When I started blogging as a mid-20-something, it was mostly whimsical, flighty pieces. I was the quintessential “Alice in Blunderland,” living life with my head in the clouds.
The Hiatus
Blogging took a backseat for a decade or so after I got married, became a mother, and lived in the US, where family and travel took precedence. I was also uncomfortable, and a tad mortified about sharing my private life with the world. I didn’t know what to blog about anymore. I was embarrassed by how superficial my writing had been in my twenties. I looked back in horror and cringed at some of the pieces I had written.
When I wrote publicly but protected my private life
When I returned to India, blogging had become all the rage. Thankfully, I still had my Blogger site, and I slowly eased back in while writing for public platforms.
As my writing became more public, I dialled down sharing my private life, whether pictures or writing on social media and my blog. I found my comfort space in opinion pieces, takes on society and culture, and movie reviews. The only personal material I shared were parenting anecdotes; I drew a strong boundary around anything deeper.
When I started wearing my vulnerability on my sleeve
The more I wrote publicly, the more assertive I became. Writing lifts the fog and brings crystal-clear clarity.
Little did I anticipate that my writing would bring awards and speaking opportunities as the main host. While I wrote unabashedly, I was mortified of taking centre stage because of my rollercoaster ride with stammering. Needless to say, the first invite as hostess was embarrassing, to say the least. I wanted to bury myself underground and never come out.
Fortunately, I didn’t give up. I persisted, and today I couldn’t care less if I stammer. I finally felt ready to start Stammerstars, a venture I had always wanted to begin someday.
When I shared my experience in a short reel last year, I didn’t anticipate crying. I also didn’t anticipate no longer carrying the shame and guilt I had felt for years. I was completely comfortable in my skin: tears or not, stammering or not.That was the first time I felt comfortable sharing a personal demon I had been hiding for so long.
Then came Ryan’s death. I took to reading and writing as if my life depended on it. I was no longer writing for the public or for readers. For the first time, I was writing to keep myself from sinking into the rabbit hole of grief.
The Art of Knowing What to Write
For years, I thought protecting my private life meant keeping it out of my writing. But I’ve slowly realised that privacy and silence aren’t the same thing.
I can choose to speak about my stammering, the shame and guilt around it, or the experience of losing someone I love without handing over every part of my life to the internet.
Perhaps that’s what personal storytelling means to me now. Not telling the world everything, but deciding which parts of our experience have something worth saying.
Some stories remain ours alone; others, when shared, can make someone else feel less alone. I’m learning that knowing the difference is part of the writing too.
