As a teenager I was an avid diary writer. After all, no-one could possibly understand the soul-searching and angst I was going through, so where else to pour out my heart? Coming from a stable, loving family, attending the local comprehensive, dating a boy I met at a church youth group; my life was far from dramatic or exciting, but in my head, and in my diary, Catherine Earnshaw, Scarlett O’Hara, Maggie Tulliver experienced nothing compared to my turbulent emotional life. At eighteen I went to university, met my husband-to-be, and haven’t written a single diary entry since. For the past thirteen years I have been too busy living my life to write about it, and although life has had more genuine drama at times, talking to my husband has always been more therapeutic than writing.
So why the change now? Well, it’s not that I’m no longer speaking to my husband. And any potential readers will be relieved to hear that I’m not intending this blog to be a vehicle soul-searching.
At this stage in my life I want to write about the little things in life rather than the big ones – the cakes I bake, the funny little things my daughter says, the places I visit. It’s an attempt to record the days that otherwise slip by like beads off a string and, as a stay-at-home mum, to connect me a little more to the outside world.