Journaling has always been difficult for me. I’ve spastically kept the same physical page-and-paper-journal since my seachange year of 15, with entries ranging between short energetic bursts of several days, even hours, to many years. My reasons for this behavior vary and are not, as far as I can divine, tied to any pattern. Emotional distress, important life occurrences, new lovers, moves, breakups, epiphanies-- none of these were ever reasons for me to journal or not journal. I did it when I felt like it. Most of the time I didn’t.
Like all my peers in a sans-Facebook world, I had a LiveJournal around that same time, always with the same ambivalence that I had saddled with personal journal-writing. I certainly don’t want to read my own drivel, why in the hell would anyone else want to read it? If I feel deeply ambivalent about my own self, why should I not feel ambivalent about my own experiences? Sharing them? Forget it. I’ve never felt special, I feel skeptical about those that do, and flat out disdainful toward those that crave and seek out attention. Blogging is clearly not for me. I don’t even find any pleasure in using “me,” “I” or “writer” in the same sentence, except perhaps in the failed-academic manner, as in, writing because my major required me to do so. I find blogging, even writing. draining, daunting, intensely personal and terrifying. Even though until recently I wanted to pursue a PhD in English; even though I want so badly to write fiction. (Jesus, J.Louise, you could start with whole sentences.)
So why start a blog? And shut the fuck up with the metawriting metablogging bullshit. (NO.) Well, despite my own self-confidence problems, it turns out I do have things to say. A lot of things. Opinions leak out of my ears. And although I have a trill honeyboo of a future husb who more than tolerates my mouth, and who is far too considerate to ever tell me to shut up and start a blog already, I’m giving myself the hint. I don’t expect many people to be interested in me, my little life, my outlook, or my stupid parlance. I really don’t. But obviously blogging has become what it is for a reason. If there were no one interested, then blogs wouldn’t even exist, right? Right? This is America, America owns the internet and the world, and it is my God given American right to own a corner of the internet and fill it with profanity.
Why start a blog? Because maybe if I hone my craft simply by writing, no matter how, maybe I’ll get over my crippling fear of writing. Why blog? Because I know that out there there must be other moms who are sipping on an improvised mimosa playing Candy Land wondering, “Where the are all the other mothers out there whose selves are not only and always defined by motherhood? Where are the irresolute, sometimes disillusioned mothers who don’t take this whole parenting thing so fucking seriously?” Maybe that’s just me drinking my winemosa thinking these things. I know there are other blogs/sites dedicated to this already, but those are not me, and they do not cover many of the things I want to cover. Why blog?
Here’s a list about some things I might write about, things I think are rad or otherwise engaging. Because
-Motherhood & young parenthood
-Feminism
-Cynicism
-Crafting, DIY and baking which goes with
-Femininity in postmodernity
-Cultural studies or what I like to call “Waxing Academic” (which is dumb, but there’s assonance,) in which I will dissect certain kids’ and pop media as if I were still in school, probably with less rigorous research because this is my blog, not school yessss.
-Birth
-Body positivity
-Trauma and abuse
-Some other things probably
Some important aspects to understand about me and my style, which I see many bloggers doing somewhere farther into their blogging journey. Having millions of other blogs as an example, I’m going to nip that whole shebang in the bud:
-This blog is called BAD MOM, and all moms are pretty bad from time to time. Sometimes we’re bad at being moms, sometimes we’re bad people; sometimes we’re just really naughty. Sometimes we’re rebellious, vocal, radical. This blog does not glorify or promote abusive or neglectful parenting. Rather, it’s here to remind all us pinterest-gawking internet-soaked wine-swilling punk-ass hippie-freak-liberal-slutty-hipster-ET AL. moms (and dads!) that sometimes we’re not the best moms, and that a lot of the time, parenting sucks bags and bags of dicks. Sometimes we might even be plain old bad at momming, but no one has a lockdown (not science, not common wisdom, not Parenting fucking Magazine) on what makes parenting work, and that really, we’re all at least adequate and often AWESOME at this thing.
-Obviously I do not shy away from obscenities, which I also like to refer to as “grown-up words,” because oh hi, I'm a mom. No, I don’t swear in front of my son bar the occasional accidental slip up. I don’t advocate for it, either, because like certain depictions of sexuality, booze, and substance-fueled games of Cranium, profanity is best kept for adults. If you dislike it, my blog my rules, bro.
-This is a God and godless blog. I am a mostly accepting atheist. I dig that you have religion, but I don’t have one, and if you’re looking for that here, you won’t find it. I came to terms with my aspirituality long ago, and so theism no longer interests me. Maybe I might write a post about my journey to atheism and why that also makes me a BAD MOM. Hold your breath!
-This is a fat-accepting, body-positive blog. Check body-hating vitriolic baggage at the door.
-I’m awful at commas. If you’re a grammar Nazi who honestly knows how to use them, as in, knows historically and currently how best to use them, and it’s clearly not an intentional stylistic omission, PLEASE SCHOOL MY BUTT. The same goes for other major typos and grammatical errors. I need to know. If you really don’t know what you’re talking about, keep your mouth shut and your skirt on.
-I’m a young person, a mother, an artist, a wr. a wr. Hot damn. A writer. A rabblerouser. A bleeding heart. I’m a knocked-down-but-not-out academic, a thinker, an aspiring something; I’m smart, sad, cynical-as-they-come, with a tiny sliver of hope still nestled in my heart. I hope you find something here worth your valuable while.
Why blog, why now? Because right now, I feel like it.
Love,
J.Louise
