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Friendship: A Long Sought After Ideal

megHan

I grew up believing in friendship, a friendship that lasted the tests of time.

Blame it on the 80s sitcoms of my youth, I suppose.

I believed that once you bonded and became friends, that friend, for the most part, was one you had for life. You would both grow older together, and things would change, the two of you (or group of you) would go through ups and downs in your relationship – hell, you may even stop being friends for a few years – but in the long run, that friend, that good friend, was there for life.

I believed that this kind of friendship wasn’t just someone that you spent time with in and out of school, someone you had fun with, but someone who was there for you through the highs and lows of life. And vice versa. I believed that this kind of friendship – and therefore good friends – were people you could share your innermost secrets with, people you could talk to about anything. I believed that these people would be there for you on the days you are the happiest… and on days when you needed someone to help you remember the good that is in you when you can’t see it yourself.

It didn’t take me long to realize that that kind of friendship doesn’t exist in this world.

I’m not saying I never had friends growing up that fit into that ideal, in one way or another. I had close friends, and still have good memories of the time that I spent with them as children, but I always had a lack of trust in people, a wall that caused me to be unable to share my true self with people. I’ve worn a mask for a very long time, so long that I don’t know where the mask ends and I begin, but that’s another story.

My first true best friend was a girl named Ellen. She showed me that I could do things I never even thought I could, and gave me the confidence to try. We never had a falling out, we never had a fight, we never *stopped* being friends. I just simply moved. We kept in touch for a little while, and then, as they do, things changed. I still think about her every once in awhile, wonder how she’s doing, but our friendship did not last the tests of time. It didn’t even last the six month mark of me moving away. It didn’t end dramatically, as you see in TV shows. We just stopped talking to each other. Maybe we just stopped having the time to do so. Who knows.

Things were lonely after that, for awhile. I never felt like I fit in… anywhere. Still don’t, if we’re being honest. I sort of made myself the outcast, if that makes any sense. I preferred books while the girls I met preferred boys. I wasn’t good in big groups of people, not at the time. I just preferred to disappear and watch people interact, rather than deal with them myself. I remember creating stories in my head of the conversations they were having based on their body language and the looks on their faces. Those stories were always more interesting than what was really happening.

It didn’t help that I went to private schools, but at the same time, I wouldn’t have changed that for the world. Everyone seemed to be so rich and put together, and I was not poor, but always seemed to be floundering to figure out who I was, where my place was, what I wanted my future to hold. I had my first crush and my first heartbreak… and I dealt with it all alone. There was no confiding in someone in the locker room after gym class, or talking into the early morning hours at a sleepover. I don’t even remember seeing these people outside of school, other than church and the occasional birthday party.

My next best friend was unexpected. Because of issues I wasn’t privy to at the time, my sister and I were taken out of our private school and put into public school. I remember the kids in school telling me that, when I got to public school, I was going to get beaten up, because that’s what public school kids do, beat up random kids. In my head, I knew it was going to be worse because the school was bigger and if I couldn’t fit in at my current school, there was no way I was going to be able to fit in there. My seventh grade brain decided that, if I was talking, if my mouth was moving, that no one would be able to punch me in my mouth, because, if someone was going to punch me, clearly it would be in my mouth. (Note: They could still very well punch me in the mouth, even if it was moving. And why would I assume that they would punch me in the mouth only?!) I convinced myself that I could do this, that I had the opportunity to start a new school and be different, be someone else, with a better backstory and everything, because no one would know the truth. I planned it for weeks and I remember sitting in the gym, in this long line of kids (probably longer in my memory than it was in real life) talking. I mean TALKING… which was not something I was really known for doing until this moment. I made up funny stories and I cracked jokes and I made some friends.

That’s when I met Angela. She was my best friend, like how I expected best friends to be. She gave me her phone number that day and I was so excited – I honestly don’t remember exchanging phone numbers with anyone before that. That was usually left to the parents to deal with, so this was the first friend I made on my own. We had some classes together, we hung out together, we had the same lunch so we got to eat together. It was awesome. She was the kind of person that I had always wanted to be – loud, outgoing, funny, confident… and people just gravitated to her. You would have never known she wasn’t one of the cool kids. I tried being just like her, even long after our friendship ended.

