When I was a kid, I kept a diary (that’s probably shocking for a. a teenage girl who thought her handwriting was the bee’s knees and b. someone who currently keeps a diary and simply calls it something else and lets other people she doesn’t know – and some she does – read it).
My first diary had a lock and it was blue with a picture of some horses on it, which was odd because I was never really around horses and never developed that odd fascination that a lot of elementary- and middle school-age girls develop with the horse. I even tried to disguise my diary as something else by writing “Moby Dick” on the spine in my nine-year-old handwriting and just leaving it on my closet bookshelf for all to find.
I wrote things about going to my grandparents’ homes for the weekend or for Christmas and how my friend Lisa had bigger boobs than me and no boy would ever like me because I was flat-chested.
While the flat-chested thing never actually changed, boys did start to like me and I graduated to one of those pretty, flowered, cloth-covered journals without a lock. When I was 13, I wrote about how I loved Chris, no I hate Chris and I love Joe, no, I love Chris again, now I still love Chris but it’s a different Chris than the first Chris, that Chris is just icky. And I wrote about how much I hated my mother and wished she would just leave me the hell alone, god what a bitch.
Then I went through years of not keeping a diary. In college, I began writing letters to a fake person as a writing exercise for a class, and I wrote about how I was scared of graduation and I didn’t know what I was going to do with myself and I even admitted that I almost was jealous of the 1950s woman who was just going to get married and have kids. Except that I didn’t even have any really prospects for marrying and providing financial stability.
After college, I started getting paid to write for a newspaper and that job was never a good fit for me. All it did was sour me temporarily on the whole writing thing, and I abandoned any type of journal. When I got pregnant, I started keeping a little bit of a pregnancy journal, but even that went by the wayside, what with all the vomiting and the peeing and such.
During my maternity leave, I earnestly purchased a pretty pink-checked baby book, resolved to record those special little moments in Angel Face’s life, like her first smile and her first laugh. My darling girl, however, was born with a hip joint that never formed. Initial treatment didn’t work, which meant she was in a brace for the first six months of her life. All those precious firsts came much later than those of your average baby, and I was discouraged.
Then, I discovered the online journal. Perfect! No need to sit down with a pen and paper! No pressure to fill in little boxes or empty pages! And things still get recorded. It’s just different. I mulled over starting my own blog for awhile, even came up with my title and talked to my husband about it. Then Zoot posted the Her Hangout announcement, and I knew it was sign.
That’s how I started my blog. How about you?