It’s
my birthday today! If you know me well, you know how much I love birthdays. I
love to celebrate, and I love to be reflective and nostalgic. Facebook “memories”
around this time of year are my favorite. They’re full of quotes like this one:
“Casey Cooper is… thinking this might be the best week ever.” on October 22, 2007
at 9:12am. [Remember when your Facebook status had to start with “ is… ”?? Haha! Vintage Facebook.]
Recently, a memory popped up with a link to my old forgotten blog, when I invented the 3.1-31-31 challenge for myself last year. And that blog link really had me feeling nostalgic.
Last fall, I decided to stop writing on my blog after my “31” posts sort of flopped, and someone told me I was just a wannabe who would never been a legit blogger. She said I was a mediocre writer with intentionally bad grammar and boring topics. No one cares about your little mommy blog, she said. It’s a waste of time and an embarrassment that you’re still doing it. You don’t have the talent and you don’t have anything valuable to share.
I felt defeated and disheartened. For years, I’d found joy in sharing my writing, but suddenly blogging was dead. Instagram was queen. Influencers were younger and cooler than bloggers. I bought into my critic’s narrative, even though it contradicted all the compliments I’d received over the years. To this day, I still receive thank you’s for writing about vulnerable topics like my miscarriage. Perhaps, in the face of the critiques, I might have considered the fact that I’m not a self-help guru. I’m just an average parent going through relatable parenting struggles. I could have simply altered my topics and continued on with my happy little blog. Instead, I bought into the notion that I am actually a terrible writer who should absolutely stop sharing her writing altogether.
Recently, a memory popped up with a link to my old forgotten blog, when I invented the 3.1-31-31 challenge for myself last year. And that blog link really had me feeling nostalgic.
Last fall, I decided to stop writing on my blog after my “31” posts sort of flopped, and someone told me I was just a wannabe who would never been a legit blogger. She said I was a mediocre writer with intentionally bad grammar and boring topics. No one cares about your little mommy blog, she said. It’s a waste of time and an embarrassment that you’re still doing it. You don’t have the talent and you don’t have anything valuable to share.
I felt defeated and disheartened. For years, I’d found joy in sharing my writing, but suddenly blogging was dead. Instagram was queen. Influencers were younger and cooler than bloggers. I bought into my critic’s narrative, even though it contradicted all the compliments I’d received over the years. To this day, I still receive thank you’s for writing about vulnerable topics like my miscarriage. Perhaps, in the face of the critiques, I might have considered the fact that I’m not a self-help guru. I’m just an average parent going through relatable parenting struggles. I could have simply altered my topics and continued on with my happy little blog. Instead, I bought into the notion that I am actually a terrible writer who should absolutely stop sharing her writing altogether.
But
the thing is, my entire post-collegiate adult life is on this blog. It’s been a
labor of love. I started it when we moved to Austin and when we bought our first home. I wrote about my husband, our first baby, being a mom, the loss of our dog, and heck, even pumping at work. I explained my decision to leave my job. I got political and vulnerable and I tried to be inspirational. I attempted to be educational and I became Pinterest famous. My miscarriage gave my friends community,
my VBAC story gave them
encouragement, and my piece on restlessness
was relatable to people in many stages of life. Then, despite all these great
posts and memories, my posts about health/running
were received with mediocre enthusiasm so I decided it was The End. The End of
my blogging career. Forever.
But,
is it really The End? Do I want it to be over? I’m not sure. So here I am
again. I don't have aspirations to be a famous writer, but I do enjoy sharing my writing with my small community. And I'm going to be a bit more cautious when I listen to my Inner Critic.
