Gina and I were 15. We were 15, and curious, and creative, and clueless. Everyone had fan-sites, or sites about something. We wanted a site, too. A site about ourselves. To most that sounds a little self-absorbed, something “typical” of a millennial, but to us as two teenagers with limited freedom outside the realms of taking our asses to school, it sounded like the perfect past time. A virtual escape. So we did it. The site wasn’t fancy. In fact it, it wasn’t even a full site. It was puke green, adorned with B2K images as its header, but the content? The content was the inner workings of a teenagers impressionable mind. Every week we logged into greymatter, placed are mishaps in the rich text field, thanked people for commenting and reading, posted our posts, and then hit refresh every hour to see how many views we had received.
It was silly. It was very high-school. But it had to happen, because at age fifteen, lonely in my bedroom, I had discovered that there was life in a keyboard. At age 15, this was simply just an out. But now at age 27, 12 years in and 7 different domain names, it’s borderline my part-time job. It keeps me sane. It gives me clarity. It’s given me friendships and opportunities. And as scary as it is to say, it’s given me a purpose.
This post won’t continue as a trip down memory lane. I won’t share with you guys each hideous blog name I’ve chosen in my past. I won’t explain why I transitioned from anonymous bitching to penning personal pieces with my name signed below. I’m not going to quote the terrible things that were said to me in anonymous comments, or nor will I share the details of my fear of these words one day coming back to haunt. No. This post will not be fireworks, or hoorays, or “yay, I’ve made it this far.”
It will simply be a statement of what this journey has been to me. You ready?
Personal blogging is pure utter madness. Madness executed out of fear. It’s fun but it’s not. It’s painful but rewarding. Tiring but exciting. It’s therapy at my fingertips. Power in the sharpness of my tongue. It’s my heart on my sleeve, and my mind on fucking display. It’s not for portraying perfectionism, but more like showing the world that I can come undone and still conquer life with grace. It’s not for saving face in moments of messiness and pain, but more so revealing the truth and beauty in tear stained cheeks and smudged mascara. Storytelling is writing with purpose and intention, and it takes a very brave soul to do it. Or someone that is scared shitless. I was the latter. 12 years in, 7 different domain names, and a blog that screams my unapologetic truth, I am still the latter. The only difference is now I understand that I can help control the world’s narrative of women, black women, black people, mental health, and so much more, all because of that one day when I was lonely and just so happened to discover that there is life in my words, life in my stories, and life in a keyboard.
Happy Blogaversary to YettiSays.com. Thank you all for rocking with me.