And it did. Dramatically. But not until high school. I still think about it, on occasion, my brain never letting me forget the bad memories, wondering if there were signs that I should have seen before that day, but I can’t think of any. She rode my bus that afternoon, something she hardly ever did, going to spend time at a mutual friend’s house, a friend that did ride the bus. I was actually excited to see her because I hadn’t seen her all day. But she didn’t sit next to me. Instead, she sat in front of me, the mutual friend behind me, and they made sure no one sat next to me. Had I been worldly, had I ever been in a fight before, I would have known that this is bad news. I had this really uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach as the bus started to leave the parking lot, and it wasn’t long into the ride before our mutual friend was threatening me. I looked to Angela for help, and realized that it was not my side she was on. To this day, I still don’t fully understand why things went the way that they did. The mutual friend believed that I had spread a rumor about her, something that apparently only I knew, except I didn’t know. But neither would listen. They went on to say that the mutual friend had written me a letter about something that had happened between her and her father, and I had shared the contents of the letter – a letter I never saw – with our friend group and it had been spread from there. I have never been so scared in my life because I knew, in a fight situation, there was no way I was surviving, especially two-on-one, with both of the girls being much bigger than me. When we got to the mutual friend’s bus stop, the driver made them get off, no matter how much they argued with her about them going to my house to work on a project. She wasn’t moving her bus until they got off. I was so relieved. I was the last stop on the bus, and the bus driver confided in me when we were alone that she heard what was going on and would protect me. She also told me that she would be letting the principle know. I don’t know what happened after that (I never told my mom), but the two never spoke to me again.

Well, I can’t say never. I never saw the mutual friend again, but a few years later, after I had moved on to a different school, different home, Angela and I were back in contact with each other, though I don’t remember how. (This was long before Facebook.) We attempted our friendship again. And again after that. And again after that. It never… worked out. Mainly because it was never the same. We hung out and had fun times, but I could never trust her again, not after what happened. In fact, we’re still in contact, and every time she calls me her “bestie” I just want to scream. No, really I want to ask her why that happened all those years ago, I want to know what I supposedly told, I want to know how she could believe that about me, and there’s a part of me that wants an apology, even all these years later, though I know it will never come, even if I did ask for it. We’re supposed to forgive and forget, but she stole something from me. She stole the little bit of trust I had, the little bit of belief I had in friendships.

But it wasn’t just her… because I still had hope in finding someone who would renew my faith in people.

Around the time that this altercation happened on the bus, my father passed away, and that was something else I dealt with alone. My best friend was too busy hating me because of a lie someone else told, and my other friends? They didn’t know what to say… so they said nothing. Everyone, including teachers, avoided me at school. No one even acknowledged me.

We moved again, this time to get away from the memories we saw every day. And again I made some friends. And after awhile, some best friends. Four, to be exact. If they had been one person, they would have been the perfect best friend. Melissa, Erin, Julianne, and Austin. Each one fulfilled different best friend needs. But none of the four were people I could actually trust completely. I always felt like the three girls were closer to each other than they were to me, and I found out a couple of years after I graduated from high school that I was right. I was a year older, so they had time to be friends without me, and during an argument that one of them started, the other two ganged up on me as well. I was told, very specifically, that the only reason they had been my friend at all was because they felt sorry for me, that it made them look good to be friends with someone who needed friendship so badly. It hurt to find out that they never cared about me in the first place, hurt even more when they each decided to dramatically – and publicly – end their friendships with me. My friendship with Austin ended as well, just without the public humiliation (thank goodness). He chose to stay away from me because he knew my opinion on drugs. We tried the friendship thing again a couple of times, but he always just disappeared. (I realize now that my two actual best friends in high school weren’t these four at all.) An interesting fact: the three girls are still very good friends, with the kind of friendships that I always thought I had with them.

I think the worst end of a friendship was with a group of people I considered family. It was a weekend retreat for the kids of separated, divorced, and widowed parents. It was the only place I ever felt like I really fit in. Until I didn’t.

