An End to the Haitus?

 

It's one of those things that sits at the back of your mind. The ever-neglected blog, languishing in internet anonymity as its brethren sigh into the void and tumble off the screen, one by one.

When I visited this blog today, it wasn't with the intention to create a new post. I've been back periodically in the last five years to pull that old recipe (yes I still use some) or to just take a spin down memory lane. My intention today was similar - looking for a recipe (which, it turns out, I never even blogged about). But then I read the last post. And revisited a few others. And updated the list of "blogs I like," finding that more than half of them no longer exist.

I'm still the same person I was when the cursor last blinked at this URL five years ago. But my life has become so much more expansive. There are so many things that could be said about that last post, which will now become the penultimate once this gets published, and then perhaps relegated even further back on the "recent posts" list. 

The most important thing, though, is probably to say that I did, for once in my life, get help. I don't have a diagnosable mental illness, though my obsessive-compulsive traits are probably in borderline territory. But I finally, finally scrounged up courage and found a therapist. She was the first person I called, and I only stopped seeing her earlier this year after relocating during the pandemic (what a loaded sentence). I can't say enough about the benefits of therapy. She was crucial to my efforts of establishing a normal life pace and some sense of peace. Everyone should have a therapist like that. 

Aside from that? My own business continues to flourish. I now have three beautiful kids, and my oldest, the baby in my blog thumbnail, is now in middle school. Over a decade removed from some of those older posts, but I find myself going through the same things with my newest son, who is the tender age of 9 months. I'm not sure what it is about babies, but something makes me want to capture every moment and hold it close. Maybe that's why I'm back. I hope it sticks. I love writing. 

If I can make this a new habit, I'll be back with more. Even if I'm writing for an audience of one - myself - words matter, and important moments get foggy through the lens of time. There's so much to say, and per usual, very little time to make it happen. Eleven years later and I'm still trying to make it work. There's no secret sauce to life.