I’ve been at one of those silly proverbial crossroads with my blog. It’s just a blog, right?! It shouldn’t, on occasion, be the bane of my existence. Yet, it is. More often than naught lately.

I’m not looking to make a fortune from my blog. I don’t think I have the kind of blog that does. It would be nice though, no?

All I care about is being able to write my stories, whether they be about my life or lives I make up, and be validated. And interact with my wonderful friends that still feel they want to come and hang out with me here and on Twitter.

This is the one place in the world that oozes of me. Only me. Not the me that is quantified by this person who is called mommy and wife. My voice. My words. My thoughts.

But I’ve been feeling like I’m working so hard with my blog and to no avail. No growth. Stagnating in every sense of the bloggy world word.

Until today.

I got an email from Jennifer, at Playgroups Are No Place For Children. She informed me that my post, When Every Little Bit Of Hope Is Gone, Move Along that I wrote for the Tide Loads Of Hope carnival at Blog Nosh was the first of three posts that were going to be featured on Blog Nosh.

A post that I wrote.

Featured?!

Me?

That post that was a part of my life. Real. It happened. It was a moment in time that defined me as the person I am today.

Strong. Determined. Brave.

It felt like I received a huge paycheck when I got that email from Jennifer. Because my life and my words were appreciated. They made sense. And they could give someone else who was about to embark on that same journey I made, all those years ago, hope. That things do work out for the best. You just have to be strong enough to take that deep breath, jump and have faith that there will be a net to catch you.

So, If you’ll excuse me. I won’t be shutting down my blog or making it private after all. I’ll try my hardest not to worry about how many people are reading me. I’ll try to ignore the stats and comment numbers. Because, as I’ve said way too many whiny times, it’s not the quantity. It’s the quality.

I have the best friends in the entire blogosphere.

I’m lucky. VERY lucky.

I have the best blog in the blogosphere. Because it’s mine.

And I’m being featured in Blog NoshMagazine. Which is such an incredible honor.

So, while I’m standing at this proverbial crossroad, with my chest puffed out in pride, I’ll take my chances. I’ll go continue on the road that I was on. One that is frustrating, discouraging, annoying, dramatic and all sorts of other adjectives. Because the rewards are rich in jewels such as you, my gems of friends and in high flying ego boosts like featured articles.

Because yes, it’s just a blog. But it’s all mine.

And right now, I’m just really, really proud.

Velveteen Mind suggested that I take a looksee at the carnival going on over at Blog Nosh. Perhaps I would find inspiration in the Tides Load Of Hope event that they have going on. Oh yeah, did I mention that I’m still kind of lacking in writing inspiration? Once again I tweeted looking for help. And the lovely Velveteen Mind kind of nudged me over in this direction. And wow. What a beautiful reason to blog. For HOPE. Especially when, during these trying times, there are so many who feel as if there is none. But there is! There always is!!

It was August 1999. I was a 30 year old mommy of two small children. I was the wife of one really screwed up little boy stuck in the body of a 33 year old man. Yet, I was no one. Just an empty shell.

Things looked pretty from the outside. Pretty house. Pretty cars. Pretty kids.

On the inside. It was ugly. I was dead and rotting. I felt lifeless and completely without any hope.

I was teetering on reaching maximum density. I was also precariously balancing my sanity. I was beyond misery and I didn’t want company. I wanted to stab my husband in his sleep. We couldn’t have that though. Because who would raise the kids if the dad was dead and the mom was in jail? The system? Hell to the no. I hated him though. With every fiber of my being.

It was bad. Not in a violent sense. There was just nothing worth saving there. But I wasn’t ready to jump off that high dive.

Until, one afternoon in early August. I snapped awake from a short nap. He was the first thing I saw. I looked at him, sweating on the exercise bike that was in our huge bedroom. And I knew it was finally over. Whatever guilt that had been holding me captive in that house, it had lifted. My fears and my conscience screamed that I was free to go.

And I did.

I grabbed clothes and toys. Enough to keep my 1 1/2 year old and 3 1/2 year old dressed and busy for the next couple of days until I could come back to the house when he wasn’t there. I grabbed some essentials for myself. Loaded the stuff into laundry baskets and placed them in the trunk of my car.

As I was strapping the kids into their car-seats, I explained to them that we were about to go on an adventure. Then I turned to my husband and told him that I was leaving. He stood there. Clueless. Not sure in what context I was using the word “leaving” in.

I climbed into my car and I backed out of that driveway.

I swallowed down my anxiety and directed my focus ahead.

I put my car into drive and moved forward. Taking with me, not only my children and my stuff. But a sense of hope. Something that I hadn’t felt in a long time but was so relieved to know it was still there.

With a head full of anticipation and a heart FULL of hope, I popped in a CD and played my favorite song of the moment, Beautiful by TLC, I told my babies that everything was going to be just fine. I knew it would be. I finally felt it from deep within me. It had been there. Waiting. All along.

And we drove off towards it.