The Hold a Blog Has Over the Writer
It is hard to walk away from a blog.
Not at the beginning when you’ve only scrawled out a few posts. Not at transitions when it makes sense to close up your blog and move onto the next expression of your thoughts.
But it’s hard to walk away from a living, breathing blog, even one that has grown thin and mangy, with matted hair on the underbelly. Maybe it is even harder to walk away from a blog when you feel as if you’ve already neglected it, allowed it to become overrun by weeds of thoughts. This isn’t how I wanted to treat you, you want to explain to it. I love you. You were there for me when I really needed you. It makes you feel guilty, to see the big gaps of time between posts, like peering through overgrown grass.
Even if you vow to do better, it is hard to keep that promise. It is hard to force yourself to sit down and write, especially if in writing your blog, you are no longer getting what you need out of it. Then it is just another chore, like wiping down the kitchen table or vacuuming. It is hard to keep that promise even if you are getting what you need from your online space. Time feels as if it moves so quickly; by the time you sit down to write about a situation, it no longer feels worthy of being put into words. Problems shrink as you walk towards the computer screen, celebrations dulls, memories become tongue-tied.
It is hard to walk away from a blog when it still has life left inside of it; when the author of the blog still loves to write. That is what I mean by life inside of it. When the author still thinks of her life in words, when she notices perfect phrasing, when she thinks, “I have to write about this moment” while she is living it. It is hard to walk away from a blog that has held you up when you were emotionally sagging. It is hard to walk away from a blog that once fulfilled you; that enhanced you. It is hard to walk away from a space where people got you; where people saw you how you saw yourself unlike those other pockets of life where your words or intentions don’t match up inside and outside of your brain.
There have been a rash of blog posts lately of people apologizing for neglecting their space, explaining long absences, trying to make sense of why they can’t seem to get the words out. Time constraints and feeling silenced and not knowing where one belongs anymore or whether there are people out there who still care. Or confusion: dropping blog stats or a sudden lack of comments.
All of them come to the same conclusion: it is hard to quit a blog. As hard as it is to write it, it is harder still to leave it. Because a blog has a hold over the writer, making them feel a little technicolour in a black and white world. If you’ve ever loved your space, then you know that it is hard to leave a space, just as it is difficult to end any relationship where you still feel a huge sense of fondness underneath the difficulties on the surface.
I’m always thankful when a person ends their post by saying that they’re not going anywhere.