If you’ve ever lost yourself amidst the chaos of daily life, then you might understand why I stopped blogging. There was a long stretch of time where I felt that the person I use to be was missing, or maybe stolen… and that was the person who loved to blog. I gave up when the posts I wrote felt forced (you should see the number of drafts collecting dust in that folder) and blogging wasn’t fun anymore. That person who opened up her soul to an online world of similar soul searchers was slowly choked away; It started with the abrupt demise of The Cranky Giraffe and culminated with the realization that I no longer wanted the life I was living.
Today, I admitted to someone that I used to blog. It hurts when I say “used to.” She asked me why I stopped and I didn’t have a good answer. Maybe I did have a good answer for why I stopped: “Because I wasn’t anonymous anymore and I lost my mojo and I was unfairly judged.” But the real reason was because I wasn’t the person I used to be. I was sad and lost, and I wasn’t recovering.
In obeying the rules and expectations from some external force, I watched as my very essence slipped through my own fingers. However, I grasped the last fray before it was completely gone; as if I could see in slow motion that the last piece was falling to the ground. What started as an epiphany has progressively blossomed into a path of courage, strength, and disobedience. I’ve let that last fray grow back and intertwine through my fingertips and up to my chest. I breath it into my lungs and pump it out through my body. I feel like I am finally recovering.
I’ve found myself called back to the blog. I’ve found myself called back to many things I used to love and I have slowly been re-discovering the person I am (not used-to-be).