When I started writing in a blog I was young, had all the time in the world, and enjoyed talking about the mundane and trivial things involved with being a teenager, then college student, then a graduate.
I picked back up with writing pretty intensely when I landed my first teaching job and I had stories coming out my ears about the hilarious things my students said to me and my encounters being the big adult in a classroom full of little elementary aged kids, when, honestly, I barely felt like an adult at all.
Then I wrote about things related to young marriage, and the process of buying and building our first little (and current) townhome. And then about bringing home the puppy who I didn't realize till years later would be such a stinkin' handful and more work than our two kids combined on some days.
We got pregnant and then I wrote about our devastating miscarriage, even though it felt wrong and too open and honest to share on the internet. It brought many people into my life I had never expected it would, and opened up the hearts of other hurting momma's who just felt understood by hearing my crazy intense thoughts vomited on the pages of this blog in the midst of our grief.
Then I had my beautiful Emeline and got to take the year off of teaching. I began to find this deep need to document and capture every bit of her life through my writing and photos, to be forever preserved in 'blog world'. I had time, so much time to write and process, and learn the ins and outs of motherhood, and share my fails and my victories right here. In fact, there is no baby book--her baby book was right here. Every new milestone documented, a month never went by without an update.
I shared about the journey of losing a whole lot of baby weight plus much more, and started to feel what it was like to be comfortable in my own skin. It was encouraging and motivating to write about it here, get some cheers and inspiration, and to keep going on days it didn't feel worth it. I lost 50 some pounds and at the time, I felt great.
I wrote about not being ready for a 2nd baby, and then shortly after, I wrote about being pregnant with a 2nd baby. Don't worry, I got on board, apparently. Because Lucy was as planned as planned can be. But my pregnancy was sorely documented (except for on instagram), because I came to find out that life with a wild toddler and a super sick pregnancy didn't lend itself to as much leisurely writing.
Lucy came and I'm so grateful to have documented when my two sweet girls met. It was truly a high-High in my life that I'll never, ever forget. A few posts about how a new little lady in town stole my heart here and there, and about how she never, ever slept, and oh I'm so tired.
I popped in once in a while to talk about my journey back to running and losing the baby weight again. I was torn in so many directions with my kids, my job, my husband, exercising, church duties, etc, that I could feel myself pulling away from documenting as much.
I started leaving my camera at home more and more so I could be in the present, without a hunk of camera in my face. I felt myself leaving the memories to be in little instagram snapshots from my phone with a few little lines of texts instead of long, drawn out blog posts. My brain felt blank any time I wanted to write, which felt like a huge oxymoron, because, if I want to write, I should have something to say.
I began focusing even more on my health. Upped it to the next level, began spending more time at the gym and getting over a lot of my fears. We cleaned up our eating in such a way that my body began to change and I was finally seeing what I was capable of. I have a good level of energy now for my girl's, for my family, and I feel strong. I felt like it was too boring to talk anymore about this stuff because, in a way, I've arrived, in the sense that I didn't feel like I had much more progress pics to show--to keep up with all that. I just was living it out now.
My priorities of writing and documenting fell to the wayside. I didn't have the time (because I didn't make it) to sit and just write about things in any cohesive manner every day, or even a few times a week anymore. My children keep me busier than I ever knew, and I'm in life deep with them. Sometimes too deep to pull myself out and then write about it.
I'm alright with that, I think. Because times have changed.