Blogs as therapy

I have been thinking lately about the whole blog thing, about how people write about their lives, share extremely personal thoughts, and then them out into the world.

I remember once I stumbled across a blog written by a woman who had miscarried two babies, both around 20  weeks.  She was very connected to them, had named them, and described in detail what happened and how poorly she was coping with the loss of her children.  The last entry I read discussed how she was going to get therapy, which I was pleased to read, as I have never come across anyone as incredibly sad as this woman.

I have come to the conclusion that writing a blog is very therapeutic.  Somehow, the process of writing down the thoughts that are rambling through my brain, my heart, my life, and then publishing those ideas allows me to internalize them more effectively than if I was just simply thinking about them and chatting with friends.  A small number of people read suburban activist regularly, which is great.  But for me, what is even more powerful is the thinking that is required to write coherently about what is on my mind.

A high school teacher once said we should recognize the fact that while we were still students we should appreciate that someone had to read what we were writing.  Once we were out of school, that would no longer be the case... and in retrospect, I realize there is a tremendous amount of value in having to write an essay about a topic, as to do that requires a demonstration of understanding.  Having a blog, even a not very widely read one, extends that experience, but instead I am writing about my life experience as opposed to researching and commenting on history or english.  It is an interesting form of therapy, and I would guess for many other people out there that is part of the motivation for writing and publishing a blog.  I am here, this is my life experience, and even if only a few people read this the act of writing it feels good.

Even if we all really want to be Julie Powell.....

Children are work

Children are a lot of work.

Before I had Owen, and had two boys, and knew I was going to have a third, many people would say "you are going to be busy".

And now that Owen is here, and the boys are off school or not in daycare, I can agree: I am busy.

I am busy with the kids from morning to night, and they require food, activities, social relationships, time to spend outside, and time to relax.  It all requires facilitating.

Children are a lot of work, and each individual child has their own unique needs.

A friend was over the other day, and was sharing her photos of her trip to Malaysia.  I showed what I had taken pictures of recently: the boys in a variety of natural environments.  Our lives are different, what we do is different, because I am looking after the needs of three young boys.

At times it is daunting; I had a minor freak out a few weeks ago when I realized I may have three boys playing soccer at the same time, and I saw my life as a series of evenings spent at the soccer field.

Ugh.

Double ugh.

I realized, though, that I do not need to worry about my life and how it will look five years down the road.  I need to enjoy the boys just for who they are today, and what we are going to do today, and who the boys are right now.

The project of raising a child is massive, beautiful, and intimate:  a balance between the details and big picture, and - I hope - a daily celebration of human relationships.