I looked forward to these weekends for months, and even if I had to fight with my mother to be able to go, I went. I thought these people understood. The people that I was close to, I really trusted them. In the small group sessions, I shared things with these people, talked about what was really going on in my life, and showed a lot more of the real me during those weekends than I ever thought I would. They helped me deal with the grief of losing my father, and with his death, the loss of my family.

One of the things that I wanted the most was to be able to share my story with the big group. I had it all written out in my journal and was really impressed with the level of honesty in my words and the growth that I had experienced coming to the retreats, but there was an excuse every time on why I couldn’t be one of those people. It bothered me that the reasons I couldn’t share, were reasons that other people were encouraged to share, but I kept trying to be better at handling my grief, sure that one day he would see just how much I had grown and learned. At the same time, I no longer felt close to the person who ran it, no longer felt I could trust him. My mother told me several times that she didn’t think I should go anymore, that she didn’t like the changes that were being made or the behavior of some people, that she didn’t like how I was treated, but I refused to listen to her, believing that I couldn’t survive without these people – they were my friends and I needed them.

When I learned the truth, as always in life, I learned it the hard way. I had argued with my mother, who had signed me up to go, but again wanted me to change my mind about going. This time I ran away. To Angela and her mom. My mother knew that I would be at the retreat, so she contacted the man in charge, not to tell him I couldn’t go, not to cancel my place in the retreat, not even to get me in trouble, but to confide in him that she was concerned about me. She asked him to have me call her when I got there. Her words were for him and him alone. By the time I arrived that Friday, everyone knew. That included parents, that included people who had never been there before. I was ostracized. Friends I had been close to and had known for years had nothing to do with me. I was overlooked in small groups, where we were all supposed to have the chance to talk, and overlooked in big group activities. The only time the man in charge spoke to me was Friday when he told me to call my mom, and again Saturday morning when I had to walk to breakfast by myself because he lectured me for 45 minutes on my behavior. He wouldn’t let me say a word, didn’t care to hear what happened, just kept repeating how disappointed in me he was “once again.” (Once again. That was hard for me to handle. He’d never shared that he was disappointed in me before.) It didn’t matter that he wasn’t sure he wanted me to come back again. I knew then that I wouldn’t be. Especially in the end, where we each throw a ball of yarn to another person that we have connected with, creating this big web of connection, and I was the only one not included.

I have a friend from that group – or I should say that I am currently connected on Facebook with one of those people from that retreat. We had been close once. I highly doubt we ever will be again. She likes to talk about herself, how perfect her life is, how she’s finally with the guy that she had loved so long ago (from the retreat, who broke her heart at one point, cheating on her with another girl from the retreat – a guy that neither girl was interested in until I told them I had a crush on him, all those years ago). She still is friends with a lot of the people that I was once close to, a lot of people that were part of that last weekend. She was part of that last weekend.

I’ve had friends, on and off, since then. I have friends that I consider part of my family, friends that I’ve known since I graduated from high school and some from high school. I have friends. I don’t have best friends. I don’t even have true friends. I just have people I know that, at one point in life, I cared about. Quite a few are people that I don’t care to know anymore, but I keep them because of some belief that I have to, that I’m a bad person if I choose to end the friendship, even if it’s just quietly blocking them on social media (like I did to someone yesterday) and not thinking about it again.

I have lost all trust in people. I have lost all belief in people… and friendships. It was stolen from me by people who only cared about themselves, and in only caring about themselves, they were able to destroy the people they once called friend, even if they never cared about the friendship in the first place.

Maybe I just expected too much from people. Maybe I still do.

It’s a hard thing to deal with – and very sad – when you realize that you actually have no one you can talk to about things. No one you can trust. No one you can be yourself around. No one. It is the most lonely I have ever felt.

JEALOUSY and ANGER Do NOT Go Hand-in-Hand

megHan

I’ve spent most of my life being told that I am jealous by one person or another. Either of them or of someone else. But jealousy is a feeling that I have very rarely felt, about anyone.

I am angry. It was always angry. And no matter how much I protested being jealous, no matter how many times I would say that what I was feeling was anger, no one listened.

