The process is a lot like speed dating; you link up from a particular blog, spend some time looking at each blog, then you move on to the next one. You might leave a comment, maybe even subscribe if you really like what you see. Some readers are generous with comments (those are good); some, you only know about through the site’s statistics. Did they even read my posts, or did they just screw up their nose and move on?
Each time I have come away with some nice comments, but ultimately I feel like the ugly girl who no one wants to sit next to. This feeling is a familiar one; much like being a teen. “Oh Karen, I thought we had resolved this; you are not ugly, you are not fat, you are not dumb. Just get on with it!!”
I remind myself, I am putting myself into this situation. I don’t have to blog. I chose to do this. I don’t know why I thought that my life on the internet would somehow be shinier and more ideal than real-life: that my blog would somehow escape my laser like self-criticism. Who knew writing about your personal life on the world wide web was going to test the limits of my self-confidence? (Duh … ) And who knew at age 30 I would still be wrestling with the Bitchy-little-voice-inside-my-head?
I wish I could see into the faces, hearts and minds of the 1300 viewers that have traipsed into my virtual home. Did they wipe their feet? Did they enjoy their tea? Perhaps I should have catered for vegetarians?
But what would be the point? To sit alongside the Bitch-inside-my-head and whisper soothing ‘I hear you‘s into her ear while brushing her hair? Or to slam the door on her, and walk out into the fresh air?
I think the best thing I can do is write like no one is watching.
“Writers are not just people who sit down and write. They hazard themselves. Every time you compose a book your composition of yourself is at stake.” E.L. Doctorow.