I’m truly amazed at how often you bloggers out there blog. Monthly, biweekly, even weekly! How do you do it? How do you always have something to say? If I don’t, does that mean I’m uninspired/ing? Meh. I choose not to berate myself like that. Hasn’t helped me before.
But I’m still impressed with those of you who maintain a consistent posting schedule. That kind of routine has never been my forte. Even with the alarms and lists of topics, I fail to feel driven to write anything. Except for when I am. Then it comes in glorious, massive waves! Until then…*crickets*…
My problem applies both to this personal blog and to my more professional one. I have heard that blogging is a great content marketing tool. And if I could write consistently, perhaps I’d have more of a following. The articles themselves are good quality and people like them, but they aren’t my preferred writing style. I call them my “red-headed step children,” because I don’t view them as meaningful (horrible, isn’t it?). And yet, it’s not like I’m writing anything else! So it’s not just a lack of interest; clearly, it’s more specific to me and my writing habits.
When it comes to writing professional articles, I get ideas from my conversations with people. My clients, colleagues, and friends are a wealth of questions to be explored. So I write an essay about those questions. Occasionally, I’ll write a personal essay. That doesn’t get published here. Because it feels too personal to make public. That still counts, of course.
But I think that might be an important piece of the puzzle. As a therapist and human, it’s rare that I feel comfortable taking others’ experiences and sharing them with the world! It feels like I’m exposing someone’s secrets in a self-serving way. The one or two times I’ve expressed publicly something that was shared with me in private led to bad feelings. Granted, these were times I wasn’t fully mindful of what I was doing; I’d like to believe anything I usually sit down to write and share involves thought and consideration. And in that thought and consideration, I ask myself: “Is it too soon? What if they stumble across this piece and recognize themselves in it, despite my attempts to generalize and shield their privacy?” And what if I’m referring to family and friends? Experiences shared with loved ones that evoke narratives that shine a spotlight onto the cracks, illuminating shadows and shame? Mine or theirs. Do I want that out there?
Write those stories for myself, right? Keep them close and share them only when it feels safe to do so. Yes, yes, that’s true. Is that where I land, then? Is that my rationalization for not writing more often? It feels unfinished somehow.
I will not end with a conclusion or a promise to you or to myself that things will change. I just found a few words and thought I’d share them.