I’ve been doing my once a week blog postings for over a year now. I’m starting to notice that even though I’m in a tiny little barely-noticed corner of the internet, blogging once a week is having an impact on my life.
I do want to be noticed. I have a fantasy that someday my blog will have lots of readers because I’ll be saying things that resonate with people, or help them, or that they simply enjoy reading. So I think about this, and what I want to say, and how I can make my blog enjoyable and accessible and the kind of thing that people will share with their friends, who will share with their friends, and so on and so forth. Which means a lot of looking at the bloggers who have managed that and what I can learn from them.
Some of it is simple things, like making sure my posts have a picture so there is something to look at besides words. I know I like it when blog posts have pictures, and I doubt I’m unique in that, so I spend lots of time looking through various creative commons licensed pictures trying to find ones that fit my posts. I don’t always succeed, but it’s nice when I do.
I’ve also noticed that successful bloggers – or at least, the bloggers that I most enjoy reading (or watching if they do video blogging), really put themselves into what they are saying. They get up in front of the whole internet and proceed to be honest, sometimes downright vulnerable. How scary that must be! But in doing so they come across as genuine and real, so when they say something I find myself wanting to listen.
So I wonder if or how I should emulate that.
And then I watch a video about closeness and vulnerability and feeling worthy. In the video, Dr. Brené Brown, a research professor at the University of Houston, Graduate College of Social Work, talks about how she decided to sit down and figure out the hows and whys of people feeling loved and like they belonged. Her conclusion? That those who feel that way believe they deserve to feel that way, and they treat vulnerability as simply how that happens, rather than as something terrifying to be avoided. And I watch that video and I don’t want it to apply to me. I tell myself that it’s for neurotypicals and I’m on the autism spectrum and things are different for me.
Yeah, that’s a bunch of bull.
Not that things aren’t different for me, because they are. But the fundamental laws about how closeness functions and how we get there still apply to me, because they apply to everybody. And then I wind up thinking about how much I avoid vulnerability, or I dole it out in carefully controlled amounts because I don’t want to deal with the uncertainty of how people will respond. I fear that the response will hurt, and I fear that I deserve that hurt because of how different and weird and often clueless I am. I tell myself (or worry or fear) that people don’t actually want to see that vulnerable side of me so it’s best for everyone if I keep it hidden away, and in so doing I make it that much harder to form those close, intimate connections that I crave so much.
So I write, because ultimately I am trying to be a blogger and writing is how that gets done. I have to write and keep writing. It means writing when I’m inspired to write and writing when I’m NOT inspired to write but if I’m going to have something ready in time I’d better get typing. Plus I think better when I write and I like to write and my brain sorts itself out in writing in different and better ways than in other types of thinking, so blogging gives me more push to do a thing that I really should be doing anyway. It gives me structure and a goal and a public voice, and it makes me think about things that maybe I wouldn’t otherwise think about, and makes it harder to dismiss things that maybe I would have otherwise dismissed because they are uncomfortable.
And because it’s a blog, once in a while I post what I write so that anyone who stumbles across my little corner of the internet can see some little glimpse of me, and I can hope that they got something out of it.