As I've chronicled my existential self-absorbed blogging angst, I should probably share my latest thoughts with all of you as well.
Part of my struggle, as I explained in a reply to Amelia's comment, is that I want what I write to be truly edifying for those who read. As I was trying to get blogposts up more frequently, I realized that most of what I was writing was day-in-the-life. That's great - for people whose daily lives are interesting. Mine is not and besides, that would send me running to the confessional daily, and between all that confessing and blogging, I would have to quit my job and probably leave my family. No bueno.
In pondering all this, late at night, when I should be in bed, I realize what I am most frightened to blog about: happiness. Generally, I am very fulfilled in my life - overjoyed to have chubby toddler cheeks to kiss, a husband who holds my hand, a house that's mine. I adore my life.
But I feel intensely uncomfortable talking about that. The fact is that most women don't bond over joy. I haven't gained many friends by sharing with them my great joy in my husband, or my happiness at finally having a child of my own. Most married women I meet seem...jaded. Their domestic life seems to have lost some of its sweetness. I feel silly and naive next to them; I don't want to speak up or share. I feel inadequate that I only have one at home; that maybe I'd feel like a 'real mom' if I had a whole pack of kids or if we'd been married for seven years - like maybe I'm happy because I haven't had enough experience with marriage or kids.
You gain friends by commiserating, by bonding over shared difficulties and coping strategies. To be honest, the matters that are hard in my life sometimes feel too personal to discuss on my blog. I refuse to discuss any troubles in my marriage because that's disrespectful; friendships feel the same way. My extended family? No way.
Recently I got a photo flagged and taken down on Instagram. It was my daughter and her cousin, naked, facing away from the camera - so just two cute toddler bums winking in the sun. I wanted to complain, but then I thought, was that appropriate? Am I oversharing? Afterall, my Insta isn't private. Anyone could find that picture. Maybe my judgment just isn't as good as I thought it was.
So if the only thing to talk about is that which is shiny and happy, has my blog become a title-fulfilling prophesy? Help me out here fellow-bloggers: how do you balance privacy and intimacy with your readers?