The Day I Almost Deleted my Blog

Last week I started thinking a little about this blog.

It takes up a lot of time to blog regularly.

I have a lot of fears about what might happen if I cut back on my blogging schedule. Ideally, I'd like to be posting four times a week + one links post on Sundays. So far, since I started blogging in October, I've hit that pace maybe three times. And certainly not in back-to-back weeks. So maybe that goal is unrealistic for me. Except I know it's doable because lots of other bloggers manage it.

Only I feel like I spend all my time working on this blog, reading other people's blogs, commenting, tweeting, Facebooking. Worrying.

I get stressed when I miss a day when I meant to have a post. I start watching the Management like a crazy person, hoping she'll do something funny that I can write about. When she doesn't do anything hilarious, and I decide to write a post like this one instead, I worry that people will be like, "Homes. I don't want to hear about you. You are not half as interesting as your child." (1. That is a topic for another post. 2. I don't know why I would imagine you calling me 'Homes.')

I feel like I don't have a lot of time for anything else because every time I am granted a few free minutes of time by my demanding and increasingly fast little girl, I feel like I have to be on the blog, commenting, posting, tinkering with design, tweeting, Facebooking. Worrying.

Ultimately, a freelancing career is my goal (I use the term 'career' loosely, but you get my drift), but I honestly don't have time to work on other writing projects because I'm so busy with this little corner of the Internet. So last week I started thinking about time spent in relation to the return I was getting.

At the extreme end I thought about shutting down my blog. I read this and felt like the universe was sending me a message. (I don't think I'm what she would call an 'experienced' writer, but a lot of her points made sense to me, where I am right now.)

My mum talked me back from the 'delete blog' button by reminding me why I started this blog in the first place, and using some of her counselling superpowers to point out why my brain feels so crazy and why I feel like I don't have enough time for anything.

(When I was a teenager and she used these same superpowers I wanted to jump out the window because when you're a teenager no one should know you that well - except obviously your mother knows you that well, even if she's not a counsellor, although I blamed the counselling - but now I'm happy she knows me that well because most of the time I feel like I don't know myself at all, and it's nice to be reintroduced from time to time. Seriously. Go ask your mother who you are. It's refreshing.)

Mama's prescription was for me to get ahead a few days. In this case over-preparedness is just what the doctor ordered so that I can feel like I'm a little more in control of who gets which words that I spend so much time pounding out. Most people don't need to spend 90% of their lives preparing to do something, especially in this world where we are encouraged to just do it (thanks for ruining everything, Nike), but I do.

My plan is to grab a couple of days when the Drummer is home and lock myself in my terrible office, collect all my ducks, put them in a row, rearrange the row several times and then rejoin society, more prepared, less worried.

This post has been part of the God-Sized Dream series. Click on the button to meet up with other dreamers just like me.









You can also find me today posting at SERVANT Sisters, about the day my grandmother let my brother eat a grape... that turned out to be an olive.