I don’t know why I’m writing this. I don’t know where this is going. But right now, I need to write this post. And that, my friends, is what BlogHer is teaching me this year.
I write this blog because I have to. Because, by blogging, I have found a community I never dared dream existed. And because of you, on the other side of the computer screen, reading this right now.
I have a mental picture of my younger self right now. She is nine, maybe ten years old, sitting in a den of sweet smelling hay, hiding in the middle of a dense thicket. She is crying. She feels alone, and wonders why God couldn’t have made her more like everyone else, and a lot less like her.
I see my thirteen year old self. Crying again. The cheerleader who bullied her throughout middle school just told her that the beautiful flouncy peach skirt and top she’s wearing—the outfit that she loved—looked stupid and didn’t match. She feels alone and wonders why she can’t be more like everyone else, and less like herself.
I see my eighteen year old self. She’s perched on an ice-cold cement step, looking out over the campus spread before her with her head on her knees. She’s crying again. She thought that once she got to college, everything would be better. That she’d fit in. Instead, she’s still wondering why she can’t be more like everyone else and less like herself.
I see my twenty seven year old self. She’s locked herself in a bathroom stall and is leaning her hot brow against the cool metal of the door. She is trying not to cry. She thought that once she got her dream job and made it to the ranks of the Creative staff, she’d finally belong. Instead, she’s wondering why she can’t be more like everyone else and less like herself.
I see my thirty three year old self. She’s typing uncertainly. She looks intently and whatever’s blinking back at her on her screen and, with a deep breath, hits the enter key. She’s just written her first blog post.
She is on her way to becoming the woman she deserves to be. To finally learning how to love herself.
Through blogging, I’ve found myself. I’ve found what I love, what I’m passionate about. I’ve finally found a place where I can be me. Where I belong. Where people accept me—ugly warts and all.
Because of blogging, I can walk up to a microphone and speak in front of 200 people.
Beause of blogging, I can walk up to a stranger, stick out my hand and make a new friend.
Because of blogging, I am strong. I am powerful. But most of all, I am me. Finally.
Thank you. All of you.
Oh, and to all of my loved ones reading this and wondering if you need to pick up the phone and see if I’m okay? No. You don’t. I’m fine. I just…needed to write.