Today is my ninth anniversary of blogging.
During 2013, I enjoyed spending time reading past blog posts and observing my psychological progress. Indeed it is almost a decade since I have been exploring how I feel and understanding what has made me who I am now. At times I have been very open with my psychological process. It felt good to share my ramblings and reflections.
Sometimes I think, "What a waste! I could have written three memoirs instead of eight years of blog posts!" But my blog importantly feels like a safe haven – a home to experiment and explore – more public than a private journal, and yet still within my control enough for me to delete or expose as I want.
It is almost 11 years since the publication of my first book. While I was visiting my family in Israel last week, to my surprise I came across a copy of that book, which I had sent as a gift to my mother back in 2003. It was sitting on a shelf in my sister's house. I had inscribed a loving message to her in the front of the book. When I opened it, a card that I had written to my mother at the time fell out onto the floor. It read:
"August 27, 2003
I could not have written this book without the care and education I received from you! You have taught me so much about so many things and your strength and courage throughout everything has been a phenomenal model for me.
This book is about my perceptions of my life – not about your realities. You have contributed to my honesty and professional strength in enormous ways.
I am forever grateful.
And I love you,
I wondered sadly how my gift to my mother had landed up on a shelf in my sister's house, and took it with me back to America, as a memento of my relationship with my mother. This morning, I realize that writing that book started me on a journey of authentic self identification and acknowledgement about who I am. My second book was written about a different subject, but still was in a similar context, written as an extension of what I began in 2003. Both serve as a type of personal memoir, even though they were written professionally for teachers of young children. My card to my mother, written with love and sincerity did not help! And, even though I was shamed, shunned and punished by family members for writing down my story as a model of internal ethnography for teachers, I did not give up self- exploration through this blog during the past nine years.
I am particularly grateful to all those who have stopped by, with good will, to read my stories, and especially to those who have been supportive and encouraging over the years. For it has been quite a painful journey at times. Writing for others to read, helped me believe how I feel, and gave me a voice, which was denied me growing up. More than that, it reinforces the importance of the work that I do with teachers to develop supportive and caring relationships with children, and helps me in my continued advocacy for children who are emotionally abused.
A year ago at Mining Nuggets: At the top of the 8th