Why the F*** Are You Writing a Blog?

“Words are the physicians of a mind diseased” - AESCHYLUS

Why do you think anyone would actually read it? What makes you think you have anything to say? What makes you qualified to talk about life when you still don’t have your shit together?

It was two weeks before the launch of My Inner Culture and doubts were pressing in.

I was still overweight. Still ruled by food, alcohol, Chiari pain. I still wasn’t a fancy writer. I still didn’t exercise every day, or meditate in my backyard at sunrise, or get over my compulsory habits. In short, I hadn’t done ANY of the things I was planning to write about, so why would anyone take me seriously?

Why the fuck are you writing a blog?

This voice, the one that spoke loudly enough to split my eardrums, is what Melissa Ambrosini calls my “Mean Girl.” You could also call it ego, my fear-based friend that would rather I kept my mouth shut than risk failure or ridicule by opening it. And she had a wittier, more persuasive tongue than I ever will.

I had no qualms about starting my blog until last week when the reality that I was going to share deeply personal struggles with people, opening myself up to scrutiny and judgment, set in. Why the hell would I want to do that? Do I want to have to defend myself all the time? What if they think I suck as a writer? What if everyone thinks I’m crazy? My Facebook friends—my first experiment with an audience—are largely mothers my age who are busy raising families, trading diaper coupons, and setting play dates. We have nothing in common, other than age. They’re not going to care about shower epiphanies or creating an authentic life. They ARE living. I’m the one scrambling on the sidelines. Then there’re the people who are sick—I mean, REALLY sick—like the guy from my high school going for cancer treatments. Who do I think I am writing about a non-life-threatening illness as if it matters, when his illness could actually kill him?

This brutal voice of unreason did her best to stop me in the name of self-preservation and imagined unworthiness. The truth is, my inner Mean Girl underestimated everyone—myself included. We all have different journeys, and there will always be someone with a story more interesting or tragic than mine. And there will be others who will go about their lives completely untouched by my soul bared on an amateur website.

And that’s OK. Because despite our differences, the people I associate with are generally kind and have been nothing but supportive and a source of strength. Even if not everyone agrees with my personal points of view from some of my sassier admissions, dissonance leads to conversation, which is what this blog is for. You want to talk? Let’s talk!

Thankfully, when it came to starting My Inner Culture, I was smart enough not to take my Mean Girl’s advice and continue to hide.

Instead I listened to podcasts. Lots and lots of podcasts. In doing so I learned that all egos speak the same language. Nearly every blogger, small business owner, and entrepreneur had to push through the same inner dialogue, the same persistent doubts and fears, as were running on a loop through my own head. Maybe none of us (or a great plenty, at least) feel qualified to speak, or are fully confident in our abilities to reach people. And of those people, some of us say fuck it and do it anyway.

So why am I writing a blog?

Because I need a place to go with all the fear, pain, excitement, and hope. Because I want to talk to you—yes, if you’re reading this, I mean YOU—about life and living. Because I have something to say, and even though there are millions of writers out there that could say it better, they could never tell it just like me.

Despite my fears and insecurities, in the year since I started this snarky labor of love I’ve never thought about quitting. I’ve battled with how much to share, slammed my laptop shut in anger when the words refused to come, questioned my abilities (every damn day), felt like a failure if I didn’t crank out two posts a week, every week, and cringed when I hit the “publish” button. I’ve gone off track, chasing “likes” and “shares” for miles like kids running after an ice cream truck—then re-evaluated the purpose of MiC, and stopped checking. I’ve seen myself change, felt emotional burdens lift, and my courage grow. The invisibility cloak is lifting. I can’t quit. I’m just getting started.

4/12/18 – from an email to a friend:

I asked myself, “If I wasn’t afraid, would I do it?” The answer was unequivocally YES. If I wasn’t afraid of being judged, or people hating it or hating me, or of being laughed at (all ego), I would do this because it’s what I’ve been preparing to do the last few years. So yeah, it’s scary. Yeah, I’m terrified of putting myself out there, but the fear is actually a motivator. I don’t want to be bound forever by fear. So I’m doing this.

And I did.