It’s too much.
Facebook. Twitter. Pinterest. Instagram. Google+. And more.
All these social platforms bloggers use can make your head spin. Sure, you need them, and they help — if you have a following.
But, maybe you are like me.
When I started blogging all I had was Facebook. Nothing else. And that Facebook account was teeny tiny, made just for family.
Not the best social media presence to say the least. But I have spent the last almost two years growing this presence, like making a Facebook group I love. But it’s not easy.
Sometimes I just wished I…
You know the fear.
We’ve all had this same fear for over a year now. You walk outside and the dread hits you. The grocery store, once comforting as it brought you nourishment, is now terrifying. The mall? Not even open.
It’s exhausting, this fear.
That you may end up getting COVID-19. It’s a strain to live in a pandemic. What used to be simple, like going out your door, now has added weights and thoughts. Pandemic fatigue is real.
But what happens when the fear comes true? What happens when you actually get the dreaded disease?
It started out…
Do you remember that moment?
That one terrifying moment when you don’t hear a cry when you don’t know if your new baby is breathing or not. Then the new baby shrieks the first of many. You tear up as they lay the naked child, still wet and goopy, on your skin.
One of the best moments in life.
Reality slowly sets in. You’re still in a daze, but you can feel the effect of giving birth on, you know, down there. You are crushed, may be torn, and exhausted.
Do you stink? Maybe.
Is your hair such a mess…
Maybe you’re a bit like me.
And are someone who naturally likes to talk a lot.
If so, then you know how fun it is to feel the story you’re telling come to life. To see the other person’s face light up with laughter or sadness at your words.
Your love of speaking may also play a part in your love of writing.
But, if you’re a good communicator then you also love the other side of talking. Listening.
And this lady at the gas station the other day had no concept that a conversation goes both ways.
You’re a bit nervous because tonight might be the night.
Not that you’d admit this to anyone but you picked out your shirt to be just right, and you’ve maybe paired it with a pretty cool jacket. A bit like Chris Pratt in that, maybe horrible yet hypnotizing movie, Passengers. Your hair is smoothed back tight and you’re feeling a bit like Elvis, super cool. Attractive.
But are you?
You walk into a bar or restaurant (imagine this pre-COVID) and suddenly your confidence drips away. Is your fly open? …
By now you’ve heard of it, right?
I’ve just finished watching Bridgerton so, to me, News Break feels like the new scandal everyone on Medium’s talking about.
Or, it’s as if News Break is the new girl in town and all the fellows are rushing to get their name on her dance card.
News Break is all the rage this season as writers from Medium try out the new platform.
My son was placed in my arms, squealing and face scrunched. He seemed too small yet too big.
Now my tiny baby is a smart, goofy Lego-loving boy about to head to school.
He’s a kid.
How did it happen so fast?
Sometimes I wish I could make time just stop for a second so I can stare at my kid's faces without the seconds ticking by.
I turn on the TV and see the news, and lately, it’s been scary. But that’s helped me reaffirm one thing.
The best thing we can do, and it's something the pandemic has…
It was a busy night, to say the least.
The kind of night that you run around, taking notes as best as you can, but you fear when you finally get home, you’ll remember how you forgot to bring table 22 their extra sauce.
But the rush was only the beginning of my problems that evening.
I was a server in a beautiful, quite fancy restaurant for the summer. While expensive and ‘higher class’, this was still a small town in the midwest.
So, I wasn’t expecting the extra-fancy diner.
He had been waiting for a waitress to come for…
“One of the darkest, deepest shames so many of us mothers feel nowadays is our fear that we are Bad Mothers, that we are failing our children and falling far short of our own ideals.” -Ayelet Waldman
I knew what I was doing, yet I did it anyway.
I was living the dangerous life of a mother as I told my daughter to choose a color. Any color. White. The color of the clouds, heaven, and angels was to be the doom of my nails. She took it out, grabbed a paper towel.
And painted my nails.
Let me start…
How often do you do this?
You sit down to write, actually put your butt in the chair, and hands on the keyboard. You’re ready. But your Facebook account was open and you see your friend from ten years ago is pregnant.
Of course, you have to congratulate them.
Next, an ad for a movie you forgot you so desperately wanted to see is now on Netflix. Well, your writing can wait until later. After all, you’ve had a hard day. No writing is done that night. Maybe even the next day. Or the next.
They happen to me…