Vivo O Sonho

We have a running joke in my family that because I have a few followers from other countries, that I’m an “International Blogger” and the “celebrity status” has gone to my head. It’s said very tongue-in-cheek with many eyerolls and laughter.

The truth is that I am very proud of the planning and hard work I put in to launch this blog back in April 2018. This was when we believed that we would finally Live the Dream that Aaron and I had since buying Sonho in 2009. I would blog about our preparations to cut the docklines and circumnavigate the globe beginning in April 2019.

I blogged at least once a week. Every. Single. Week. For almost three years. And I really had grown a huge following from people all over the world. Even when we had to put off our plans to go cruising in 2019, I still posted recipes from my tiny kitchen and fictional short stories. I was a Writer.

The pandemic took the wind out of my sails. My entire life shifted and I no longer knew who I was. I wasn’t a cruiser, I wasn’t a writer, I wasn’t making a difference in the corporate world. I was basically a responder to the needs of others. Being of service brings me great joy so I did find happiness in keeping a nice home for my husband, home-schooling my Grands and working as an administrative assistant at Beth Chaim synagogue.

But I often felt hollow. I have a ton of good friends, a small circle of people I trust with my life, and the support and love of my immediate family. But it just never felt right to “burden” them with my troubles. I often slipped into grief for my Nana and Daddy, the non-relationship with my narcissistic mother, and the twists of life that have driven a moral wedge between my sister and me. I thought about aunts and uncles and cousins in the United Kingdom who I knew would be an active part of my life but for the distance. Blood relatives, matriarchs and patriarchs, pieces of me, that I yearned to just hold me and tell me that they would make it right. I try hard to be that loving safety net for others but haven’t had it for myself since Nana began the descent into dementia and then passed.

My general practitioner didn’t think I needed therapy and prescribed anti-depressants instead. They did help but I had to adjust to higher and higher doses as I saw no end in sight to the pandemic.

So I just gave up on blogging and writing and went into survival mode. Sometimes I did morning pages but I avoided deep dives into my feelings. Finding the Calm mediation app and prayer have been my saving grace and allowed me to find peace within myself. Sometimes I give myself a big hug at the end of the short, guided session and tell myself that I’m enough exactly as I am. And sometimes I even believe it.

My soul wants to write again. I want to create the magic that only I can create with my words. I want my words to educate, elicit emotions, and transform someone to a different place.

I attended a Writer’s Retreat a few months ago and instead of writing, I made lists. Lists of topics and publication dates and what I wanted my blog to look like. I’d go home and submit these wonderful pieces of literature to a writing group on a regular basis. I’d be a writer again. Then I did nothing. I was ashamed and pretty much threw in the towel.

Writing calls me even when I try to shut the door. So, I’m back at another Writer’s Retreat this weekend and finally got in a place yesterday where I felt safe to write. I futzed around, editing some old drafts then dove in and spent several hours writing and editing and finalizing a 1,072 word post about why we haven’t gone cruising as planned and how this is our year to really, truly GO. It was GOOD! (I am my worst critic and I’m very aware when I write crap and when I write good.) I’d add a few pictures and publish my first blog post in four months that very night!

And then a power surge shorted out the wi-fi momentarily and my hours of writing were gone. Gone. Really gone. So gone that even the WordPress experts couldn’t retrieve ANY of the new words.

Another set-back. I took it as a sign that I’m not meant to write or go cruising or set aside time for myself. With all the other writers in their own space writing, I was able to have my very own pity party.

But today is a new day and I awoke optimistic, ready to see what the day would bring. I’d set new goals and crush them! (Maybe.)

After hearing the other writers talk about their accomplishments yesterday and set new, lofty goals for today, I found myself getting angry and upset. I didn’t deserve to be with this elite group. I was a fraud.

I did something I rarely do. I shared my inner feelings and put them on display for all to hear. I was vulnerable and it didn’t feel good saying the words in front of these talented women, but I spoke them.

And what I got in return was the support and unconditional love of people who have experienced so much of what I have, in their own unique circumstances. I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t a fraud.

I am a Writer.

I needed to write this to purge the feelings of inadequacy and doubt I’ve harbored for the last year so I can start fresh. I didn’t need to publish it on my blog. I did because I am ready to raise a new set of sails and chart a new course and this post will serve as a reminder that I write for Heidi. I hope it educates and elicits emotions and takes people somewhere else through my words.

I will be posting new blogs on our plans to cruise Mexico in the winter of 2022-23 soon. I hope you’ll take the journey with this International Blogging Celebrity! 😉