not selling products from the great big machine to make your body, your beauty, or your baby improve. Sure, I'll definitely do a list of likes and dislikes from time to time for lack of anything better to do, but I'm not hocking products here. If.I am selling anything, it's sensuality, I guess? I mean, I've noticed that male writers can have high traffic blogs without showing pictures of their faces, and here I am, fully immersed in the narcissist culture, attaching a selfie or a snapshot to nearly every post. Thirst traps or not, I guess I find faces interesting and I like to study them myself. I like to examine every flaw til I find it beautiful.
Would you read it if I didn't always post a pic? Well, I'll tell you what, the numbers don't lie. A pretty face gets more readership, as it were. We like to have something to look at. Not that I'm an expert on pretty faces, but I'm fairly confident that my conventionally attractive 30 something face is much more interesting to the masses than the cynical and crotchety elderly man who encompasses my inner essence. Put simply, you guys read it more. I suspect the same may be true for all women bloggers. We have to sell something in order to get readers - sex or products. I guess I have been taught that my currency is in the way I look. And I've probably used this fact more times than is comfortable to admit. Sometimes people look at you as if you're nothing more than an empty shell.
I hate selling. I've been selling the face along with the words and I get tired of it sometimes you know. So sometimes there won't be pictures. Somehow I'm going to have to be okay with that. I'm going to have to find a way to write knowing that my outsides are not the most interesting thing about me. I'm going to have to put my insides on display instead.