Avoiding Life One Post at a Time

Because I can't mind my own business...

So I've been quietly observing the shit storm that started with an interesting post by the previously unknown to me, Rosie of The Spanish Exposition. 

I've been thinking about commenting all weekend but didn't quite know how to capture my thoughts.  I kept wondering if I was taking things personally, because I happen to be a fan of both Flirty and Damien, two of the blogs Rosie slammed.  I almost wrote criticised there, but criticism implies something different. 

Rosie is well written and makes an excellent point that there should be more criticism in the blogosphere.  I agree.  On my main site I have often had people come to me to say a recipe bombed or point out that I'd forgotten to add a min ingredient.  That is great, that is the feedback I need to improve my site.  If there is an issue with a recipe I love to be able to work with a reader to figure out what went wrong and find a solution.  Constructive criticism ultimately makes us better bloggers and better people.

I agree with Rosie that there can be an air of artificial bonhomie.  Personally I have not come across it on my blogs, but I've seen it on others.  Lots of backslapping and ass-kissing in the comments with the content rarely discussed.  It's never really bothered me, but I can see how it would bother others.  It is evident that Rosie welcomes discerning and scathing comments alike and I think most bloggers would, it's just that it doesn't always happen.  There's something about typing that just comes across cold, especially to people who don't know you in real life.  I've always been a proponent of having little icons like bold or italics, but for irony and sarcasm.  Alas, Microsoft were not so amused.  In all seriousness though, it is hard to get things across on a screen and hard to make emotion come through in your words.  Things get twisted and skewed as they crawl the web.  Perhaps this is why people are reluctant to constructively criticise their peers?  Maybe it's our own fault as bloggers - perhaps we should have a comment policy - encouraging our readers to have at us, I just don't know.

So far, I am with Rosie.  I get it.  I think it's a valid point.  Yet when I finish reading the post I couldn't help but feel something was amiss.  At first I thought it came across quite petty, almost high school like.  Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, yada yada yada.  But that wasn't it.

Was I upset because she dissed some of my blogging friends?  Nope, not really.  They can fend for themselves, and do, quite well!

Was it the awards bashing?  I admit I was a little surprised, much as I was when I read Gimme's scathing review of the night.  I had a ball.  Sure I drank too much and probably made an ass of myself, but I met some wonderful people.  There were a few people I didn't care for as much, but I moved on and met others.  I guess I was slightly appalled in reading posts like this - that people I had met and who had previously spoken about the good time they had there - had about-faced and jumped on the bandwagon.  It seems the hypocritical nature of commenters that Rosie is pointing out goes both ways. 

I would be a liar if I said I agreed with all the awards, but as far as I'm concerned, it was as democratic a process as it could be and continues to improve each year.  The decision was made, move on.  Same with the Lisbon Treaty.  The public has spoken, now let's move on.  Indeed I was disturbed by some bloggers on the actual night who were sulking and making my four year old look quite intelligent, because they hadn't won.  But that still isn't what was bothering me.

It finally clicked with me today when reading Alexia's thought-provoking post and resulting comments.  Nothing about what Rosie said really bothered me, except for her so called criticism.  I don't think calling out those two blogs was constructive criticism at all.  I think it was mean spirited and slightly callous.   Posting about your distaste for a blog just because you don't "find it particularly topical or interesting" is not criticism at all.  That's about YOU, not the blogger in question.  YOU don't see why so many people subscribe, YOU don't understand what they're on about.  A blatant statement like that is not only insulting to the blogger in question but to many of their 1200+ readers.

Criticism is going directly to the blogger whether via comments or personally and saying - "hey, I don't agree with that" or "you're probably not aware, but you switched tenses about thirty times in that post. It's a tough concept to grasp, but if you're interested this XYZ site has some great resources on that."

If it's more than that, don't read the blog.  Move on.  You don't go to the bookstore and buy books that don't interest you, you move on and pick up something that does interest you.

