It’s been more than two months since I wrote anything here. I stopped without explanation or warning, marking most of my posts to private and just vanishing.
I was frightened.
I heard a story of another blogger, who had discovered somebody else using pictures of her child and claiming that child was theirs.
I am so anxious, all of the time. Even when things are good I’m often like a huge ball of stress.
Somebody else quite rightly pointed out that even if people use pictures of my children without my permission, my children are still right here. Safe. With me. They are only pictures.
Still, I couldn’t relax about it.
I’d not long given birth. I was emotional enough without this extra thing to worry me.
I’m still worried. Not so intensely, but the worry is still there.
But do the pros outweigh the cons?
The Internet and social media are like an invisible support network, right there inside my phone/laptop.
A support network I am lacking.
Yes, I have some truly wonderful friends both in Bristol and here too. But I’m still new here. I feel new anyway, and the two years since I’ve moved have been hard. I don’t have old enough or strong enough friendships here. The really old and close friends are far away.
It’s so isolating.
There’s more to it than that, of course.
The first few weeks after Astrid was born were a blur of feeling wonderful and happy and tired.
But then pain came. Old, familiar pain.
But not just the migraines. There’s more going on and I’m beginning to wonder if I’m not very well.
That’s not entirely true.
I’ve been here before. It comes and goes in big waves, that take over my life and leave me unable to function and then just wash back out to sea again. And I’m ok.
Right now things are bad in my body and my head.
I’m back here, back in this online space because it does me good. It is cathartic and healing and helps me to release the things I feel.
Even the posts about what we did last Wednesday or whatever. They help. Writing helps.
My two tiny humans are rapidly growing and changing and learning. My biggest anxiety is that I’ll forget who they were. Who they were before they became proper people. These tiny humans with so much to discover.
That post about what we did last Wednesday snatches at the memories and puts them where I’ll always be able to look back.
I could write a private diary. I could.
But it wouldn’t be the same. There’s something in the sharing. The community. The getting this shit out there. I can’t explain it.
I know I’m not alone.
I know there are hundreds and thousands of other people writing about all the day to day stuff that makes up their lives. There’s millions of people sharing their breakfasts, their trips to the beach, and everything else. If it’s not a blog, it’s Facebook or Twitter or Instagram.
It’s all the same thing.
So I’m here. How long for I can’t say. Hopefully always, as the effect on my mental health is so positive.