Beginning my Blog

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My husband suggested that I blog. He based his “nagging” on the fact that prior to writing my Masters thesis, writing was something I loved to do, on par with my love of reading. I have been in hibernation, I guess would be a description that is applicable, since I stopped having to attend university classes and no longer have a job to go to each day. The hibernation began when I walked away from my career in nursing in 2008. It was delayed with my husband goading me into returning to study. It seems a lot of the things that push me out of comfort zone and into public, or at least out of my bedroom and house are initiated by my husband.

This will be hard for me, writing that might be read by other people. I have my completed thesis and love showing off the binding but shudder at anyone actually reading it – to date I haven’t read it in its entirety, only the supervising lecturer has. I hate the intimacy that I always have with my writing that leaves me feeling exposed and vulnerable if someone else read it. There is a double hit of trying to keep it real so to speak and not retain my life mask of shrouding the reality of how I am feeling behind a look of “happiness” and attempting to blend. To be “normal” so to speak.

The format will be whatever I feel like exploring at the time. It may only ever be of interest to me but its out there. And the out there may prove therapeutic for me, one part of my reality that is no longer hidden. The topics will meander and include nursing, mental health, my studying experiences, my love of media studies and the theorists that contribute to that, my ongoing battle to not comfort eat, to not be obese and to keep moving, arthritis and fibromyalgia and if I get really brave PTSD, depression and anxiety. Of course there will be the light moments my beloved cats, books I read and the battle with the garden, World of Warcraft and pretty much whatever I am thinking about and can write honestly about.

4 thoughts on “Beginning my Blog

  1. I have a friend who left college during Finals Week just twelve hours short of a finance degree. When asked why he left, especially since he was passing his courses, he replied he was just “ready to go home.”

    That was more than twenty years ago. He’s never finished those twelve hours. He’s the same guy who, while day trading, got suspended for artificially manipulating values of a penny stock through repeated transactions. He also failed his real estate broker’s license six times before he passed. Although I never took the broker’s exam, the sales license in that state at the time was ridiculously easy. (It has changed since.) As a nineteen-year-old full-time college student with only fair grades, I went to four Saturday classes hungover and often failed to stay awake. Yet I easily passed the exam despite little study. The broker’s test is much more detailed, but my friend just didn’t care—at least that was the image he sold. He’s the only one who might possibly know the truth of that image.

    We delay and even sabotage our dreams sometimes for a variety of reasons, many of which are irrational and in some cases even beyond our grasp. During fifteen years in higher education, I knew lots of ABDs (all but dissertation). They could speak eloquently and often passionately about their theses among friends and supporters but didn’t want to contemplate the act of defending a dissertation.

    I faced a different kind of fear. I intermittently abandoned my passion for about eight years. For most of that period, I lived—aside from my workplace—as a stranger in a remote land. Significant trauma I fooled myself into believing I’d addressed grew into something else until I isolated myself. The cold-blooded murder of a close relative, struggles with multiple congenital conditions, two lengthy bouts with illness and sever chronic pain that eluded diagnosis, divorce, a job loss, infidelity and a best friend’s betrayal … During one six-month period of an eighteen-month constant headache punctuated by frequent migraines, eventually attributed to prescription medication, I prayed not to wake every night for six straight months.

    People say they couldn’t have endured. I never would’ve imagined I could’ve endured. We seldom have any clue of what we can endure until the task is put before us and our beliefs (and/or desires, choices) leave us no option but to endure. I endured, but I failed to address.

    When I finally got honest with myself about the impact of all the trauma in my life, I slowly made progress. I had to make some painful admissions about myself. I recognized personal attributes I couldn’t condone without precluding progress. I still have improvements to make and always will. That’s the nature of this existence.

    Striving for anything of value makes all of us vulnerable because the pursuit will inevitably incur mistakes and rejection. Failure occurs only when we refuse to get back up. One of the wonderful aspects of writing is the lack of a final destination. The grandeur of one conquered peak becomes obscured by the vision of one even higher, calling out to see how far we’re willing to push the human spirit. We fall short only if we fall to completely exhaust it in determining its limits.

    In doing so, we will be criticized for many reasons. When people voluntarily expend their energy and time—the most precious resource they have—to offer information that might be useful, we should consider ourselves fortunate. However, we must learn to move on without slowing to look back when people criticize because they are too afraid, too envious, or otherwise speaking from a position that allows them only to spew venom without the benefit of instruction. We fail only if we refuse to get back up and move forward.

    Best regards and wishes! The first step may not always be the most difficult but it often requires the most courage. (This is a recent entry from my blog, Rolling the Stone. If it inspired you, take a look around. Feel free to ask questions or followup with me. Regardless, I wish you well!)

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