What's my motivation?

The truth is in, 
the proof is when 
you hear your heart start asking, 

"What's my motivation?"

-Newsboys, Shine

      Last night I started writing a blog post and it was stressful. STRESSFUL. I couldn't get the words out, and when I did, they didn't sound right. I was critiquing my "voice", discouraged by the length of the post, etc.

     Then I just stopped and thought, "Why am I doing this to myself? Why am I doing this at all?"

     If you ask me why I started this blog, I'll tell you that I started it to have a place to put all of my thoughts. I'll tell you that I created it for all the other Catholic moms out there to work, because I often feel like I'm in the minority. I'll tell you that I created it for all the Catholic women out there who just don't feel like they're "good enough." I'll tell you that I created it so other women who work full-time and have husbands who work a ton don't feel alone. I'll tell you that I created it to share the humor and the struggles that are my life.

     But then when I sit back and I look at what I'm blogging about, the "voice" I'm blogging with, etc. I see something entirely different from those things. I see a blogger who is looking for someone to tell her she is not alone. I see a blogger who is looking for someone to sympathize with this chaotic life she lives in. I see a blogger whose life is so busy "in person" that she's looking for friends "in cyberspace." I see a blogger who wants validation from others. 

    Those aren't good things. I watch my Twitter follower list like a hawk, and my moods fluctuate based on the number of hits to my blog or the number of Tweets directed at me or including me. I'm judging my worth, and the value of what I have to say, on the input of others. That can't be good, can it?

    I took an hour tonight to really read over my blog, and to look at some of my favorite posts thus far. I think the ones I keep in the present (with occasional references to the past) are the ones I enjoy the most. The ones I think portray the "real me." 

    From here on out, the plan is to be real.