So I had a heart-to-heart with myself last night. It was a combination of having read the first few chapters of Yuli Ziv’s book, “Bloggin Your Way To The Front Row”, as well as having returned from the IFB Conference with my head spinning. I had to come to terms with many things namely my reasons for wanting to blog.
As much as it pains me to write these thoughts in public, it’s probably a healthy way to start the detox process.
I envy those nubile young things who look perfect from every which angle and whom can make even a potato sack look like haute couture. I am fiercely jealous of how skinny they are and how the world adores them, particularly the fashion houses. I want to be noticed too. I want to be famous.
I. Want. To. Be. Just. Like. Them.
But I can’t. I’m no young thing.
I’m not skinny. I’m not photogenic and I most certainly don’t have a figure to rival that of a clothes rail. I’m 40. I’m a mother of a teenage drama queen, and two stepsons aged 15 and 18 respectively. I work and I cook and I clean, and I keep house, and I have a family. Blogging was “supposed” to be an outlet for me to express myself, a means for me to be me. To write whatever the heck I wanted, without censor, without boundaries, without fears, without restrictions. And certainly without this (recently, it would appear) overwhelming desire to be part of “the cool crowd”. To be recognised on the street. To be lauded at every turn for my sense of style and my bravado in putting together outfits.
Blogging was meant to be a natural extension of my thirst to write. Something which has been in me for as long as I can remember. I mean, I wrote my first story when I was 7, in true Enid Blyton “enchanted woods and faerie folk” fashion. Blogging was supposed to be my small corner of the world, wherein I could be me, just me. Not the Sheela my husband loves. Not the Mummy my daughter calls me. Not my brother’s sister, nor my parents’ daughter. Not the Ms Goh my clients write to. None of those.
And yet, somehow, somewhere along the way, I lost track of all these important things and because of that, I feel like I have lost myself. And I need to rediscover who I am. I must.
In summation ~ Life Is Way Too Short To Covet What Others Have.
In other words ~ Get A Grip, Sheela.
In conclusion ~ I need to work on liking myself more. Then, and only then, will things start to fall in place.
Have you experienced such internal conflict? When you felt pushed and pulled in a gazillion different ways? What steps did you take to rise above the din? Did they work?
p/s this probably won’t be the last time you read such thoughts from me but hey, if it helps me in dealing with the issue and work towards becoming the person I was meant to be, I’m just going to roll with it.
pp/s I know I’m going to regret putting it out there the moment I hit the Publish button so, be gentle with the comments