In conclusion, I still feel Rosie has brought up an interesting point and definitely sparked some debate.  Yes, there should be more criticism in the blogosphere, but it should be constructive.  I certainly wouldn't list all the blogs I find boring or distasteful on this or any other blog.  Chances are if I dislike it, so do my readers, so why would I waste their time with that?   

So how do we foster an attitude of constructive criticism?  I daresay it's not something for everyone.  For a lot of people, myself included, blogging is not all about writing.  If someone came along and criticised my writing I wouldn't really be bothered, but I probably wouldn't pay much heed either.  However, if someone came along and criticised the content I was writing about, I would stop and listen and engage. 

I propose that those of us who want to foster an attitude of mutual constructive criticism do so by amending our comment policies, if we have them, or by creating one if we do not.  Welcome constructive criticism and encourage your readers to give it to you.  If blogging for you is about improving your writing, say that.  Your readers might be able to point things out or give tips.  If blogging is about expanding your knowledge, say that too.  I love it when readers point me to other places on the web.  I have even been known to change my mind accordingly.  So since I've butted in where I have no business to, I better put up or shut up.  Here is my new comment policy so:

I welcome all comments, negative or positive.  I am always open to constructive criticism of either my writing style, thoughts or subject-matter.  I am open to alternative points of view and encourage you to share them openly.  I will not delete any comments unless they are blatantly racist, or otherwise inflammatory or libelous.   I would ask that we all be adults here.  I would also ask that if you have the tenacity to say something unpopular that you do so as you, not under the camouflage of "anonymous."  If you are not comfortable leaving a comment publicly, you are always welcome to email me.

What about you? :)

Why blog?

Image via Wikipedia

When you find yourself conversing with someone and blogging comes up, inevitably the question will be asked - why do you do it?  Alexia recently answered this question and asked her readers to do the same. 

To fully answer this, I have to examine the point I was at in life when I began blogging almost a year and a half ago and unfortunately for you, this involves me going back even further.

I had a really tough time in high school.  I went to an international school in Belgium where sports was king.  If you weren't into sports, you might as well kiss your social life goodbye.  Being a slightly pudgy, musically inclined nerd, I was not exactly popular.  Kids can be cruel, but teenagers can be worse.  Before I turned 19 I had tried to kill myself three times.  This is not something I'm proud of, but it's something I need to put out there.  I never felt I had an issue with depression, but rather that my issues were circumstantial.  I was pushed by circumstance to do something so drastic.  It never occurred to me that there might be a chemical imbalance in my brain making me incapable of dealing with tough situations. 

I remember the last time I tried it and ended up in hospital.  I just wanted out of there, but they wouldn't let me go without a psych consult.  This arrogant woman came in and asked all kinds of insulting questions - did I have voices in my head - and the like.  I wasn't crazy, I was just having a rough time with life, didn't they get that?

A year later I was finally able to move on with my life.  I went to music school resigned to being an old maid.  Imagine my surprise when I inadvertantly ran into my soulmate.  Life really changed for the better. We moved to Michigan, I got a wonderfully fulfilling and challenging job, lost loads of weight and got married.  Life couldn't have been better. 

It was then against all odds that in 2003 I found myself pregnant.  Call me old fashioned, but I was just happy we were married!  I was petrified though.  I thought he would kill me and even told him in a public place just in case.  Of course, he was absolutely delighted and we dove headfirst into the idea of becoming parents.  I bought every book on the subject and began to really embrace the idea. 

I read everything I could on pregnancy, labour and childbirth.  Of course post-natal depression came up in many of the books, but it never even occurred to me that this could be an issue I would face, as I'd hadn't considered the past episodes depressive.  I'd never been happier and the times in the past were, as I said, circumstantial. 

Imagine my surprise to find myself at home alone two weeks after giving birth, sobbing my eyes out.  I was absolutely miserable and couldn't understand why.  Unlike times before, I had every reason to be happy.  We had everything we could possibly want and then some, but I was an absolute mess.  I didn't want to get out of bed, but would drag myself downstairs and lie on the couch watching daytime tv, moving just to feed the baby and get more tissues.  I couldn't comprehend what was wrong with me.   

