Mommy blogging: a facking radical act

I have always been a rebel in my own mind.

I’m like a lot of people out there: I adore the notion of myself as daring and fearless when, in fact, there is little about the way I live my day-to-day life that could be considered radical.

I am a working mother. I am a wife. I’m a bit of a smart-ass, but when the chips are down I’m loath to actually offend people. Sure I fly float planes in my spare time and it’s an interesting pursuit, perhaps even brave, but I’m about 70 years late to the aviation revolution.

What I do here, what I write about on Don Mills Diva, is not courageous. I’m fluffy and I have always owned that. I am a manipulator. At my best I can choose and position my words in such a fashion that the tears and chuckles of my readers are almost involuntary.

I’m shameless, really.

This blog is not my personal diary and it never will be. My intimate struggles - and you must trust me when I say I have intimate struggles – are not detailed here.

I am not Mr. Lady, who stood beautiful and alone on stage at BlogHer, read this post, brought the facking house down and goddamn-broke my heart. I am not Maria – she of the shirt - who teases me for saying facking when I really mean…well, you know.

So why did I grab a microphone during a BlogHer discussion entitled Is Mommy Blogging a Radical Act? and declare “Hell yes, it is!?”

Because I am a writer.

Because I have always been a writer. Because I have spent my whole life searching for an audience and now I have one. Because I had piece after piece rejected by (mostly white and male) newspaper editorial boards and now their opinions don’t matter. Because you are here, reading me and, presumably, it is my writing brought you here and my writing that can drive you away.

I start my dream job on Monday after submitting a resume that prominently featured Don Mills Diva. I’m going to be the director of communications for these people, partially because I used this little humble space on the Internet to prove that I can write: to prove that I can compel people to want to read the things I choose to write about.

And no, I do not choose, and will not in the foreseeable future choose, to detail how my family has been touched by pain and stress and mental illness.

But I will continue to write and I will endeavor to entertain and I believe with all my heart that my hard work and dedication will continue to expand my readership.

Pretty facking radical isn’t it?