Blogging for Dollars

A couple days ago, I got seriously depressed. Weepy and sad and claustrophobic. Pregnancy is a big factor, of course, because it's pretty obvious my hormones are whacked. Anyway, I got a little wound up concerning where my value lies. I hadn't realized just how much I depended on my work identity to feel whole.

One of the main issues is that the other part of my life is made up of the obligations of being a wife. And while I really enjoy most aspects of that, there are other parts I wasn't really expecting. Maybe it's just the 30 years of a single life prior to taking on the challenge of being a wife that trips me up, but the truth is, most of us have very different expectations of ourselves than others have of us. My work as a writer in a paid position was a constant reminder of what I do well. And after plenty of experience and a Master's degree, it was the visible manifestation of my worth. Cooking, vacuuming and laundry were just the necessary evils that made up the fringe responsibilities of my life. I could handle them because they didn't define me. When the writing work suddenly went away, I felt lost. I was terrified of being defined as a housewife or homemaker. I have absolutely nothing against women who choose that line of work. And yes, I do believe it's work. In fact, it might as well be neurosurgery as far as I'm concerned because it's composed of things I am not trained in, good at, or happy doing. And I'm envious of women who take joy in keeping a house. I desperately wish I could find some of that. But sadly, picking me to be a homemaker is kind of like hiring a plumber to represent you in court. Wrong qualifications for the wrong job. And that's a frightening predicament when you look into the future and your only real guarantees are the latter part of the equation.

And so, as I said in my last blog, I'm starting to write again. The start-up is painful, because it's so abstract, with no easily defined outcomes mapped out. So I'm still a little lost, but I'm at least trying to cut out a path. In fact, besides the commercial work I'd been doing in the fashion industry and other corporate clients, the only real creative writing I'd been doing for the last 3 years was on my other blog. And I didn't count that... until today. Today, a funny thing happened. I received a communication from someone at a television network requesting writing samples. The gig in question? Blogging about TV shows. Yes, there is a very good possibility that another form of blogging is a part of my professional identity. And all this time, I thought it would only lead to narcissism... :)

I also have another project that my husband has challenged me to complete. He wants me to write a children's book for our son. His mother is an artist, so the idea is to do a joint project, since kids' books need pretty pictures. I was a little resistant to this idea at first. The last time I attempted a children's book was in high school, and it was shot down in flames. But the closer I come to motherhood (4 more months, if you're counting), the more I'm realizing that integrating my chosen profession with my home life may be the real key to some form of contentment. And that, I suppose, is the whole point.