Are You Treating Yourself Like the Other Woman?

Why did you begin?

Why did you start your blog?

Why did you write the first line of what you hope will be your first book?

Why did you send out that first pitch to write for your favorite magazine?

All the gurus say we should "Start with why" so I'm doing just that and challenging you to do the same.

I started this blog almost five years because I needed my own little piece of cyberspace. I needed a virtual "room of my own." At the time I was blogging for my job and blogging with my husband and I needed a space entirely my own where I could be free, where I could be myself and where I could write myself back together again when needed.

I have returned to this blog this week for that same reason. I am broken. And the blog I maintain for my business is doing absolutely nothing about it.

So I'm back. For now at least.

I can't promise I will stay. I can't declare I'll now blog here five or even three days a week.

I am hopelessly unfaithful to myself.


But while I am here, I will talk about why.

Why have I yet to work on any of the book ideas I've been carrying around in my heart for years?

Why have I yet to send pitches to the national publications and top-notch websites I dream of writing for one day.

Why? Because I am hopelessly unfaithful to myself.

I treat myself like the other woman, like a side piece, like that chick you call only when you're looking to have a good time or when you need your ego massaged.

I know how much fun I can be.

I am New Year's Eve parties that last until 5 a.m.

I am Beyonce concerts.

I am superhero movies.

I am brunch and bubbly wine.

Sometimes I am even the blog post so good, you just have to share it with your Facebook friends.

But I am never the main chick. I am never my own #1 girl.

After the drinking or dancing is over, after "Self-Care Saturday" has come to a close, I tell myself I have to go. I promise I will call tomorrow even though I know I won't, even though I know I won't be back until I once again need to fall apart in my own arms, until I need my words to write me whole.

How can a woman with such a great marriage, a woman with such a great relationship with the man in her life, be willing to put up with such a dysfunctional relationship with herself?

So now what? I can't just leave things like this. I have a code: I never blog about a personal problem until I have a solution. "Your blog is not your therapist," I tell myself and others all the time.

But I have no solution. My metaphor has failed me. If I had a friend who was the side chick or the other woman I'd tell her to "Quit that fool!"

But you can't quit yourself.

Perhaps I will begin by just breathing and following the words of Sylvia Plath:

"I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart -- I am. I am I am."