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Posts Tagged ‘Facebook’

Wow, I have so much to post about!  Why does it seem when you have tons of things to say, you have no time to write anything down?  I’ve got some picture-heavy posts planned, but today it’s going to be just some thoughts that have been banging around in my head for a little while.

That makes it sound like these are large, deep thoughts that I need to share.  I don’t want you to get excited – the deepest thought I’ve had recently was, “How many times can I watch Toy Story again without going crazy?”  But this started from some feelings of…. shame? inadequacy? … I don’t know what to call it.  And it all started on…. Facebook.

Ah, Facebook.  The wonder of our age (wow – talk about a big statement, huh?).  I hopped on Facebook last spring when a friend from college was over and showed me how many of our friends from back in the day were on it.  Suddenly, I had access to see what people who I thought were long gone from my life were up to.  And they could catch up on me, too. 

I’ve changed a lot since I was younger.  I went from a proud, pretty liberal (and looking back on it, rather thin, too) young woman to… well, the conservative SAHM-obsessed-with-her-children-and-crafting that I am today.  Since I am now in a completely different state from where I grew up, went to college and even grad school, I honestly thought that my past was behind me and I would never have to face those insecurities or memories again.  And not in a bad way – I have nothing to regret about my past.  But I am a new creation in Christ, and who I was is nothing in comparison to the child of God I am today.

So, with my past having access to my present, I found myself editing my public profile on Facebook.  I wanted to truly represent myself as a believer, but I also had a lot of pride wrapped up in who I used to be.  I fully disclosed my education and employment history, so people could know that I made something of myself before I chose to stay at home.  I made no bones about the fact that I am a Christian and a SAHM with the best job in the world.  I also put links to my blogs and mentioned my interests in knitting and crafting. 

But as more and more of my past found me (and I found it, too), people started asking me what I was up to.  “I’m staying at home with the kids, and enjoying every minute of it.  That takes up all my time!” I would answer. 

That’s not the whole truth, though.  I do a lot of crafting in whatever spare time I can find – naptimes, after bedtime, movietime – and I often knit while sitting with my kids while they play.  But I never mentioned it when I was catching up with people.

And the world outside of Facebook has been no different.  While I have a wonderful group of friends, not all of them seem to understand my obsession with doing something with my hands.  A lot of them really do appreciate what I do, and they seem to admire my work, too.  But I know those that I can mention it around.  If I mention it around others, I do so sheepishly.  Even with family, I would love to be able to pull out some knitting while we’re just sitting around and talking.  But I don’t.

I want that to change.  What am I so afraid of?  I am proud of the crafts I do, and there are tons of others out there who do the same – and even do them for a living!  The Internet is full of us!  And I feel so at home out here on the Internet, surrounded by people who take pride in the crafts they make, and the crafty lifestyle they’ve made for themselves.

I’m sorry, my fellow crafters.  I have been under-representing us out there in my little corner of the world.  That’s changing today.  I will knit in public.  I will make more handcrafted cards.  If people don’t seem to appreciate my handmade gifts, I will still relish the process of making them, and I will continue to make them.  I will wear my creations proudly.  If someone says, “I thought knitting was only something grandmas did,” I will shove some needles in their hands and help them cast on.  I will share with my past, present, and future the crafts that help make me who I am.

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