Why I Still Blog

So last week I hopped on an airplane, travelled across the continent and braved TSA agents everywhere to drink mojitos and talk for an hour about why I still blog.



Here's the thing though, I didn't really have an answer. Some of that was likely due to the mojitos I slurped back. And some of that was likely due to be tongue-tied due to the sheer brilliance radiating off of the lovely Katherine Stone and Cecily Kellogg, who shared a stage with me.

But a lot of it was due to the fact I can't really explain why I still blog. My pat answer is, blogging saved my life. I was isolated, grieving and desperately alone months after my son died and I was looking for a human connection. A spark. Something, someone who could, would encourage me to soldier on. Someone who could inspire me to wipe my tears. Someone who could promise me my life didn't end just because my son's did.

I didn't find any of that, not at first. But I did find blogging. Through the words of others I started to find my own words. And I slowly rebuilt my life, my joy and my identity, one word at a time. It was a long process and it isn't over yet. I am smart enough now to realize it likely never will be. Grief doesn't quit just because I'm bored with it.

Eventually, through my blog, I had built a community, made friends, and combated the isolation that threatened daily to engulf me. And best of all, I found myself. It was like looking in a mirror and seeing myself for who I was instead of the fractured mother everyone else around me saw.

And so I blogged. And blogged. And blogged some more. Years passed; opportunities came, awards were received, accolades given. And yes, money was even made.

I've been plugging away at this blogging thing longer than my son lived.

So why do I still do it?

I don't do it for the numbers. The stats, the hits, the subscribers, the followers. Those numbers freak me out. Because I've learned no matter how good I think my numbers may be? Someone's are always better. Chasing someone else's success is a quick way to ensure you will never be satisfied with your own, I've found.

I don't blog for the money. Because I mostly don't make any money on my blog anymore. I've a few ads, but any revenue accrued from those is always donated in my son's name. And oddly enough most brands out there don't find my particular charm of dead kids, disabilities and dildos all that appealing.

Heck, a PR exec at this last conference handed his business cards to the women on either side of me, took one look at my name tag and put his cards into his knapsack. He later explained he was running out of cards. And why waste them on me? *(He later tossed one in my purse like he was doing me a favour, but dude, I guarantee you the only thing I'll be doing with that card is passing it around and telling everyone what an arsehole you were.)

So I'm certainly not blogging to make brand relationships, although I cherish the one's I have made. Sears Kenmore, DeVries and Van Houtte, you all rock for embracing the often unembraceable.

Making money is awesome because I tend to err on the greedy capitalistic side, always wanting moar dollarz but mostly the money I've earned has been inspite of my blog as opposed to because of it.

Professional blogging. I'm doing it wrong.

Most of the hundreds of pennies I've made from this blog have been due to speaking gigs and freelance jobs, and yes, the Babble and Momversation work I've done. My blog is now my resume. The most cartoony, yellow, unprofessional resume I can possibly have. Complete with boob talk and pictures of my hairy toes and armpits.

(I am a sexy beast.)

So if I'm not getting famous or making tonnes of money blogging; the PR people shun me, brands consider me feral, and my children are starting to dip their toes into the pool of adulthood, why am I still doing this?

Why do I still blog?

I blog because I like sharing my stories. Because I believe there is value in the minute and women's voices need to be heard. I blog because I have a voice. I blog for those who can't. My disabled sons. I blog for all the people out there who may one day find themselves isolated and alone and wondering where they will find the strength to carry on for just one more moment.

I blog because I can. Because I like to. I like the community, the feedback, the power that comes from collectively sharing our voices and the power that reverberates with all of our words.

It's all of this and it's even simpler still.

I blog because every time I sit down at my keyboard I find a bit more of myself. I remember who Tanis Miller once was and now is and every word I read and write brings me just a little closer to the person I one day hope to be.

That's why I still blog.

Getting to fly across the country to drink hotel mojitos, make new friends and talk blogging talk is just an added bonus.

Thank you for everyone who was in that conference room cheering Cecily, Katherine and myself on. You all continue to be part of the reasons I do what I do.

 

So That Happened...

My husband says I get a little irritating whenever I'm excited about something. Apparently, I start talking a mile a minute, gesticulating wildly as I pace in front of him. He often threatens to duct tape me to a chair and muzzle me, but then I wink wink at him and mutter something about foreplay and he generally throws his hands in the air and says he gives up.

He's never going to win if he just keeps quitting.

Lately, I've been excited a lot.

First off, this weekend, I'm pulling on my special-keynote-speaking-undies and heading to North Carolina for the very first time.

I'm speaking on the keynote panel 'We Still Blog.' Which you know, is just another way of saying unlike my husband, I don't know how to quit. If you happen to be in the area this weekend, come find me and say hello. I'll be the one hiding in the corner, rocking back and forth wishing I still sucked my thumb. Or cigarettes.

