A Still, Small Voice

It’s okay!  No need to send out a search party or call 911.  I actually am still around, for the five of you who still read my blog and are interested.  I know it’s been over a month since I posted.  I know that some of you have been waiting for news of what’s been going on in my life.  I know some of you have wondered if I’m done blogging forever.  I know.

The truth is, in the words of my friend Melbs, I miss that obsessive blogging that I used to do back when I had my old blog, “Lyrics”.  When I used to post practically every day, and I would look around me all day for blogging fodder, and my husband knew that anything he did would most likely be posted for the world to see by that evening.  I miss that.

I’ve had a bit of writer’s block lately, for sure.  I thought that there was nothing “blog-worthy” in my life.  I thought that all I had was work and home, and no time for deep thinking or long philosophizing about the world around me.  But I’m realizing now that there is much to write about.  There are my new friends at work.  There are the issues that have recently come up in my life about race and background.  There are my thoughts about the differences between working moms and stay at home moms.  There are cute stories about my children.  There is stuff.  Stuff that I can write about. Stuff that I should write about.  So what’s stopping me?

Throughout my whole life, writing has been an outlet for me.  When I’m stressed, I write.  When I’m sad, I write.  When I’m excited about something, I write.  When I’m nostalgic or melancholy, I write.  And lately, I’ve let that go.  I’ve been so consumed by work and volunteering and family and housework that I’ve let the balance that writing gives me just slip away.  And in the last couple of days, I’ve begun to realize that I subsequently feel that I’ve lost my voice.  That the part of me that expresses myself the best…the part of me that allows me to be me most clearly… is gone.   I think that part of me is afraid.  Afraid that the new people in my life, the people who have recently come back in my life, the people who are just getting to know me, will read what I write here and either think I’m a fool for the things I write, or will be shocked at the thoughts that often go bumping around in my head.  Am I ready for them to see, in black and white, who I really am before they get that chance in person, gradually?

But then it all comes back to my voice again.  Do I want to be an actor?  Do I want to act like someone I’m not?  Or do I want to be exactly who I was created to be, perhaps not who I’m going to be yet, but a work in progress?  Do I want to be real, no matter what people think?  The answer, of course, is yes.  I want to be me, real and genuine and unafraid. 

So here goes.  I’m starting a  blogging campaign for myself.  I hope to post everyday, even if it’s just a quick thought or funny story.  I’m going to be intentional, in the hopes that writing will once again become a habit for me, in the same way as breathing or the need to nourish myself.  And in the process, I hope some of you will hear my voice in my writing, and decide to stick around for the ride.

Bunchy Defined

So you know those “about me” paragraphs that you’re supposed to write each time you build a new profile?  You know how it is…you start a new blog or join a new community or sign up for a new website of some sort, and you get that dreaded blank box that says “tell us about you in a few words”.  I hate those things.  I dread them.  How am I supposed to define myself in a sentence or two?  I’m a blogger.  I’m a mommy.  But I don’t really think of myself as a “mommy blogger” because I write about so much more than just my kids.  I’m Christian.  I’m married.  I’m a daughter, a sister, a friend, a military wife.  But is that who I am?  They’re all such a part of me, and have made me the person I am, for sure.  But really, I’m just me.  I’m sensitive and imperfect and strong and outspoken and introverted at times and a party-er at other times.  I love being a mom but some of my best memories are of times when I laid aside my “mom” role for a few hours or days and became Bunchy again. 

I’ve been blogging for over a year now, and I’ve loved putting myself out there.  I’ve loved making friends and discovering who you are and figuring out who I am.  I’ve loved writing again.  I’ve loved being funny and I’ve loved being serious.  I’ve loved knowing that others are waiting to see what I’ll write next.  I love blogging.  It’s become a part of me.

And now I’m in this new blog-home.  I’m still figuring it all out, and I’m hoping that you’ll all stick with me as I do.   But I needed a change, for a few reasons.  For one, I felt the need to be a little more anonymous in the world.  But mostly, I was having a blog identity crisis.  I was starting to feel defined not by who I am, but by who you all thought me to be.  I was starting to base my worth on the number of comments I received or the level of subscriptions my reader told me I had.  I was striving not for authenticity or true purpose, but for popularity and some skewed sense of blogging success.  I was starting to fetter my writing with some imaginary ropes made of what I thought you wanted me to be. 

So it’s back to my roots, and I can’t be more grounded than by using the name “Bunchy”, a nickname given to me when I was just a baby.  I’m not talking drastic change; I’ll still talk about my husband and my kids.  (They have new nicknames, too.)  I’ll still tell you about my struggles and my successes and my goals for myself.  I’ll still give you raw honesty and funny stories.  But I’m doing it for me this time.  And who knows?  Maybe you’ll still like it after all.