My high school best friend was a girl who I lovingly call Anana, and to her, I am the originally Girlie. We were inseparable. We would skip classes to go shopping, we would sit in the hallways of our massive school sharing snacks, while we played our silly games that only best friends truly understand. We shared clothes, we shared secrets, and we took those silly booth pictures because we knew how cute we looked in them.
She’s also the reason I blog.
One night as we were waiting for my parents to pick me up from her house, I noticed she’d logged on to this new fangled website. This was before the era of digital cable, and way before Facebook. The idea fascinated me. So, I signed up. Originally, the appeal was that if I was careful enough, my parents would likely never find my words. Personal journals by this point had become moot, because often, I would find that my parents had been tearing through them to find out if I was doing anything that they could ground me for. It felt like a safe place for me.
|In my obviously, younger blogging years.
My original blog was awkwardly embarrassing, and only a couple of people knew it existed. It was a mish-mash of my hopes, my dreams, my rants (some things never change), and tributes to my crush at the time. It was the reason said crush and I ended up together, it was the place where I kept Anana updated as I had left home, and moved away. It was the place where I updated after The Kiddo was born. I continued as I was married to my now Ex-Husband; always posting daily updates, and leaving them wide open to the public. Until one of his family members found it, and pieced it together that it was me behind the possibly inappropriate rants. In haste, I sadly, deleted the entire blog, which means I can’t share the atrocities that it held within (for shame!): terrible content choice, an obnoxious template design, and no filtration in terms of what was being posted.
When that blog was deleted from the internet land, I learned a couple of hard blogger lessons:
Don’t blog about something you can’t stand behind.
Some topics are better left untouched or unsaid for boundary reasons, for the same aforementioned reason.
I had, at this point, decided to “quit” the blogging world altogether, when I happened upon Livejournal
. It offered privacy options, the ability to choose who was reading what I put out into the universe, and I could make a home in a small space of the internet. The culture it brought with it was incredible too – communities that interact with other users, making “friends” with other bloggers, and of course, open dialogue on said blogs without worry of moderating comments when you are in complete control of who is viewing the content.
However, I began to yearn to write, and I mean actually write. Instead of posting trivial updates about how messy my house was or how my neighbours were annoying me on a rather obnoxious level. I wanted to move away from the drama, and find a more constructive space for my ranting. I wanted to grow as a writer, and I wanted a more professional space. I found that I was writing to receive validation for my life problems, instead of writing to just write. So I stopped writing in secret, and brought it to this here blog, as a sort of challenge to myself. I wanted to see if I could turn the hobby into a place where I actually tried to be a writer, and a blogger. Where I could filter my own content, and develop a readership, but still stay true to what I love about writing- the therapeutic nature it takes on for me.
My “blogging” career has witnessed the rise and fall of several relationships, including friendships. It has seen me through a divorce, into new love. It was there as I gave birth to The Kiddo, and as I relinquished my parental rights.
It was there when my BFF and I found a mutual love over MAC (the cosmetics), grasshopper cheesecake, and red shoes. It was there when I struggled to deal with my childhood abuse. Blogging introduced me to other women who had relinquished their children, happily or not. Both Potato and Girlie have been born and blogged about. It has brought me moments of epiphanies, moments of laughter, and moments of dread. I have seen myself grow through the words I’ve written. I’ve watched as one of my posts went viral. I have documented a decade of my life in the world of blogging, and I don’t regret a moment of it.
When I opened up that very first blog, 12 years ago, I never imagined that I would still be writing years later. The teenage version of me was just looking for a safe space to write about her angst, and crushes. The adult version just wants a place to practice her writing, and to write about her life, which luckily has a little less teenage angst.
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