It’s happened, folks. The day has come.
I am a struggling writer.
<cue audience groan>
It’s true. The struggle is real. I just can’t seem to put pen to paper anymore. I can hardly type these very words. I’m completely stunted by the act of writing true stories about my life because…
So much of it has already been said.
I have managed to resist barrels of “likes” and me-too’s awaiting me if I would only just jot off a funny quip about a diaper blow-out in the aisles of Target, or maybe a sassy run-down of my daily exhaustion as a SAHM… Oooo! How about a tear-jerker about a toddler who drives me crazy all day and then looks so precious when they sleep that I crumble into a pile of mush and vow to do better tomorrow?
Anecdotes like these are clogging up the internet. Honestly, they exhaust me.
I feel alone in my exhaustion. I am a party of one in a sea of mutual validation.
I want disruption.
Please point me to a post by a single mother. I would like to read something by a person of color – please – how are you grappling with the questions your children are asking you about this world? How about a mother with a teenager. A mother over forty with a toddler. A full-time working mother? Tell me what’s hard for you, teen mom.
I am tired of the internet as a mirror. I am tired of opening a blog post to see my same tired problems of privilege staring back at me. Poor, angsty, Adrienne. Tell me how awkward it is when people ask you what you do again. That’s rough.
Excuse the edge in my tone (or don’t), but this two-dimensional experience of motherhood is not limited to Facebook. Have you noticed that there are defined zones that we are permitted to complain about? I am sitting in a group of women and if I would like to be let off the hook for allowing my toddler to have screen time, I’ve come to the right place. Hey, they’ll even share a show or two. But if I’d like to work out the failure I experienced in the workplace… crickets. The inexplicable rejection I sometimes face from family members? Blank stares.
It’s totally fine – I was just testing those topics out. They didn’t resonate, apparently. No one experiences those things at the same rate/are not nearly as bothered by them as say… being judged for passing out a prepackaged snack at the park. Because that’s real, ladies. And that cuts deep.
This is my struggle as a writer. I want to read stories that are vastly different than my own. As a white person living in America, if I can relate to the story, it’s probably stale. If I read a story that challenges me, I may not be able to say “me too” but I will carry it with me. It may not validate me, but it will remind me that I am alive.