Why I Blog: Losing a Friend, Finding a Voice
As you’re dabbling with the decision to start blogging, and then clumsily nudging that blog to gain traction and momentum, you often find yourself asking “why?” Of course you’d like a readership, otherwise you’re just talking to yourself in a digital mirror, and then a personal diary might better suite your purposes.
Most of the time you feel fragile and insecure while sending these personal and carefully-crafted posts out in the cold space of the internet, not sure if anyone is reading or will even spare two brain cells for what you have to say. Or you start wondering if, while your target demographic doesn’t even know you exist, the wrong people are keeping a creepy close eye (are stalkers finding me on Google maps at this very moment?!?)
But sometimes, in the midst of my own uncertainty and laziness and self-doubt, I have to remember my initial incentive for first hitting “publish.” It was to offer myself as a resource for other women who may be going through new-mom difficulties like me (in my case, Postpartum Depression and Anxiety). As I slowly recovered and returned to my old hobbies and interests, it also became about sharing my projects with people who like to similarly occupy themselves (house and home topics).
I was one year into my recovery when the idea of picking up a virtual “pen” again through blogging occurred to me. Before I wrote this blog’s inaugural post in August 2015, I debated the idea for a few months, refusing to commit, because writing about PPD felt way too uncomfortable and indiscreet.
What if my friends thought I was just dumping my dirty laundry onto the internet for all to see? What if future employers or students found these posts and began to wonder about my mental state (I’ve since recovered, but you get it). What if no one is interested in my ramblings or shabby craft shows but me? And on and on. They were all deeply personal reasons. They were all rooted in my ego. But then a tragic event, beyond myself, drew me outward.
Around that same time, a friend of mine, whom I had lost touch with over the years but whom I also knew to be going through PPD and Anxiety, lost her life and her battle with this all-too-common illness. I was immediately heart broken for her tiny infant and loved ones, and the abrupt loss of such a rare and radiant soul sent shockwaves through our group of grieving friends.
But I also had to evaluate how I had perhaps let her down and failed. In a cruel, almost movie-plot twist of events, the day I got the call that she had gone missing was the day that the book I had mailed to her, John Piper’s When the Darkness Will Not Lift, had arrived on her doorstep. It was the first time I reached out for her in several months.
Oh God. If only. If only she had seen my gift in time and read the message from the sender: “Hope this book encourages you! Praying for you and rooting for you. You’re a strong Momma in Christ! From Lydia.” Maybe then she would have remembered that we were shouldering the same load; that she could call me, then and there, and I would understand; that she could send out her brave but broken cry and I would answer, “me too.” Maybe that package would have been the boost of comfort and solidarity she needed that day to feel grounded. How could this have missed her by only 8 crucial hours? Why didn’t I reach out to her sooner? More often? More openly? Why?
Of course, whenever we ask “what could I have done?” after this kind of loss, we are easily putting too much weight and illusory omnipotence onto ourselves. These questions appeal to our pain and our craving for control in the midst of it. But I couldn’t help but ask, and to evaluate what I had to do differently going forward.
That’s when the realization dug itself in: I needed to write publicly about this and it couldn’t only serve me. If the only thing this meager little blog ever accomplishes is that a struggling mom comes across it and realizes that she’s not alone, then it’s worth it one thousand times over. If all it does is add one voice to the throng of Suffering Silent, or shows a woman that healing is possible, and that there IS life after Postpartum Depression – vibrant, creativity-filled, joyful life – then I’ll gladly leap into the black void of the internet with both feet. Not because I’m brave or good or wise, but because I’m broken. And that truth might be the shred of shared humanity that another person needs.
I don’t expect my voice to ring loud or my reach to go far, but I’m hoping that by just being present, by being available, as I regretfully wish I could have been for my late friend, that I can shape my own pain into some kind of manifest beauty, and use it for purposes beyond myself. This whole experience taught me that women desperately need this line of communication open, and dispelling the secrecy and silence seems like an important place to start. Lives do depend on it.
So that’s why there will be a kind of stark dichotomy with this blog (which I hope doesn’t disorient and deter people too much). There will be mommy-hood and mental health posts sprinkled around my DIY updates and renovation projects for a few reasons:
1). That’s pretty much my life right now: processing my 2-year depression and imparting what I’ve learned from it, while also therapeutically throwing my energies into house projects and crafting because it’s actually a huge victory that I can! The focus may evolve and shift from that over time, but like my beloved Jo March, I can only “write what I know.”
2). I assume my readership will mostly include fellow young women/new moms who are juggling the challenges of mommy-hood with the desire to beautify and personalize their homes, so it kind of makes sense! Although ANY audience is of course invited to follow along. 🙂
3). Life is interconnected. As a person of faith, I see all of these experiences through a lens of stewardship and artful worship, and I hope I can tie these ends together in a meaningful and edifying way.
So there’s my explanation and my invitation. I really hope you’ll join me, if only for the fun Befores-and-Afters; or for the DIY (mis)adventures; or for information on this covertly common illness and the process of recovery; or as a resource to share with new moms who might be struggling to feel whole. I’ve had to learn a lot through all of this, so I hope I can pass along some of that hard-won stuff. I also hope you’ll share your experiences with me in return, so I can benefit from your earned wisdom in the process.
