Sometimes I forget about my blog.
Sometimes, like when I’m in the lobby of my daughter’s new preschool for open house, I totally forget that I spill my guts (or my bag) to the Interwebz, like the Crazy McCrazerston that I am. How I tell the Interwebz that I have a giant ingrown pubic hair or that I need to take pills for Teh Crazy.
I forget all of that, until a lovely woman (Hi, Jennifer!) shakes my hand and says:
“Hi! I read your blog! I love it! I feel like I know your whole family! This is like meeting a local celebrity!”
And my husband looks at the back of my head like he can make it explode with just the one piercing gaze, and The Poo looks up at me like, “What is this BLOG of which she speaks? BLOOOOOGGGG?”
This isn’t the first time I’ve been outed. Nor, in fact, is it even the first time I’ve been outed at preschool. I have to tell you, I wasn’t expecting it at the new preschool. I was kind of hoping to keep it on the down-low, considering all the weird shit I’ve written over the last year.
This isn’t the first time I’ve grappled with post-partum depression, but it is the first time I’ve grappled with post-partum depression while blogging.
After these encounters—and there have been a few—I always feel a little like I left the house in my underpants. First I am embarrassed by the fact that I’ve basically laid my life naked for the world to see.
Then, I realize that what I’ve shared has touched people in some odd way. And that’s why I started writing. Not just writing this blog, but writing anything. Why I wanted to be a journalist.
To touch people, to reach people.
When the night is long and dark, and when I feel the lowest about who I am and how I’ve lived my life, I have this to hold on to: somewhere out there is a person who is feeling just like me, and that person may find the bare, honest posts I’ve written here.
The truth I share might be her truth, too, and she might not feel quite so alone in her pain and her sorrow, or her joy and happiness.
And that’s good enough for me.
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Oh, Mrs. Chicken, I LOVED this post, and I think you may be the long-lost best friend I never realized I was missing. And I promise NOT to “out” you in front of your hubby (’cause I have a very reserved spousal unit as well who is often mortified, I fear, by my emotional exhibitionist tendancies) should we chance to meet in public some day.
Oh I think that would be so odd to have that happen. But you’re right, you help other women with what you write.
I would probably run and hide in a corner if that were to happen to me. This is why I love and am yet mortified of the internet all at the same time.
And, it’s GREAT for me!
You’re my favorite local celeb. I will be sure not to mention the B word at school.
I have found comfort in many of your posts! You have definitely touched me! Thanks!
I love when people comment on my blog and say, “I feel less alone.” I think it’s the best compliment.
And you’ve done that for me many, many times.
Nothing to say but thanks for being in this town. I’m glad to have met you.
I kind of shudder at the thought of that happening to me. I think it’s why I’m as neurotically careful as I am. Or well, try to be. I’m glad it didn’t freak you out though.
Amen to that! Here’s to outed underwear, girl. I know this horror of which you speak, but I have finally reached a point where I’m more proud than embarrassed. That’s a really good feeling.
I have been outed by people in my real life and it’s always quite jarring. I have a friend who has somehow found my blog and honestly, I don’t like it. I feel like she is watching now and that I need to censor.
Thank you for you raw, honest posts.
The last 3 paragraphs were so full of truth, I almost welled up. That’s good enough for me too.
Amen, Mrs. Chicken.
It takes tremendous courage to remain open, to just be raw and naked. There is power here. Power to connect with others and make a difference by being human in your special way. You are very special, and I’m glad you write and share your life. You make a difference in my life.
Today I had to photoshop a picture of a pile of dirt in my driveway so that it would be somewhat impossible for someone to identify where I live.
I write a column for the paper I work for and sometimes I can’t believe the crap I shared. Then some woman will come up and tell me how much she enjoyed it and how she hopes I’ll keep writing. I haven’t actually written anything in awhile because of a couple criticisms, but I blog as a place to get out that creative writing “gift” (?) I have.
Not too many people have discovered my blog, that I know of. I know at least one person at my office did….I’m not too careful about hiding it. I’m not going to let anyone dictate what I put on my own blog though. They already do that with my newspaper column.
I don’t know you, but by reading your blog, I know a lot of your experiences, because a lot of what you share is universal. Weird, yes, especially when real life meets blog life, but we’re glad that you’re doing it!