I was wrong. I was clearly wrong. They KNEW what I was feeling, and what I was feeling was jealousy. Now, maybe I was angry about being jealous, or angry at them because I was jealous (angry that they had what I didn’t have), but yeah, jealousy, it was definitely jealousy.

(Yes, that entire paragraph was filled with sarcasm, just to make sure you all caught it.)

Even now, many years later, if I say something negative about someone, if I cringe when I hear someone’s name, if I refuse to believe that someone has repented or is a better person now, I’m reminded (by one person or lots of people) that I am STILL jealous of this particular person. Or that person. Or a group of people. It doesn’t matter.

Even though I know I’m not jealous.

I admit, though, that when it comes to emotions, I don’t really… understand. Especially when they don’t make sense, like crying when you’re angry. I mean, I get “big” emotions, like happy, and sad, and… angry. It’s those other ones that give me trouble.

So I researched what jealousy means.

I mean, maybe I WAS wrong all along…

Jealousy, according to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, means “an unhappy or angry feeling of wanting to have what someone else has.”

In most cases, according to my research, jealousy is something that involves romantic relationships. Your spouse could be jealous of the time that you spend with another, or the perceived time that you spend with another. On the other hand, someone outside of the relationship could be jealous of what you (or your spouse) has, wanting you (or them) for themselves.

Now, jealousy can also happen in the workplace – maybe someone got a promotion that you think you better deserved, or you find out that someone is being paid more than you are; maybe your boss is paying more attention to someone else, or you feel that you are not being recognized for your successes while others are; maybe their office is better, or their parking space is better located, or they get the hours that you want. It can also be outside of your workplace, like someone getting a job while you’re still searching, seeing someone who seems to have their career perfectly planned, or even your dream career while you are just starting out. Or even while you are floundering, not sure of what direction you need to go.

Jealousy can also happen in families. We’ve all heard about sibling rivalry, maybe even know people that are in constant competition with their brother or sister. Instead of seeing what they have and what they receive in this familial relationship, they see what the other(s) get and believe that it’s better, even if it’s not necessarily something that they themselves want.

Let’s look back at that definition: “an unhappy or angry feeling” (okay, I have already said that it’s anger) “of wanting to HAVE what SOMEONE ELSE HAS.” That’s very specific. Something someone else HAS.

See? That’s where the problem lies. I don’t look at someone and think that I want what they have.

I don’t even compare myself to others, not really. (Okay, so I’ll be honest – I look at Mandy Rose, who is one of the most gorgeous things ever created by God, and I definitely notice all my flaws after, but that’s not the same thing, at least I don’t think so. Many women look at others and think that they wish they were thinner or wish they were heavier… or darn it, they wish they could wear a plaid shirt in the fall without looking like a damn lumberjack. Or a baseball cap. I want to wear a baseball cap.)

I may get down on myself for not working as hard as I should have in order to have whatever it is that I want (I am the one that stands in my way) or get angry AT MYSELF for letting a dream pass by, but I don’t get angry at someone because they have something that I dream of. That’s silly… and contrary to what seems like popular belief, it’s not the way I think.

You’re married and I’m not? That’s fantastic that you found the person you want to spend the rest of your life with. I am so happy about that, and I truly hope (and pray) that it works out for you. I hope to one day find that myself.

You had children and I haven’t? I’m so glad that God blessed you in that way. I was not blessed that way, but I have found other ways to share my love with the world. If you ever need a babysitter, let me know!

You’re successful in your chosen career and I am not as successful in my chosen career? I am so proud of you for all the hard work that you put into getting to where you are now. Do you have any advice? I would like to be there one day, but I have a lot more work to put into it.

We have the same passion, but you are doing so much better at expressing it than I am? We all have a different voice, and because of that, what we put out into the world as individuals really matters. It also means that neither one of us are doing what we do wrong, and that we are both “succeeding” in our own way. Let’s talk and compare notes. I’d like to learn from you and you to learn from me, and as a community, we can build each other up. (This is especially big, I think, as a blogger, because I don’t necessarily want what others do. My blogs aren’t a business for me. They’re just a place for me to express myself about my passions. Editing, that’s my business. Something I made sure I was highly educated in so that I could do the job that is necessary. We’re all in this for different reasons, and I can’t compare what I do with what someone else does if we don’t have the same end result.)

