Several weeks ago I had a friend ask if I wanted to collaborate and start a blog. It was quite literally as simple as that. After my instinctive, “um, sure?!” response, I let it sit on my heart a bit. Over the next few weeks I was plagued with doubt, worry, and questions. I wondered if I even had enough credibility as a mom to share my experience or recommendations at all. I wondered if our words would just be added and lost within the sea of hundreds I scroll through daily. Everyone has something to contribute these days. The internet is loud with recommendations, opinions and stories. Why would mine be any different?
I think that in a world saturated by social media and personal stories, we can sometimes doubt our own voice and the value it holds. That’s not to say we should inherently project every thought into this chaotic space, but we should recognize the intention and value our voice can have.
I failed to initially recognize that my story is different. That my thoughts and feelings are unique to me and no one else. That even though I have experienced similar circumstances on this course to Motherhood as others, I am the only one that can offer up my story. I can offer my voice and my heart. And with that resolve, I readily jumped in with Amanda to start this blog. I have loved hearing and seeing others’ stories unfold. They have influenced and shaped my journey. I love nodding along in solidarity. I love laughing at their crazy Motherhood anecdotes (and praying the same set of crazy isn’t bestowed upon me at some point).
I thought maybe, just maybe, a few people would want to follow along to my story, that my words and thoughts held value to others. They’d want to relate and nod and laugh like I do. Not because it’s better (it’s not, I promise). Nor because I have more figured out as a mom (I most definitely do not). But because I see others’ hearts and I feel the same. I want someone to read my words and be comforted, justified. I want to offer up a part of my journey to Motherhood, and just maybe, someone will nod along to my feelings because last week they felt the same. And maybe they won’t feel alone anymore.
My story is unique to me, I know that. But seeing a piece of my heart in others’ thoughts and stories makes me feel justified; it makes me feel seen, loved, heard. Surely, not many have experienced the exact same things at the exact same time as me, but maybe one person has. Maybe they needed to hear what I had to say that day.
That is why I so readily agreed.