I started this blog after both of my parents passed away. It’s not that I didn’t want to blog before. I tried a few times, but I didn’t have the drive to turn it into something consistent. I also had no idea what I was doing.
I knew I needed time to process my grief, and I’m fortunate that my mom set me up in a way where I had options. At the same time, I don’t know if I want to keep pursuing choreography the way I have been. I feel stagnant and a little lost.
I’m not even sure where the idea came from to take blogging seriously, but I knew that if I did it correctly, it could eventually support me. I don’t mind working toward something long-term. What I didn’t know was how you’re supposed to build something when you don’t really know what you’re doing.
I’ve always understood that anything worth having either costs money or takes time. Right now, this is the time version of that.
The Silent Phase
I’m in what I would call the silent phase of blogging. It’s hard in a very specific way. I’m putting real parts of myself online, and I know that no one is really seeing it yet.
There are thousands of “Top 10 Best Thermometers” posts out there, and here I am writing about my experiences, my mistakes, and whatever I’m trying to figure out in real time.
I am constantly hoping Google is finding me. It’s part of the game. Even if it’s just one random person.
Publishing Without Feedback
Writing without feedback is more comfortable than I expected. I know how I consume content. There’s a lot of it, and it’s unrealistic to expect someone to read everything.
The blogs I’ve connected with, I’ve binged. I’m hoping that happens here at some point, but I only know what I know from this side of the screen and that’s fine.
When I publish or schedule a post, I feel accomplished. Then there’s a quick moment of doubt. I think, “what if I sound like a shallow, vapid woman with nothing else to do?” Then I remember it’s the internet and it’s not that serious.
After that, I scroll what I’ve posted and see that it exists. It’s there, waiting to be discovered. That part feels good.
The Analytics and the Reality
The other thing that gets to me is the analytics. I learned pretty quickly that looking at them too closely isn’t helpful right now. There’s not much to see, and that’s expected, but it’s still hard not to check.
As of writing this, there isn’t a day where I’m not thinking about or working on this blog. I have more ideas than I can realistically execute right now. I write what makes sense, and I capture the rest for later.
Part of that has been figuring out how to make it clear what this blog is about. The URL alone isn’t enough. I actually have to say it.
Structure, Grief, and Discipline
Since I’ve been off work, this blog has given me structure. It’s helped me process my grief, especially around my mom. I think about her a lot when I write. A lot of who I am comes from her, and I’m aware of that more now.
She would have encouraged me to do this. At the same time, I know I would have held back if she were here. I wouldn’t want to write anything that might disappoint her, and that would have changed how honest I am.
Even though this time off is a choice, I still need structure to function. This gives me that. I’m also in the middle of moving, so it helps balance everything else going on.
I’ve noticed that I have more discipline than I thought. I want this blog to help someone. I want people like me to see that it’s fine to be in your 40s, unmarried, without kids, and still care about how you look.
I also want to say things people are already thinking but don’t say out loud. If that turns into some kind of connection over time, that’s enough.
Conclusion
I know that if I keep going, something will come from it. That part I believe.
What I’m still working through is the insecurity that comes with doing something this visible while it’s still this quiet. If you’re doing anything like this, especially early on, it’s going to feel like no one is paying attention.
That’s part of it. Just show up and show out. Something is bound to happen.
Leave a Reply