I used to be a blogger, you know.
I used to post poems, pictures, memes, take part in community prompts. I had a screen identity based on my family nickname. I made friends. I became published in print with ideas that had begun on my blog. It was fun. It was meaningful. It was juicy. At one point, it’s fair to say I was living for it.
But somewhere along my blogging journey, I began to put pressure on myself to be professional in some way which I judged that I was not. The thought of having to perform made that performance dry up. By the end stage, blogging was a way of beating myself up for not being able to grow enough, reach out enough and be enough.
So I stopped. I chose learning about myself away from the screen. I chose healing the way I thought about myself. I chose becoming stronger. I chose life.
While snowdrops still nod, the crocuses bloom luscious with violet. The bravest daffodils are emboldened by the sun to take a peek at March. I am a well fed plant with strong leaves. I sit at the window and through the glass I take in that sunshine. I am not in flower yet, but there is a stirring.
Spring is springing once more.