Which is every kind of unfair. Because blogging saved me. Writing saved me. Words saved me. And readers who became dear friends continue to save me. Sometimes daily.
I wouldn't be an author if it weren't for blogging. I never would have heard about NaNoWriMo. I never would have had the thought, "Hey. I wonder if I can write a book?" And I never would have answered that question with a resounding "HELL YES, I CAN!"
Blogging was my therapy when I was recovering from PPD many years ago. It was my anchor when the storms of life threatened to carry me away from myself. It was both the light in my dark times, and let me BE a light for others. Blogging taught me the power of words, and the power of community. That no man is an island, and somehow, miraculously, that included ME.
This form of communication has fallen out of fashion. There are faster and simpler forms of social media now, and blogging takes time and care and SO MANY WORDS. Even now, I'm looking at this text box, not sure I'll keep going long enough to fill it. I've been living my life in short paragraphs and 140 characters or less, and I'm wondering today if that has made my life less than it once was, or maybe just "other."
"Other" is okay. "Less" is okay too. Because I'm pouring my words into books and friends instead, and hey, sometimes I tweet and facebook funny and fabulous things.
But I felt a sudden need to post something here and say this meant something to me, this blogging thing. It connected me to the world and some of the amazing people in it. It gave me purpose and direction when I was so very lost. It made me better. And I am grateful.