Sometimes I stop and ask myself what exactly I’m doing here — and why. Why do I choose to share my life on the internet, where anyone can see it?
The older my son gets, the more I question what belongs here and what doesn’t. How much of his story is mine to tell? I’m an adult. I’ve made the conscious choice to share my life, my struggles, my triumphs. But my son hasn’t made that choice. One day, will he resent me for the photos I’ve posted? The funny — or embarrassing — stories I’ve written down?
There are days when I want to post every picture, capture every small detail of his life so I’ll always remember. Then there are days when I want to keep it all tucked away, private and safe.
When he was a newborn, I shared everything: photos, stories, the small milestones that filled our days. But after his first birthday, I began to pull back. He wasn’t just a baby anymore — he was his own person, full of quirks and personality traits that were uniquely his. I still share glimpses of him, but the more personal stories often stay off the page.
I wrestle with that tension. Blogging has brought me connection and friendship since 2009. I’ve built real relationships here, women whose lives I follow and who follow mine. I don’t want to lose that sense of community. But I also don’t want to cross a line — to exploit his privacy in order to tell my story.
The truth is, I need this space. I’m an introvert, and in “real life” my circle is small. Blogging has given me an outlet, a way to open up when it feels impossible to do so face-to-face. This community has carried me through some of my hardest seasons. When I struggled after Caleb’s birth, writing was how I survived — and reading others’ words showed me I wasn’t alone. That connection mattered. It still does.
Of course, there are risks. Every so often, a harsh anonymous comment reminds me that not everyone here is a friend — that strangers, critics, anyone at all could be reading. And yet, I still choose to share.
For now, I’ll keep telling my story and, occasionally, small pieces of his too. I don’t plan to stop. I love being open and honest here. I love when someone emails to say my words made them feel less alone. That’s why I keep writing, even when I doubt, even when I worry about the line between my life and his.
Because in the end, this space is where I come to be real. It’s where I lay it all out — my struggles, my joy, my ordinary days. And though I may hold more back now than I once did, I know I’ll always need this space to tell my story.
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