I cannot believe it, yesterday my blog was three years old. It feels like only yesterday that I wrote that first post. I honestly thought that the internet was enormous and there was no hope of anyone stumbling upon it. I hovered over publish and was hugely elated when I eventually posted it.
A short while later I nearly had a heart attack when I got that familiar red star which told me someone had read and ‘liked’ it. I was mortified and spent quite some time trying to delete it.
However three years later I’m still going. I’ve enjoyed every day of it. In many ways this blog has been my lifeline, getting me through some very sad days, in the company of many incredibly supportive readers. It’s also been a source of great joy, as I chuckle away writing posts that highly amuse me, and thankfully on occasions seem to amuse you also.
Thank you all. Each one of you. Thanks to the quiet readers who never make contact, to those who let me know and to those who have been in my corner for a very long time. I cannot tell you how thrilled I am sometimes as I look at my stats and think, ‘Wow they all read what I wrote today’. Don’t get me wrong it’s not huge numbers but it’s many times more than the zero I once imagined.
I thought, just for the craic, (Irish for fun) I’d re post my very first post. It’s not too bad so I hope you enjoy it. Thank you all again from the bottom of my heart. I’ll toast to our continued friendship shortly… Well it is Friday night.
Who Am I?
This is who I think I am.. But have no evidence to prove it.
I am a qualified nurse… retired
A Blogger… with no blog up to now.
A 20 year old…trapped in a 40-year-old body.
Someone who thinks they have huge business potential…. but I have no business.
This is what I do not believe I am… but all evidence says otherwise,
A wife, mother and part_time swim teacher, who spends the majority of every day impressing myself!
Anyone else recognizing themselves?
I remember a friend telling me of an experience she had on holiday one year. She was in her 30s with small children. One night whilst out with friends she enjoyed a bit too much of the local french wine. The company she was in were all very employed. She was a stay at home mum.
When she returned to her holiday home she began to ask, as only someone who has had a few too many can do “What Am I?”
Her husband initially ignored the question but she persisted “What am I?” “WHAT AM I?”
He tried to appease her by saying “You are a wonderful mother”. Needless to say that was not a good answer!. She roared, ‘I don’t want to be a mother, I want to BE something.
It is a cry I have uttered many times too, often quietly to myself.
My eldest is now at college.Sometimes I think back to my own third level education. I qualified as a nurse and enjoyed it very much. A mere five years later at 25-years of age, I was married with a young baby, my identity gone. I was a mother with no income and no longer had my own name.
If I was to look back I can see now that is the very point where I lost myself.
I became the other person that all evidence points to, but inside, I remained the person I have no proof I am.
Is the person we are our occupation?
I regularly have to answer questions on forms asking my occupation. Even after all this time I still sit awhile and ponder the correct answer. What do you say? unemployed, retired, housewife. There is no option of Mother.
When I was younger I was more than a little sensitive when someone asked me what did I do? On more than one occasion at my husbands work dinner dances I found myself sidelined, ignored, when I answered that I was at home mother with a baby. Left out I would fume. Thankfully I’ve begun to relax a lot more in my role and enjoy saying, tongue in cheek, how I live a charmed life, lunching five days a week and watching TV most of the day!
I suppose I have begun to rediscover myself.
So who exactly am I?
I am actually the person all evidence says I’m not. I’m happy believing it and don’t care if no one else does.
Question Mark (Photo credit: auntiepauline)
photo credit: Birthday cake in Hamburg via photopin (license)