I’ve been seriously slacking in the blogging department lately, and it seems my absence hasn’t gone unnoticed (and I want to thank you all, for checking up on me and making sure I haven’t drowned in the bayou. I appreciate it!). I could say I’ve been busy over the holidays, which would be true, but it wouldn’t be the whole story. The whole story requires a bit of background information.
Let me start by saying that I grew up in a very buttoned up household. We went to church as a family every single Sunday. We prayed before every meal. I was expected to apply myself in school, had a very strict curfew and wasn’t allowed to date in high school. Sex wasn’t something we talked about, and my parents even dragged me out of sex-ed because I wouldn’t have sex before I was married anyway and wouldn’t have to bother with silly things like birth control on my wedding night. Which, of course, would all happen after I got my law degree from Yale.
Even though I respect their beliefs, I knew early on that I didn’t agree with them. Yet, by the time sex was somewhat of an option for me, my brain was so screwed up about the whole thing that it literary put my body on lockdown. I was ‘blessed’ with vaginismus (the link will take you to a Wikipedia page about it, if you don’t know what it is. I could explain it myself, but that would be a blog post all on its own).
After years of trying to wish it away and trying to ‘power through’ (horrible, horrible plan) I finally started to see a sex therapist. She gave me homework that made me blush and stutter, and encouraged me to start journaling. And I did. I filled page after page with failed attempts, semi-successful attempts and, finally, successful attempts. Even after I was finished with therapy, I kept at it. Always written from the perspective of an outsider looking in, still distancing myself from it, until one day I stopped writing on paper and booted up a blog instead.
For months, I blogged about my relationship, love, struggles, my friends, school and yes – sex. Or, in short, I blogged about my life. ALL aspects of my life. Not only that, but I started talking to other people who blog about somewhat more ‘mature’ subjects, liked them, befriended them. And after years of struggle, I came to terms with being who I am. This girl with all these different aspects of life integrated into one breathing being. And having this blog meant that I could talk about whatever I wanted, when I wanted to.
… And then I got pregnant. Which was this life altering thing that I couldn’t even wrap my head around at the time. Something that caused many panic attacks, tears, laughter. Of course I wanted to write about it. And without thinking, I split of a blog just for that and Catching Rhye was ‘born’.
Now, here’s the problem- I split it off. Like I’m two different people; a 24-year-old who blogs about nothing and everything and all the things in between, and a mother who talks about clothes and kids.
I don’t want to do that anymore, blog like I am split down the middle. And I like to think we live in a world where I don’t have to. I do realize that not everyone can get on board with that, and that’s okay too. I’m willing to lose a few readers if that means I can go back to… non-split-blogging, if you will.
So, if you’re interested, you can hop over to Seven Seas of Rhye. The language might be a bit more crude sometimes, and again, I do talk about sex on occasion or mention it in passing (should I have given you the impression that I write a sex blog, I really, really don’t) but at least I can stand behind it and say ‘Here, this is all of me, and I mean what I say.’
As for this place… I’m leaving it up for now, but I won’t be around. All of you who decide to stay behind – best of luck to you, and thank you for reading. And to all of you who are willing to follow me along…
Catch you on the flip side ❤
Catching Rhye 