The Reason I Write

I love to write, just like my mother. It allows me to express the emotions that would otherwise be buried within me, layer after layer.

But why create a blog?

Sometimes I think I am certifiably insane for sharing the embarrassing, self-deprecating, and vulnerable thoughts and experiences that I do on this platform. I might as well publish my 4th grade diary at this rate. I surprise myself — post after post — about how much I am willing to share. Because if you truly know me, you know that I am not share-er. That old lass Rose Dawson was right when she said a woman’s heart is an ocean of secrets. 9-year-old me took that shit pretty seriously! πŸ’πŸ½β€β™€οΈ

But all that has changed — I have a son now.

I want to share everything about my human experience with my son. My mistakes, my accomplishments, my failings, my embarrassing moments. Moments where I felt insanely love — moments when I betrayed someone I cared about. I want him to know who I am when no one is looking or who I become when I am in front of a crowd.

I have so little time with him. Life seems to be moving about 1,000 mph and there is no where near enough hours to talk about all of life’s idiosyncrasies and mysteries. And if for some reason my life should come to an end sooner than expected, there will be so much of me that he never knew. So many unheard stories and unshared pieces of wisdom.

That is the point of this blog. It is for him, my beautiful muse. It is tiny pieces of me left in a trail like crumbs from Hansel and Gretel. Tiny pieces that allow him to hopefully find a little clarity in life or at the very least — know who his mother truly is and what she stood for.

And if you are reading this someday, my little light, just know how much I love you.

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