If doing the keynote at Type A wasn't awesome enough (it totally is) I am also heading to New York City this August. I hear NYC is the place to be in the dead heat of the summer. Or so I hear.

I'm going to be speaking on how to become an expert advocate for not only your child but also yourself. I'm totally excited about the brand new Health Minder Day BlogHer is hosting and I'm hoping it will be a huge success. In my not so humble opinion, y'all should totally come. You can find more information about the Health Minder day here.

If speaking about my very favourite subject -advocating and learning how to growl effectively- isn't enough (it totally is) I'm also going to be speaking in a room of your own panel session at BlogHer.



I'm going to be speaking about how to effectively and permanently scar your teenaged children with your blog. It should be a brilliant and hysterical session about how my children twitch every time they see me open up my laptop. If you are planning on attending BlogHer this summer you should stop by. I promise it'll be fun because the ladies I'm speaking alongside are hysterically funny.

And if all that wasn't enough to keep me bouncing around with excitement and irritating my husband in that special way I do, well, this happened:

I may, in fact, be slower than a three-legged tortoise, but it was only two years ago I had my back filleted like a fish in an attempt to fix a spinal injury and I could barely walk the distance from my bed to the bathroom. As recently as last fall I was still walking with a cane. And now? Well, I'm as graceful as a blind elephant with a broken leg, but I'm moving.

Life is good, I'm pretty pleased and my husband, well, let's just say he can't outrun me. I suppose it's a good thing he's building that man-cave after all. At least he'll have somewhere to hide.

The GoonSpoon

So you remember that time when you had an important school assignment due and it comprised a huge amount of your final mark for the class?

You know the assignment, the one where you were supposed to put some time and energy, maybe even a little research and effort into finishing it? The assignment requiring a fancy cover page with a sheet protector for it? In it's own separate binder? With pictures? And a table of contents?

It was that assignment the teacher told you about on the very first day of class and gave you four months to complete. Class time was devoted to finishing the assignment and detailed instructions were sent home to jog everyone's memory about how important this assignment was.

Ya. That assignment.

The one that was due April 20.

The one my child still hadn't handed in by May 22. How do I know? Because the teacher called me to tell me.

Wanna guess how I reacted?

Here's a hint:

Are you kidding me??

So I put on my scary Mommy face and I sat my child down and we had a conversation. It involved a few choice words, a stern look or two and maybe even a decibel level heard only by dogs. Whatever. No assignment will go undone in this house.

Promises were made. Tears may have been shed. But the assignment was worked on.

I put the entire incident behind me and told myself I hadn't failed as a mother.

And then the following week, the phone rang again.

Wanna guess who was calling? Turns out my lovely, darling, precious child still hadn't handed in the now SIX week overdue project.

Wanna guess how I reacted?

Here's a hint:

Are you sh!tting me??

That reaction was quickly followed with this reaction:

You just done went and poked the wrong bear, kid.

So once again, I sat my child down and we had a conversation. It involved even more choice words, a much sterner look and most definitely a decibel level only heard by the dogs in the house. There may have even been hand wringing, fist shaking and tongue wagging. Whatever. No assignment will go undone in this house.

I will not fail at motherhood. Or at homework.

The shards of broken promises were wiped up with the tears that had most definitely been shed. But at last, the assignment was finished, by golly. It cost me over a hundred dollars in printer ink, a drive to the city and a close call with goose (don't ask) but it was well worth it to know my child finished the assignment they had so cleverly tried to evade for weeks.

Isn't it cute when teenagers think they are smarter than their mommas?

And on June 1st, guess which mother personally drove to the school to witness their child hand in their way over-due, pain-in-every-one's-arse assignment?

Here's a hint:

Who had the last laugh now, kid?

I know how much my child loved having me all up in their space, high-fiving their friends and showing off my swagger as I sauntered down the school hallways. I know my kid will one day understand why I had them write a note of apology and read it aloud to their teacher.

And I'm betting my child will never forget the moment I pinched the kid's widdle cheeks and announced as loudly as I could how much mommy wuvs her baby.

It's a memory that will keep on giving for years to come.

And if my child ever forgets, well, lucky for all of them their father and I bought a little something special to keep around the yard to remind them how much we love them and how serious we are about raising them right.

Want a hint?

We call it the GoonSpoon. And it's here to help you remember that no matter how deep that hole is you dug for yourself, we're always here to help you find a way out of it.

I know digging that electrical trench for your father probably wasn't the funnest thing you'll have done this year, but just like that overdue assignment and the fact I sang "Achy Breaky Heart" as loudly as I could down your school hallway while wearing fuzzy slippers, it's not going to be something you ever forget either.

Some lessons are meant to stick to your memory like a bur on a dog.

This is one of them.