I’ve had an explosive 3 years. I graduated college, got married, moved to New York City and had a baby in that short, short amount of time. Things have (relatively) calmed down, for the time being anyhow. But I still find myself in a major writer’s block. I barely blogged in 2016.
This wasn’t necessarily an intentional choice. Almost every day, I pull up a blank word document with that blinking cursor. She prods at me with her inquiries, “Well. What are you going to say?” she asks. After sitting there, dumbfounded for a few minutes, I reply, “Well, I guess nothing. Nothing for now.”
These days, it seems more important for me to observe rather than to declare. I have a lot of processing to do – all the while maintaining my commitments as a mother, wife, employee, and woman. Everyone in this city is striding at the speed of light from one errand to the next. Zipping on trains with their important briefcases and important phone calls and emails. I’ve come to realize that no one really takes you seriously in your 20’s – nor should they. Hell, I shouldn’t even take myself so seriously. (Notoriously cerebral Virgo over here.) I have so much to learn simply by taking in the trials and tribulations of early adulthood. I’ve been a recovering power-seeker for a while now. My recovery is going well, but I’ve got a long way to go.
I keep thinking about what I want to do with this blog. It’s not a lifestyle blog. I don’t proselytize about Catholicism anymore. I don’t even write about NFP all that much anymore. (Although I’m still fiercely passionate about it.) I seem to have far more questions than answers and frankly, I don’t really know if people want to read about questions. I feel like we want convictions and confidence and a 12-step-foolproof-blueprint to achieving the life of our dreams. No? Well that’s heartening.
Part of it was New York. Part of it was young marriage. The other part was early parenthood and a nightmarish postpartum experience. It was the perfect storm for a distorted ego to deflate – and fast. I have this bursting need to apologize. To who? I’m not sure.
So, I’ll continue to write. I’ll always continue to write. But I guess I’m not guaranteeing that I’ll say much. This isn’t the season for that.