[Insert your big news, your goal that you just completed.] That is amazing! Gosh, I am SO proud of you. I’m just starting my journey out and can look at how you got to the end of yours and learn from it, maybe even find things that will help me get to mine. Every day is a new day, and I remind myself each morning that I’m one day closer to getting to my [insert big goal]. I’m so excited that one day I will get to share great news with you, too.

Not everyone knows how I think – NONE of us know what goes on inside someone else’s mind, NONE of us have walked in an other’s shoes, NONE of us know what it’s like to live someone else’s life – so I can see, having done the research, how people could have misconceptions of the way that I feel, of the way that others feel. But to be judged on how I feel based on something that you don’t know about me, refusing to listen to me explain where you’re wrong? That’s a bit presumptuous, don’t you think?

Let me explain my anger:

I get ANGRY when you treat me, or someone I care about, or someone I don’t care about, or someone I don’t even know (and I have witnessed it), poorly. Like, that is a HUGE thing for me. (Who do you think you are?) I’ve always been taught that you treat others the way that you want to be treated and I have spent my life TRYING to live by that. (I’ve noticed that, as I’ve gotten older, I get even ANGRIER watching people’s poor behavior towards others.)

My ANGER increases when people believe that you are right for treating me, or someone I care about, or someone I don’t care about, or someone I don’t even know, that way. I’ll get angry at them as part of the equation, I will lose all respect for them, but my anger will be directed (usually just in my mind and sometimes even deep in my soul) at you because you are the one with the bad behavior and you have somehow made people believe that your actions are proper. (Or maybe they’re just jerk-faces like you. I hadn’t thought about that until writing this paragraph.)

I stay ANGRY when your behavior is not a one-off, when you continue to treat me, someone I care about, someone I don’t care about, or someone I don’t even know, poorly. Everybody has bad days and, yeah, maybe you were just having a bad day the first time around, but the second, and third? There is no excuse. There is NO excuse for you to hurt someone (sometimes to their very core) by your words, actions, or deeds. (Is that YOU being jealous? Have you chosen to attack this person because YOU are jealous of them? Is there something about them that you wish you could be, or something that they do that you wish you could, or do they have something that you want? All good questions.)

My ANGER is something that is hard for me to let go of, even as I hold it deep inside where no one can see, and it stays there, festering. I won’t even try to lie about that. The more I watch you direct your… whatever… at me or someone else, the angrier I get, the more it grows, and even though I know that my anger is only hurting me, it’s something very hard to move past. Especially when you don’t have the humanity (or humility) to apologize for your deeds, or even realize you’ve hurt someone at all.

I watch as you treat that person who only wants to be your friend with anger and contempt, watch as that person has been a better friend to you than any of the people you call your friends. I watch as you push them away, as you publicly humiliate them, as you encourage your real friends to do the same. I watch how, years later, its that person that you go to, having watched those “real friends” come and go.

I watch how you treat your sister, the terrible (and sometimes evil) things you have done to her. I watch as you blame HER for what you have done, some slight that you’ve decided she’s done to you that would make you behave in such a terrible way, or even just because you feel you are better than her, you are loved more, you are the precious one. I also watch her, the tears she sheds as your spit hits her face, as your vile words hit her ears. I watch as you shatter her very being, and the smile that crosses your face when you see how much you have hurt her. (I also watch you brag to your friends, who praise you for your victory against… what? How were you actually victorious?)

I watch as you treat that stranger – that absolute stranger – with such disrespect at the grocery store. I watch how loud and proud you are of being absolutely disgusting to another member of the human race, a person who has done nothing to you… except, you know, get in your way when you are ready to cut someone deep with your words.

I watch as you spread your lies. Your terrible lies. About anyone. And your lies about yourself. (Is it a coincidence that your lies about them are terrible, and your lies about yourself make you seem perfect?)

I watch how you talk trash about someone you don’t even know, spreading malicious gossip you don’t even know the truth to, how you ruin the life and credibility and name of someone who has never harmed you… and most likely hasn’t harmed the person that started the gossip in the first place.

