What is this…BLOG you speak of?

A wise woman once asked, What is a blog?  (The wise woman lives here)

Small question, endless scope for answers.  This blog is anonymous for me but some people close to me know about it.  I didn’t know how to explain it when I broached the topic really.  There’s what it is literally, as a noun, a site where users may share information/opnion/media.  To blog is to perform an action, verb, upload or share a story/comment/verbal explosion/humorous cat picture.

There are as many blogs as there are interest groups in the world (God knows there are probably many blogs I’d hope never to stumble upon as curious and open-minded as I am).  There’s the fun stuff, the informative, the thoughtful and the fluffy (even sparkly, and I love sparkle).  All have their place.  No reader is just one mood, one idea, one thought.  Like a library, the internet allows you to browse all sorts of styles and genres.  These authors would answer the question about what a blog is in different ways.

So I wonder.  What is a blog for me?

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It is my little patch of ground.  A soapbox to stand on.  My personal stage. You may hear me talking.  You may never notice me.  But I can elevate myself above the crowd a little more with this blog.  I can speak a little louder.  Given that what I write about is being silenced, this is a revelation.  Priceless.

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It is a link in the chain of human experience.  I realised a blog was something I could try because I read another person’s words, felt a sense of sharing what it is to be a (slightly) flawed human being.  A woman trying to live her life.  This person happens to be the Wise Woman I referred to earlier.  But that’s not the point.  It was real shit, people.  Well written.  But no BS.  How often do you share on a level like that?  How many people let you into their heads and hearts to get to the raw stuff, the stuff we all feel – if we are brave enough to let ourselves.  And how bloody good does it feel when you read something like that and nod to yourself?  Feel a little rush, ‘I’m not the only one!’  If the affinity you feel is part of an intense emotional experience, a personal tragedy or triumph, it is all the more special to make that connection.

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It is my confessional.  Where I may purge freely in a stifling, secretive and sometimes unsafe world.  I said it in my first post…’no one may read this, somebody may.  Either way, I go to bed a little lighter tonight and for that I am grateful’.  Or words very close to that.  That is a powerful healing tool for me.

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It is my Safety House.  In Australia, and perhaps other places around the world, there was a Safety House campaign when I was younger.  It was a Neighbourhood Watch sort of initiative.  You could sign up to be a Safety House and you got a little yellow sticker to put on your letterbox.  Kids knew that if they were feeling unsafe or unsure when walking home from school, for example, they could knock on your door.  No judgement.  When I am angry, sad or I don’t know what the hell I am, I can sit here and mull it over.  You out there might help me.  I’ll probably answer my own question as I write.  But it is safe.  I can be me.  I can admit that I am afraid.  I can ask for help.

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It is my Krakatoa.  We heard all about this volcanic island when I was nine years old, in grade four.  I have never forgotten that wonderful teacher, his exuberant style or the image of such a powerful Earthly force.  It is the build up, the fury, the power and yes, sometimes, the destruction.  There is a part of my hurt that wants to be as big as the ‘loudest sound in human history’.  I want to explode.  Let it all out.  Feel the release.  When the pressure builds, I can spew forth the hot, angry words into cyberspace instead of dealing with those ugly feelings in more unhealthy ways.  It appeals to my inner nerd and makes me feel better.  WIN.

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It is my lock up diary.  I’ve always had one.  It may seem perverse to claim that an open blog space is akin to a flowery book with, let’s face it, a flimsy padlock.  But my head can get so fricking full of thoughts and fruitless over-analysis, I consider every word that makes it onto a scented page or a computer screen one less word to torture me.  Have it, world.  I have enough.  Also, my brother will never find this under my bed.  Sucker.

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It is my doorway into a community.  A community of supporters.  Believers.  Fighters.  Survivors.  Whatever your battle, the emotions come from the same core.  We will grow.  Learn.  Move forward.  And many of us will have done it with the supportive words and encouragement of people we may never lay eyes on.  A virtual community.  A silent cheer squad.  But very real inspiration when I need it most.

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It is a scrapbook of my, dare I say it, journey.  I am further along the road than when I started and I can see in my posts that I am better for it.  Imagine where I may end up.  I might be allowed my name.  I might win the good fight.  I might finally feel a sense of closure.  No matter what is in store for me this blog is evidence of my effort.  That’s got to count for something pretty special.


Photo credit here

See, even writing about what a blog is has given me a greater appreciation for what it means.  It is, if you want it to be, even bigger than all of the ways I have tried to encapsulate it here.  It is all of them and more.

I’m so grateful that I found out just what a blog could be from someone who helps blaze a trail for others.  *Bows head in thanks*

‘Till the roof comes off, till the lights go out   Till my legs give out, can’t shut my mouth…’  Eminem…obviously


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