She completely stumped me and as I struggled to say something relevant I couldn't. I don't have a niche. I couldn't begin to think how to categorize what this blog is or why anyone would be interested. I have followers who read, comment, support, sometimes slam. I've been called a hero, inspirational, over-the-top whiny and undeserving. I started writing here to establish a regular writing practice, something I'd never had before and it's turned into far more than that.
I write about struggle, pain, frustration. About being a parent. Being a woman who's getting older and dealing with more changes than I want to. About my body and how hard it is to accept what it is, who I am sometimes. About the overwhelming juggle life can be when you have so many roles to fill. I write about moments of pure joy, pride, excitement. Others of panic, shame, fear. Of over-the-top experiences I've been lucky enough to live through. About others that are so quiet and small they could easily be overlooked, but resonate nonetheless.
In the end, I think people read because what I write about is what we all go through to a certain extent. Feelings are feelings and knowing other people understand what you're going through helps. We live in a splintered world where it's easy to shut off, shut down, shut out. Finding kindred souls, time to talk, a supportive, encouraging environment isn't always easy.
In fact, sometimes it feels impossible.
So, I pour it out here. Getting words down, organizing thoughts, putting structure to feelings helps me cope.
That others have found me is the icing.
Taking time for myself is the cake.