This time of the year is one of my favourite and least favourite – yes, it’s blogging conference season when people get to meet each other face to face, old friends reconnect, new friends are made, blogging mojo is restored, and photos are abundant on social media.
This is the fourth consecutive year I’ve missed BlogHer. I should be used to it by now, but the truth is, it’s harder than ever to know that I’m not there. Through the years, my friendships with many have deepened, and the thought of not being able to hug their faces off and be in their real presence, hurts.
However, it is also a favourite time of the year because I get to witness my tribe getting together, their love and friendship finding ground in real life, and the important messages they share through being there.
One message that I saw repeatedly was this: Tell Your Story.
I’ve been mired in mixed messages of my own this year, with regards to this blog and my writing. I keep clawing my way out and reminding myself why I keep going. The love of the written word, the love of connecting, the love of having something that is mine, but can be shared at the same time.
Tell Your Story.
I read many wonderful writers daily. I love their stories. Their memories of childhood, their parents, what happened last week or yesterday, their lessons, their experiences.
I feel like I have no stories of my own. My memories of childhood are selective and non-worthy of telling. They are uninteresting even to me, how can they possibly be of interest to you?
But I am wrong. I do have a story.
My story is one of a little girl whose childhood memories consist of Enid Blyton, Nancy Drew, and a nanny who left when I was 7, changing my world as I knew it then.
My story is one of a girl who got mouthy as a tween, who loved reading entertainment magazines and dreamed of becoming a journalist.
My story is of a girl who felt insecure about her looks, weight and intellect, at the age of 16, but tried out as an airline attendant at 18 (and made it by decided to forgo it).
My story is of a young woman who left home at 17 to a city two hours away, then halfway across the world at 19.
My story is of a young woman who stumbled into a beloved profession, and made a career out of it for 10 years.
My story is of a woman who made many mistakes, dated the wrong guys, and had her heart broken at 24.
My story is of a woman who met her forever love at 28, married at 31 and didn’t figure out what the rest of her life would look like right there and then.
My story is of a woman who decided to have a child at the age of 33, after years of declaring that “no way I can be a mother”.
My story is of a woman who’s about to be a mother of FOUR, who vacillates between feeling ready to feeling completely unprepared.
I have a story. It is complex and simple. It is filled with love and laughter, bitterness and tears. It is light and dark. It is mine.
And I hope to be able to tell most of it here someday soon.
What is your story?