I started having panic attacks when I went back to work and finally decided I needed some help.  I'm not a fan of medication, but was able to get some counselling through work and talking to someone really helped.  When I got back into work mode I found I was able to direct my energy elsewhere and began to come out from under the cloud.

9 months later we moved to Ireland and I can honestly say I was back to normal and feeling fine.   I found moving to Ireland very hard - not least because we had sold everything we owned to get here and then the purchase of the restaurant we were to run fell through three weeks after we got here  but more because when we lived abroad, I had always found it necessary to cling to my Irishness, making sure everyone knew I was from ireland, despite my American accent.  I refused to apply for US citizenship when I had the chance, out of sheer pride.  Imagine my surprise coming back to live and feeling nothing but unwelcome, an outcast in the country I had held so dear.  It was hard, but I never fell back into the cloud that darkened my post-natal days.

Six months after arriving in the Emerald Isle, I once again found myself pregnant.  It was at this point I declared myself officially immune to birth control.  Once again I threw myself into preparations and even prepared for a home birth.  Again, it never occurred to me I would suffer from postpartum depression, as I had never admit to myself that that is what happened the last time.

After my second was born, I was fine.  She was a much harder baby to deal with, but I never had any of the dark miserable feelings I had after the first.  It was only after I finished breastfeeding about 8 months later that the cloud came back, with a vengeance.  I had no idea what was wrong.  I had no energy, no emotion, no zest for life.  I did the bare minimum to get through the day and even that would leave me haggard and empty. 

I had a lovely GP at the time and went to speak with her about it.  She wanted to put me on an anti-depressant and I was in such a state that I agreed.  She also wanted me to talk to someone.  I called up the Health board and was asked if I was sexually abused as a child.  I didn't understand how that was relelvant, but it quickly became apparent that the HSE wasn't interested in helping anyone else.   Unfortunately I had been abused as a child, but it was something I felt had long since been dealt with.  I never saw myself as a victim and tried to move on.   However I admitted it had occurred so that I could get  the help I so desperately needed.

Six weeks later, the anti-depressants were kicking in and I began to feel better.  I finally got an appointment with a HSE counsellor and was actually sort of looking forward to it.  I went to two appointments and was devastated.  She was not at all interested in helping me now, but instead wanted to talk about the abuse, something I really felt at peace with.  I couldn't continue, as it was a waste of both our time and God knows how many others were on the list who did need to talk about their abuse.  Not having the money for a private therapist I decided to take matters into my own hands.

I felt that isolation was one of my biggest issues and tried to get out to meet people.  It proved to be more difficult than I anticipated.  I felt that I needed to come to terms with the fact that I had given up the job I had loved and that I was but a housewife. So I bought a dreadful book that I thought would help.  The book was atrocious  - poorly written with tragically hypocritcal logic - but it led me to a forum where I ultimately discovered blogging.  I thought "Hey, I could do that" and the equally tragically named The Humble Housewife was born. 

Within a few months I had met some great people.  I had weaned myself off the drugs and never felt better.  Although I was isolated in the country with no car when himself was working, I felt like a part of a community, albeit it an online one.

Since starting blogging I have met bloggers in real life too and most of them are just wonderful people.  I finally feel like I am myself again.  Not only have I met new friends in Ireland, but all over the world.  I have received presents in the post, people have offered to have me stay and if I ever need to talk I know GTalk is just a click away.  It's quite amazing really.

When I started to blog it was to reach out, to somehow connect with the world I felt so isolated from.  But today, I blog to stay connected.  I blog to stay focused and to stay aware of the world around me.  Blogging has allowed me not only to grow and mature in my own right, but to learn so much more about the world at home and abroad.  I have discovered other cultures, learned fun geeky facts and maybe even become a little more liberal than I'd like to admit! :)  I blog to learn about myself and others and I blog to keep my sanity.