I watch you cut someone down with your accusations, with your disparaging words, with the nasty venom that comes out of your mouth, calling them terrible things, degrading their appearance, making judgments you have no right to make. I watch that person walk away, wounded, hurt, sometimes even in tears, as you walk in a different direction, head held high, so proud of what you did to this person, as if you were somehow given the right to not only judge, but condemn, someone else.

My ANGER just grows watching this. And I assure you, my anger is not just at you.

My anger is at ME. Me for not standing up for that person, me for not standing up for myself, me for not being able to convince others that you are wrong, and even me for allowing myself to stay angry for so long… sometimes years and years. Me for not being able to express how I really feel, for not being able to make people listen. Me for failing so many times, for giving people a reason to believe I am jealous.

So, no… I’m not jealous. Of you. Of him. Of her. Of those people over there.

I am ANGRY because people have forgotten how to treat others. Friends. Family members. Significant others. Their own children. Coworkers. Bosses towards their employees. People in their community, no matter what community that is.

People have FORGOTTEN what it is to be a good person. They’re merely people… people with excuses to behave badly while pretending that they are the good guy.

I am ANGRY because people use very personal things against others, as part of their attacks, and they hurt people more than they will ever know. And yet those same people have been hurt, and maybe that’s why they do it – they couldn’t hurt their attackers, so they picked someone they considered inferior and attacked them. (Is that really any way to live?)

I just read this whole thing again and I realized WHAT it is that I AM guilty of. I am guilty of not jealousy, but of judging people. I judge YOU. Not on your looks, not on your clothes, not on what you have or where you have it, not on your relationships or your families. I judge YOU on YOUR BEHAVIOR, and YOUR BEHAVIOR ALONE. And it is YOUR behavior that makes me angry, and keeps me angry, and honestly… How could I compare myself to someone who treats others with such contempt? How could I be jealous of someone who lives their life so full of anger and hatred that they take it out on anyone and everyone near them? How could you possibly think I want ANYTHING you have when THAT is how you live your life?

(I’m not speaking of anyone specific in this post. I’m not even thinking of anyone specific. I’m thinking of people in general, just to make that clear.)

Think about it: When is the last time you treated someone badly? What did you say? What did you do? Why did you do it? Did they really deserve what you did to them? Did you apologize?

There’s another something I’ve tried to live: Once your words are spoken, they cannot be taken back, they cannot be unheard, they cannot be forgotten. They can only be forgiven.

There Are No RIGHT and WRONG Ways to Blog

megHan



The only way to find your voice is to use it. It’s hardwired, built into you. Talk about the things you love. Your voice will follow.

~Austin Kleon

I sat down the other day and wrote what I think is a beautifully written blog post about something that was going on in my head at the time, but after reading it several times and loving it even more, I never ended it up posting it because I felt like it wasn’t the right time.

I don’t mean time of day, or time for me, or consideration of the time we’re living in. I didn’t feel it was the right time to post it on my blog.

I guess that’s me, over-researching this whole blogging thing (for a second time), believing the hype that other bloggers give, those people that tell you how to run a blog as if their way is the only way and if you don’t follow their rules, you are doing it wrong.

I had written a post – ONE post – and left it there for awhile, a post about where this blog came from and where I would like to see it headed, but I had never introduced myself, not properly, and that really bothered me. I have a hard time talking about myself and everything I wrote just sounded… dumb.

But who says I can’t just start writing? I mean, why not jump in? Rip the BandAid off in one fail swoop. Write what I’m feeling when I’m feeling it. Don’t hold back. Be in the moment.

These people make blogging so difficult.

Have you ever noticed just HOW many posts there are out there telling you how to start and run a blog?

THAT was a rabbit hole I fell into on Pinterest, even after being a book blogger all this time. I research things – that’s just what I do – and I wanted to make sure that I knew what direction I wanted this blog to go in, and that I did it “right.” I got in bed around 11:30 with my iPad, and by 4am, I was convinced that everything that I had done with my book blog all this time was wrong. Not only that, but I just knew all the ways that I had failed with this blog, through all it’s iterations. I finally had to force myself to put it away, and spent the rest of the night tossing and turning.

