Ah — that would be nice — to have readers. Or would it?
I started this blog for me. As a hobby. An experiment really; to test and retest (and retest as my discipline and consistency waxes and wanes). I started writing to help my own mental health, along with hopefully sharing tips & tricks, mental hacks, wisdom, fixes, and all that great advice, self-help talk and supportive tools I have accumulated over the course of my time on this earth — a barrage of positive and encouraging “you-can-do-its” and constructive optimisms. Maybe I could help others feel less alone; let them see that their struggles were not entirely unique and offer some sort of assistance. But really, it is just my outlet, and a poorly kept one at that.
When I started this blog over 5 years ago, I had half hoped that no one would ever see this site. There isn't as much posted as I would have hoped or expected from myself, but my heart skips a beat whenever I get an email notifying me that someone has visited and left me a message. I cringe to think that a stranger or worse, a passing acquaintance — someone who might judge me — will have insight into my un-wellness and subsequently, if invisibly, disapprove.
I can count on one hand the number of trusted individuals who have been invited to partake of my brain dumps and musings, and it is not without trepidation that I share these writings; hoping my words will connect on some level and not be seen as silly or childish. As if being misunderstood or thought of as unintelligent would cripple me further.
Is it irony that I am so quick to speak of my mental health struggles in person, yet am so hesitant to divulge my thoughts and feelings online? I suppose there is an element of the fear of the unknown — at least if I can see who it is I am sharing with, I can judge their expression and thereby glean some estimation of their reaction. I can converse and surely clear up any miscomprehension by dismissing my text as trivial before they can. If my words make it to a page, albeit virtually in this case, then they are essentially imprinted for posterity. The potential audience, and thereby hypothetical assessment of my worthiness is vast (worthiness of what, I really don’t know; this line of thinking is baseless and continually harmful, really).
Occasionally someone will reach out to inquire about linking to a service such as an addictions and recovery centre, rehab clinic, etc. but most of the time my mail concerns my site’s SEO optimization, or rather, its lack thereof… you can guess what I do with those emails.
I don’t want to optimize my site for google or any other platform.
Such an interesting dichotomy: I don’t want my website to be found, yet a part of me desperately wants to be seen. A semi-private space for me to download contemplations and recollections while remaining secretive and safe. That is partially why I use a pseudonym. I might be fine to talk of my troubled mind to you face-to-face, but I feel the need to be more cautious when exposing my “crazy” in a more permanent form. What if a work colleague, boss, or potential employer were to catch wind? For all of the frequency at which we as a population encounter our own struggles, for all of the talk and corporately branded days dedicated to this condition or that disorder — despite the increased awareness — there is still a strong stigma associated with mental health issues. Just look at the fact that we still call it mental health — not simply health.
"I don’t want to optimize my site for google or any other platform."
For the most part, I don’t expose myself too deeply here. I haven’t really shared the dark side of my psyche, my shadow self. This space is fairly innocuous.
And I have had some great managers who have tried to understand my situation and provide accommodations, even though they have not encountered afflictions of the mind in their own lives! Employers who have fostered an inclusive and supportive environment, and insurance providers who have included mental health benefits in their programs… but I have also been questioned, side-eyed, mistrusted and, even terminated by an employer once they found out I attended weekly therapy sessions.
Comparatively, I have it easy. Others aren’t nearly as lucky and have far worse stories to share, but still, anonymity is what allows me to even attempt revealing parts of myself for possible scrutiny, now and in the future.
So, I will do what I have always done: what I can.
So here I am, back at it. A lot has happened for me in the last few years, not even taking into account a global pandemic. There is no way I can contemplate delving into it all here — I become overwhelmed just thinking about such an endeavour. So, I will do what I have always done: what I can. Day by day, little by little. Only this time, with a little more self-compassion, a smidgeon less of the internalized critical voice, and hopefully with a healthy dose of love. Maybe I can even excavate and explore some of the more problematic thoughts, unpleasant feelings, and unsavoury secrets I keep hidden from even my own purview.
This is not an invitation to join me, nor can I suggest or recommend this blog for your reading pleasure. I cannot advise or counsel, promise or endorse. Instead, I simply offer a part of me… If you happen across my writing — these expressions — and you choose to stay awhile to skim the surface, welcome to my blog.
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