I have been struggling to sit down and write since I got back from Texas.
I sent out a heartfelt newsletter about how I was feeling, I just needed to get it off my chest. I received the most endearing text message from an internet friend in the morning saying she read it, it was exactly what she needed, and it was the perfect way to start her day. But later, when I was talking to my brother-in-law David, and I asked how our stats were, he explained they were down, and it is likely because my introduction was too long. He’s the analytics guy so don’t hate the messenger. But this broke my heart.
I have enjoyed sharing bits of our recipes in the kitchen, DIY salves and short tutorials. But what I want and what I really need is to write. If you’ve been around for a while, you probably noticed we were known for lengthy, exposing, transparent captions on Instagram where I tried to romantically display through words what we were experiencing. It’s something I have often been complicated on and criticized for.
Complicated by our followers who found solace in my words, and who frequently suggest I write a book. Criticized by those who know the inner workings of the internet algorithms better than I, and that this style of writing doesn’t attract more people or attention. I have never really cared. I would so much rather use this therapeutic outlet for me and speak to the 1% who find it resonates with them. It may not be the most attractive at first, but it gives me practice for my novel, and I have a lot to say…
A lifetime of physical and emotional abuse and loneliness, of my families struggling financially, of split households and an evil stepmom, living out of a van, deep depression and not succumbing to suicidal thoughts, finding my place amongst the cold and unforgiving military, and finally meeting the love of my life and working through all of that to find peace with him and our dogs in the country.
I just can’t have our blog be simply bread tutorials. I want you to know how to make sourdough, but I want to portray why I am so passionate about it, and the healing process that got me here. Never did I expect that I would deserve this life. One where I can stay at home and bake while a man who cares for me and loves me deeply, so much so he allows me the privileged opportunity to never call anyone boss ever again. A protected space where I get to make my own rules and dictate every one of my days how I see fit, and why that is so important when growing up in a life without autonomy or safety.
Do you know the healing power of bread? Of kneading the dough? Do you recognize that for a little girl from a broken home who one day wishes for children of her own, that each bread loaf is a dream? A practice for a morning when sleepy eyes awaken, socks shuffle across the hardwood floor, a stool pulled up in the kitchen, that I may be pulling warm rising bread from the oven to feed and warm their little souls. That I want to envelop my family with safety and security because I know what it feels like to go without it. How could you know unless I told you? That sourdough recipe holds so much more significance that way.
I hope my words move you, because I am determined to write so much more, if only for myself. Every time I put words to the things I always kept hidden, they lose their power over me. It’s incredibly freeing – like a huge release of weight from my shoulders.
Look for the next diary session soon.
Lauren
