I have to ask though, because it’s happened to me–have you ever had anyone tell you that blogging is “selfish?” How do you respond to that?
I just about fell out of my chair when I read her comment, because ohmygosh have I felt like that. While no one has actually come out and told me I am selfish for blogging, I have definitely felt some close scrutiny about it. And maybe it’s just me being paranoid, but I have the tendency to interpret comments like, “Wow, I don’t know how you manage to find time for blogging…” as thinly-veiled barbs that loosely translate to:
“Wow, I didn’t know you were such a horrible mother to neglect your kids and waste time with your narcissistic little blog. Must be nice!”
And I have to be honest–I have wondered that about other bloggers. Like, seriously, how can they be leading these awesome lives and doing all these arts and crafts and cooking all these mouth-watering (usually healthy) meals while looking ultra-stylish if they are spending all their time blogging about it? When do they live it?
I’m thinking it’s pretty obvious that I am not one of those bloggers. I fail miserably at any arts and crafts I attempt, (Like today, when I tried this leaf rubbing idea I saw on Pinterest. Epic fail. How on earth I could mess up rubbing a stupid leaf with a crayon, I don’t know. But I did.) I can cook if it involves a crock pot, and well, I haven’t bought new clothes in like four years, because oh, I’m always pregnant and really like cookies.
I blog for different reasons. Mainly, just for the pure joy of writing. But also, to help me step back from the non-stop world of mothering small children and just breathe. To reflect on what I am doing and what I can do better. To connect with the other young mommas out there in the front lines. And yet, I definitely have my moments when I feel ridiculous for blogging. Worse still, I’ve felt uber-guilty for blogging. Who do I think I am? Why would anyone care what I write? Shouldn’t I be doing something more productive??
But the other day, I was browsing through the book “Women Who Do Too Much” by Patricia Sprinkle and came across an idea that really struck me.
She talked about how she had so much going on, as most women do, and she was over-scheduled and overstressed and under-slept and yet all she really wanted to do was write mysteries.
It was such a simple, small thing and yet, in her head, as most of us do, she kept talking herself out of the thing she wanted most in the whole world.
No, that’s a stupid thing to want. No, I have too much to do. No, I can’t waste time on such a frivolous thing.
No, no, no.
She denied herself what she loved to do. And watched herself become buried. And depressed. And short-tempered. And lose sight of everything she was working so hard to accomplish.
So she gave up. And permitted herself time for herself. Time to write those mysteries she longed to do.
And you know what happened? Instead of becoming the selfish, unproductive, frivolous monster she had feared so much…
She found that she actually got more done.
Freed from that negative energy that was bringing her down, freed from the depression that was cutting off her very soul, freed from the voices and the self-doubt and the threats of selfishness, she was able to finally, finally find the rhythm and balance in life that worked for her.
She found that doing what she loved–even for a few minutes, here and there–gave her more energy, helped her to become a better mother, a more loving wife, a more productive employee. Those few minutes of clearing her mind and getting lost in the pure joy of writing her mystery novel translated into an energy burst and a jolt of happiness and creativity for an entire day.
Do I think blogging is selfish?
But I also know that done right, it helps me to be a better mother, a more loving wife, and inspires me creatively in ways I am only now discovering.
It’s about finding your passion for life in your life. Find what moves you and follow it. Hold on to it. Make time for it. Fight for it if you have to.
But don’t apologize for it.
It may more important than you realize.