I have several draft posts set aside for myself, one of which I added just last night. Several are from this time last year, when I started my blog. They have to do with my family and my childhood, and were largely my efforts to piece together what I know from the snippets, memoirs, white (and black) lies that I’ve gotten from immediate family throughout my life.
Their misconceptions have shaped what I know up to this point, and I didn’t like that one bit. I wanted to write it all down in an effort to help me find myself, and the reasons why I do the things I do, like sabotaging my chances to reach goals, when I know deep down that I am a perfectly capable being.
When I first started the childhood posts, I got the honor of being freshly pressed. It really gave me a boost and made me think that I could get through all this self-doubt, with so many supportive comments along the way.
But the truth is, I got sick of hearing myself in those posts. And while I set them aside for later, later never really comes. It’s like I dump them into the draft abyss when I’m feeling down, and instead, all you see are my fluffy posts about cupcakes and soup.
(Don’t worry, I made puff pastry logs last night that came out delicious, even though I got impatient and made them ugly in the end. I’ll post pics. Today, I’ll also be trying my hand at wheat bread. Yep. Wheat bread.)
I still feel like there are a lot of things I need to get off my chest. And my first posts are the reason I made this blog anonymous in the first place; so that I would have a place to talk about sharing how I feel about the people in my life, without hurting their feelings. It was like having a virtual psychologist. In fact, that’s exactly what I was going for.
But it seems that through all the pain, I have maybe found what I really enjoy. Cooking, baking and sharing. Since I quit my job, I decided I should seriously look at opening up an establishment where I can do just that. What I have found is that with very little start-up money, I’ve should go back to work and save up a little more. But now I know that I have a goal to work towards.
Hubby definitely knows about the blog. In fact, every time we sit down to a particularly beautiful looking meal, he says, “Should we take a picture for the blog?” But he’s assured me that even if I absentmindedly leave my blog page open , he would feel uncomfortable reading it, knowing that it’s akin to my journal. And part of me wants to take out all the stuff I put in about my family, all the deep dark things I feel, so that I can share my blog with him. But the other part of me tells me this is for me.
And so, I rant. I rave. Sometimes I cry while I type, and then put that post in the drafts. And sometimes I squeal in delight when a delectable comes out beautiful and I get to share it with the blogosphere.
This is me.
Thanks for visiting.