I can’t say that was the one and only time that I did this. I became obsessed. “The 12 Things You MUST Do Before You Start Your Blog.” “Not Doing These 5 Things Before You Hit Publish on Your First Blog Post Will Doom Your Blog to Failure.” “15 Things You Are Doing Wrong Right Now with Your Blog.” “8 Things You Must Have in Every Blog Post.” “Why the Name You Chose for Your Blog Was the Worst Mistake You Made in Blogging.” It’s never ending. Post after post after post after post.

I kid you not when I say that I read over a thousand of these posts. And the more I read, the more stressed out I became.

It had to stop. I had to stop.

It was all I was thinking about, all I was dreaming about… and it was making me quit before I even got started.

I find that writing really helps me, so I sat down one night – another night of restless sleep after reading post after post for hours – and just began writing about what I was reading and what I was feeling and where I was confused and how much of a failure I felt. Twenty-six pages later (and not an exaggeration), I realized what I should have known all along.

There is no RIGHT or WRONG way to run a blog. Yeah, there are proven things that work, and there are proven things that won’t work, but that still doesn’t mean that they WILL work or WON’T work for you.

You also need to take a look at what you are trying to get out of your blog. Do you want to share your opinion on things? Do you want to share something you’re very passionate about? Do you want to teach people something that you’re really good at? Do you want to have a voice when you feel that you don’t have one?

What is YOUR outcome? What do YOU consider success? What is it that YOU like in other blogs that you would like to utilize in yours?

Your blog is YOUR blog, and you are not a failure for not listing to those people, for running it the way that you want to run it.

The point is that YOU expressed YOU in such a way that your blog becomes a part of you, and through it you are able to share your voice with the world.

As long as you are happy, as long as you love what you’re doing, then it looks like you’re doing EVERYTHING right.

Go on. Start your blog. Be yourself. Don’t worry about the “rules.” Get sharing. Make it your happy place. You got this.

An Introduction

megHan

I’m sure if you’re here, reading this, than you read the last post about the evolution of this blog, but let me take a moment to tell you a little about me before I start letting all of my inner turmoil splash across your screen.

My name is Meghan. Spelled the right way. With an H. (I know, I know. If you’re name is Megan or any other variation, you’re ready to argue with me right now, because your spelling is “clearly” the correct way. But it’s not. And it’s okay. We can still be friends. Haha.)

I was born in Winter Haven, Florida (a little known fact), but was raised in and around Houston, Texas. I will always be a Texan, but there was a part of me that also longed to be back here in Florida. And a few years ago, I made that dream a reality, moving to Port St Lucie (along the Treasure Coast).

I have been a book blogger for… it’s crazy to think… almost eight years. Based on my definition of success, I’ve done a pretty good job of it so far, and plan to continue on, a little stronger than I have been as of late, and I’m always changing things around. (If you’re interested in books, you should check it out.)

That wasn’t really before blogging became cool or anything, but it was a long time before my friends (or anyone I met really) could understand WHY that was something I had chosen to do. (I still have friends who just don’t understand, and they will change the subject every time I mention it.) I guess blogging is something like hanging out with your mom (something I do a lot)… you can only be so cool doing it.

Let’s see… I’m a daughter, sister, and aunt. A fur-mom to my gorgeous Mia, who is pretty much me… if I had four legs, a tail, and whiskers. A book editor. A chef without a professional kitchen. (A purveyor of delectable fare and pulchritudinous confections.) An avid reader and learner. Obsessed with big words.

I am opinionated. Mainly about how people should be to their fellow man. Some of that based on emotions and things that I have witnessed, some of it based on my faith.

I often call myself a work in progress. I’m not fixing myself or creating myself, but more finding myself, having been lost for so long among the big noise of the world we live in. I’ve been lost for a long time, wandering aimlessly… but, eh, that’s another story. (I might tell you about that one day.)

I love hot tea, peanut butter, British mysteries, reading, and gardening.

I am obsessed with flamingos, anything Disney, Halloween AND Christmas, and villains.

I am passionate about a lot of things. Just start a conversation with me and you’ll find that out quick. I also know a lot of random information that no one in this crazy world is interested in but me, and that fact doesn’t really stop me from sharing it with random “victims.”

