The first thing I see when I open my eyes in the morning is a vintage typewriter atop an old book hutch, put there specifically as a daily reminder to myself that I am a writer. It thus follows that I should actually do some writing then, doesn’t it? But apart from that, I can’t say for sure why I’ve begun this blog. I’ve thought about blogging for a long time.
And while I don’t know exactly what this will be about, I do know what it won’t be about, and that is motherhood; at least not directly. I’ve realized that motherhood has essentially eclipsed all other aspects of my life and as much as I adore being a mother, much has been neglected over the past six years, partly out of necessity and partly out of perhaps a misdirected sense of responsibility that somehow translated itself into self-deprivation as I raise three little people.
Yes, I know I’m not the first woman to do this, but still I think it’s such a tragedy. A needless one that I’ve come to know intimately. Surely, I’m not alone in this.
At any rate, this will certainly not be somewhere for me to feel sorry for myself or complain. Neither will it be a place to showcase my children and extol the virtues of stay-at-home mommy-hood. God knows there are enough of those blogs around, and besides I wouldn’t be a very good example anyway.
I hope that it will be a place for me to explore all of those long forgotten interests I once held dear, in that other lifetime that sometimes floats back to me in dreams, leaving me utterly wrecked upon waking and realizing just how far away certain things have gotten.
It will be a place for me to just think about things…that may or may not turn out to be important. I also hope that somehow this blog might prove useful to another woman, in the ways that my own favorite blogs have been useful to me. In the past, when I’ve stumbled upon a particularly exhilarating blog, I’ve had that lovely feeling of my world expanding just a bit.
Above all else, I intend to write with brutal honesty here. I intend to say things that I absolutely can not say in real life, but that I need to say, so I’ll say them to you. I will withhold nothing, save for the names of my husband and children.
I suppose I’ll just write this in journal form, and you can call me Lily, because I’ve always loved that name.