Entries Tagged 'let's be friends' ↓

Tomorrow, I’m expecting a phone call. During this call, if I can convince Isobel to watch a show and not yell about taking ownership over the conversation, I’ll be interviewed by a reporter for the Georgia Strait. This is a big fucking deal to me.

She was looking for people with mental illness experience – you know I’ve got a little bit of that, right? *wink* So it seems that I might be her gal, at least for an hour. How did I end up signing up for this?

I’m going to be speaking at a conference here in Vancouver, Mental Health Camp. The purpose of this all-day event on Saturday, April 25th is to explore the complex relationship between social media and mental health, be it in relation to blogging, using Twitter, healing others or becoming healthy – about reducing stigma via various two-way methodology on the Internetz.

My topic is an obvious (if you’ve been here for a little while) one: mommy blogging and mental illness. I’ll be discussing the social interpretation of mommy bloggers and how reputations can precede us. About how being known as one with a mental illness and a mommy blogger can get hackles raised, CPS called and how that can effect change in our lives. Or in my case, not.

I started blogging, and continue to do, so for mostly selfish reasons – I get to vent all over your screen and whether you want to or not, or even if you weren’t here, I feel support. As a result of this, from my hands-on candidness and boldness in relating both mine and Isobel’s angst, I’ve gained friends made of gold, stayed up late at night when someone’s heart or head was ailing, and I’ve gotten to know myself (and the world around me) much better.

This blogging schtick, even at its lowest points, even in its ugliest moments, even when visions were painted clearly that made you (and me) wince, is working for me. I do it, because even if it doesn’t seem like it, I get a little temporary healing from each word, post, comment, email, tweet, virtual (and real) hug, and on and on. It helps me.

Apparently, there’s a reason some of you do it, too. Some of you out there are also bold and honest about your own struggles with sanity. Some of you mommies are not picture perfect in Manolos, pearls and the newest Juicy lipgloss. Some of you have also blogged about your medication, suicide attempt, PPD, depression, ADD, eating disorder, social anxiety, schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, etc.

You are who I want to talk about at this conference. If you’re going to be in the Vancouver area on the 25th, please consider attending, but even if you’re not, or you have other plans, or you just aren’t that big a fan of Gastown, please consider this:

Part of my talk at Mental Health Camp will focus on mommy bloggers, yes. But not so vaguely. Part of my babbling will mention you, how you blog, about what, why, where, etc. I want to know who you are, out there, the ones that choose to do like I do – let it bleed it on the page.

Please leave me a comment with a link to your post on your mommy blog relating your own issue, struggle, purpose and M.O. about your mental health – I want to discuss in 10 days what, as a community, we’ve done to virtually erase the stigma of moms with mental issues, and use you as an example of what change can look like.

Alternatively, you can email me at mommy is moody {at} gmail {dot} com. If you know that I’m already familiar with you and you don’t want to be referenced, please do let me know that, too.

One more request: can you please pass this on? I know there’s a lot of ladies out there who deserve to have their backs patted for spotlighting the elephant in the room. Stumble, Digg, Tweet, share in your readers, email the link, Facebook it – please help me get the word out.

I want to mention how awesome you are.

First off, I want to thank everyone who has seen my online, but away, message on google chat and has actually followed the pointed instructions to not disturb. Your ignoring of me has been priceless.

I’m almost done the overdue work. That would be the paying gigs. I’m not even close to being done (or even started) the unpaying ones. Such is my life, always a reaction, rarely proactive, when it comes to balancing work and life.

I’ve spent the last week or so working at a back-breaking pace, or avoiding it altogether whilst still ignoring the Internet. It’s been surprisingly peaceful, not tweeting all the time, not reading the fifty thousand posts you people publish, going ‘fuck it.’ But now, the guilt has resumed – the belief that I am not deserved of the rest and staycation I’ve indulged in.

I mean, come on, I haven’t baked a loaf of bread in almost two weeks. I’m a selfish heathen.

What have I accomplished?

I’ve added more ideas and dreams onto the blogging to do list.

I’ve bookmarked more writing jobs to apply for, after deciding that I should definitely give my online portfolio an overhaul (and new home).

I’ve daydreamed of the fall and preschool’s commencement.

I met a cute boy.

I got my hair done – and I’m delighted with it. It’s exactly the mixture of gothy and rock star that I’ve always wanted and never gotten. And requires concealer at all times. Of course, it cost half a month’s groceries to get it. But, it’s nearly as perfect as I can imagine it could be.

I think I won a cute boy’s date in that auction thingy I was part of.

I’ve read two cook books and two others.

I wore a bra everyday, at some point.

I’ve overspent and brought upon chest-caving stress about money, even though it’s not that bleak – I just lack a consistent laissez-faire approach to money and next month will be different.

I’ve considered quitting one blogging gig, an unpaying one, for feeling spread too thin, for too little, as well as some politics that have irritated me. I’m holding off on that, for now, until I have another paying gig to acquiesce the ‘I gave up’ feeling about it.

I spent some actual real quality time with Isobel. (Should I still be calling her Isobel?) I wasn’t just making the day pass as movies were played and bedtime seemed so very far away.

I’ve started aggressively teaching her french. Because, for the love of god, she’s going to have french as a second language before her uncle comes back from China and attempts to teach her five asian languages.

I booked my next tattoo’s appointment – April 18th – after going for a consult. During which, we decided that four lines of song lyrics will be abridged into two lines of ink, which will arch with the curve of (and over) my left hip.

I’ve become friends (again) with JDawg.

I ate an entire cheesecake, after four weeks of no dairy, chocolate or wheat, plus pms conspired to cause a meltdown. An entire 9″ triple chocolate (with cookies and fudge) cheesecake, within 25 hours.

I’ve continued to avoid coffee, wheat, dairy and pork (except for the cheesecake blunter, and a quesadilla).

I drank. A lot. My tolerance has grown.

I got lectured about my self esteem from both JDawg and another friend. It’s seriously off the charts low, apparently. And that makes me a bit of an idiot, if I read their speeches correctly. So. To sum that up, lack of confidence=stupid. Gotcha.

I lost three pounds. Not for trying. (remember. Cheesecake.)

You know. Same old.