I am creative and yet creativity scares me (another thing I may discuss one day)…

And I am clearly terrible at talking about myself.

I tend to be sarcastic, sometimes without even realizing that I am being so. (I apologize in advance.)

My largest claim to fame has been *drum roll*… In high school, I was voted most likely to stand on a street corner and offer people stickers…

and all these years later, I’m still a huge fan of stickers. But they were wrong. I have an awful hard time sharing them. Sharing them means that they are no longer here, which means they are gone, which means I can no longer enjoy them… yeah, that’s a tough one.

So… I started this blog because I wanted a place to express myself, in lots of ways, about lots of things, a place that I could call my own. A place where I belong, even if it’s a place that I created myself.

I’m not here to make money, to sell you anything, or to obsessively look at my blog statistics (I have never been that way about the book blog either). I’m just here to share. Not a lifeSTYLE blogger, but a life blogger.

I can’t promise that you’re going to love, or even like, all of the things that I have to say, but together we may learn something about ourselves and this world we live in, together we may grow.

I don’t share my thoughts because I think it will change the minds of people who think differently. I share my thoughts to show the people who already think like me that they’re not alone.”

The Many Lives of Beautiful Screamer

megHan

This is a post that I should have written months ago, but every time I sat down at my computer to write it, the words just would not flow.

This should be easy, but the thing is, I never actually know what to say. Even now. I have so many blog post ideas, but I can’t write any of them until this one is out of the way. There has to be a beginning, right?

Anyone who has ever had a blog knows that the first blog post is always the hardest one to write, but this isn’t my first post. I’ve had several first posts in the life of this blog.

This is not the first Beautiful Screamer, as it started many years ago over on Blogger. It began as a place for me to share my inner thoughts, mostly in the form of my anti-poetry, which really was pretty bad, and maybe even share the inspiration behind them. I did have a few friends who showed me some support, but it never really felt right, and eventually I stopped writing altogether, so there was no point in keeping the blog, but I just couldn’t let it go. I have tried a couple of times to revive it – give it a new life, try something different, find new inspiration – but nothing ever stuck with me. I would write out long blog posts and be really excited about them, then change my mind about them a few days later and erase everything. It was never really something that I shared with others, even though it could very easily be found. It was something I wanted to keep doing, but just didn’t know… how. I failed at every turn, but I still just couldn’t let it go.

Ya see, Beautiful Screamer meant something to me, even if I was terrible at executing it, or even figuring out it’s direction. It’s name meant something for me.

When I created this (and my new book blog) here on WordPress, I was wary. I wanted to make sure I was doing the right thing, making such big changes in my life, so I asked a trusted friend his opinion on both sites. He was actually as excited as I was about the possibility of a new Beautiful Screamer and wanted to know what my plans were. (I don’t actually have any, not really.) I explained why I thought the others times had failed and why this time is different… and he cut me off right there. He explained that my issue with blogging (all blogging) is that I think WAY too much. (Ain’t that the truth.) It’s not other people’s opinions that stop me from doing what I love, not really, but my opinion. I stand in the way of me.

He went on to share his interpretation of the Beautiful Screamer, his take away from it over the years. It started with me expressing myself, and even though my anti-poetry wasn’t perfect, I didn’t care. It was raw. It was honest. It was me. When I no longer had the words, when I was no longer writing, I avoided it at all cost, and at the same time, I was avoiding me. When I came back to change the blog to work for me, I never realized that I was the one changing, not the blog. The blog started out as a place for me to express myself, a place that was mine where I made the rules, a place where I could be me. Changing it from anti-poetry to other forms of expression (including art) was not changing the blog, it was the blog evolving along with me, and it was my brain that told me I failed, my brain that made me quit – and, in the case of both blogs, my brain making other people’s opinions my reality, believing the opinions of people who did not know me and had no right to express their opinions in the first place. I went from not caring at all what anyone thought of it, to carrying more than I was ever willing to express, or even admit to myself. I did not fail the blog. I failed me.

It took me time (several months) to really think that out and get my mind in the right place to sit down at this and try it again.

So, once again, I’m trying my hand at Beautiful Screamer…

Thank you for joining the ride.