My husband and I dated in college, then broke up for a handful of years before reuniting. Getting back together was weird. He was the same, I was the same, yet we were both vastly different than we'd been when we'd called it quits. I remember feeling something I can only describe as "unfamiliar familiarity" when we started dating again. We already knew so much about one another, but had so much more to say, so much more we wanted to experience together. Our rediscovery period was downright blissful.
That's how I felt when I opened the "compose" screen to write this post today.
Five short years ago, my blog was such a huge part of my life. I posted at least four times a week, dreamed of moving from Blogger to a "real" platform, read dozens of blogs daily, and worked very hard to nuture the relationships I made online, especially with my tight-knit circle of like-minded mom bloggers. Today, I got a surge of nervousness when I started to write. The homescreen looked familiar, but my fingers fumbled and screwed up the password the first time I tried to sign in. I wondered how to start. I typed, deleted, typed again. I remember why I loved this so much. I'm sad I stopped doing it.
I have spent the past year redifining myself, learning what "normal" means again. And I'm finally ready to talk about it. Nothing bad has kept me from writing, I've just been thinking a lot, maybe too much. I had forgotten how good it feels to peck out my thoughts on a keyboard and toss it up on the internet for everyone who cares to read it.
I remember now. And I like it.