Sometimes I am so full of blog posts that I can hardly wait to write. I will scribble notes down here and there, send myself messages from my phone and be so excited to share my thoughts.
Lately, it hasn’t been that way. At all.
It’s the first time in four years that I haven’t wanted to write and that’s not normal.
Possibly, it’s the change in seasons. Dooce wrote about her depression and how it always rears it’s ugly head in September. Perhaps, it’s the same for me.
It’s also possible that the events in my community have taken a toll on me.
First, there was a senseless shooting.
Then there was a horrific plane crash a little too close to my home.
And finally, we lost a family friend in a tragic accident. He had a wife and two young daughters.
I’ve always been a bit on the sensitive side, but becoming a parent has opened me up to a new vulnerability. Having a child has made me aware of how connected we all are. Now, I will encounter a rude, nasty person and I think, “Well, at some point this person was a little baby and their mother loved them as much as I love Henry.”
And now I understand loss in a whole new way. And I can’t even write about it. Because I just can’t handle letting my mind go there.
So, in so many ways, it’s not surprising that I feel these events in a way that I haven’t felt before. Because now I live in a world where I can imagine just how devastating the loss is.
So I haven’t been writing, which is just not like me.
But rest assured that my life is still full of wonder, still as busy as ever, and still full of mothering goodness like being projectile vomited on, getting up at 3 a.m. and tackling mommy and me yoga.
I’m working on getting back in the blogging game so be patient with me as I try to find my autumn groove.