Blogging was my light at the end of the tunnel.  It may sound over the top, but I honestly feel it saved me.  I can't imagine where I would be right now without all the wonderful people I have met on this incredible journey.  Thank you for helping me, even though you may not have been aware just how much you did.

Sinead points out that I may not be alone either, blogging really can be a form of therapy!  I would strongly urge anyone suffering from feelings of depression or gloom to start blogging.  You can blog directly about your feelings, or blog about something that interests you, like I did.  It took a lot to get me to be this open on a blog, and indeed there's lots more I could say, but if I can get the message across to just one person, I'd feel good.   

Incy Wincy What The???

I don't know about you, but it seems of late the spiders have gotten really big.  Unlike K8, I have no qualms about killing them when they are babies, as long as I don't have to do the killing.  That's right, I am a hard core arachnophobe.  I can't stand the little feckers.  Hate them, hate them, hate them.  Logical? No, but I figure I'm too old at this stage to get any sense.

I don't know what it is about them, but they just seem menacing.  Other insects are more annoying, buzzing around your head and trying to eat your lunch, but not spiders.  Spiders seem to lie in wait.  They curl up all day long and wait until you can't see them.  Then what?  If they are awake during the day they seem like they are scheming wriggling their forelegs and watching.

Now maybe I've read too many cheap crime thrillers, in which the serial killer has a penchant for arachnids, but the things just make my skin crawl.  Sometimes literally.

The babies always appear on the windows in the early summer and I try to get the man to kill them.  He laughs at me and says I'm being ridiculous, but I know that if we don't he doesn't get them know, they will just get bigger.  And bigger they have gotten.  They are now HUGE and they are starting to get in.  The sun finally starts to shine again which means leaving the windows open at night - God forbid someone in Ireland figures out the usefulness of fly screens - inevitably the spiders get in.

This irrational fear can pose some problems in regards to parenting.  Naturally I don't want my children to grow up with the same ridiculous phobia, so I try and act brave around them.   Same goes for bees, although, I have an excuse there, I'm allergic, lost my epi-pen and live half an hour away from the hospital.  I think that's a bit more rational no? 

But I digress...

A few nights ago my three year old starts screaming that there is a fly in her room.  I sigh.  This means putting down the wine glass, lowering the telly and marching my sorry ass upstairs to get rid of said fly.

Imagine my disgust and terror to find out that said fly was not at all a fly, but a giant spider climbing her ceiling.  Now if I have to I can kill them, but only when I am on eye level.  The ceiling scenario is the worst for anyone with arachnophobia - as there's a good chance the little bugger could not only fall and escape - but worse, could fall on you, or even worse, into your hair.  Ugh.

However being the good Mammy I am, I decide I am going to suck it up and get the bugger.  Show a brave face and all.  So I run into the bathroom and get a huge wad of toilet paper.  Ok, half a roll, but you can't be too careful with these menacing bastards.  I climb on the bed and set my scope on the eight-legged freak.  The toddler is now out of bed cheering me on.  "Get him, Mom, get him!"

I start to reach for him and then the fear sets in.  I just can't.  My hand approaches and I scream.  This keeps happening.  The toddler has changed her tune.  "Come on Mommy, be brave - it's just a little spider."  This encourages me a bit and I try again.  Hand gets a little closer and again I freak.  She's continuing to be a cheerleader, but now I'm getting frustrated!  "Come on Mommy, get him, be brave."

I lose it.  "Why don't YOU do it then?"

"Cos I can't reach."  SHIT!  At this point I'm at a loss and then it hits me. 

Telescopic hose on the vacuum.  Thank God for Hubert Cecil Booth.

Apologies for my absence of late. I am trying to move house whilst toddler wrangling. Needless to say, it's a little hectic around here! I've also been having email trouble, so if you've sent anything my way or were expecting a reply on anything, it might have gone missing. Please re-send!  Thanks!