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Why I write

I've always wondered about those of you who read this blog.. assuming the number of views my posts have raked up since this blog was published does not amount to bots, haha. If there's no response to gauge the so-called worth of this blog, then why the hell am I still writing?

First off, the "shocker": whether you like it or not, many of the experiences we go through as a mother tend to make us feel we are so isolated from other moms out there. The support we receive from mommy friends is important, and I'm forever thankful to each and every one who has been within reach for me when everything seems to be falling apart. I'm not kidding when I say that ScaryMommy is the only social media platform that I can relate to up till now. The sarcasm, the misadventures in motherhood... haha. Seriously though, as a full-time working mother, where caregiving for working moms falls at the merciful hands of daycare centers and/or unpaid caregivers in the form of in laws and parents, I find that most of my support centers around friends and relatives who are either first time moms, or those are experiencing the endless tug-of-war between being a caregiver and a civil servant. And no doubt, moms who are anchor/lead parents at home have it different. Wherever you are on the mom spectrum, every woman's story may be like no other... but that does not make them any less deserving to be heard or told.

Second, there is something comforting and therapeutic with writing. I don't know if it had to do with the fact that I kept a journal and a long-gone blog as a single woman then, and an adolescent with a lot of angst and pent-up feelings (LOL), or the fact that now as a mother, your words and actions carry a lot more weight, especially towards those who are directly affected by your actions and decisions. For some odd reason, mothers are always judged for the things they say and do. Or don't in some. I know for a fact that I can never verbalize my thoughts in person without being judged after, or without facing some sort of consequence that will drench me in utmost regret (although I have to admit, regret is hardly in my dictionary). Mothers, whether or not you have help and support in some form, you have to agree with me that there's always bound to be at least one person whose disapproval means the death-knell of that competent mother persona. And with us being in Brunei, most of the time you just have to be dishonestly polite, swallow your pride, nod and say yes to whatever, even if in your head that person might have rightfully earned themselves an earful from you if not a slap. Don't lie-- I sense some of you are smiling sheepishly after reading this.

Guilty as charged.

I believe every mother channels their inner Mama Bear  every day. That ursine creature who prioritizes, provides and protects their cubs in any way they can. The Bear Writes emerged from that very same essence, of course with my own take of Mama Bear trying to make sense of her experiences as a woman (daughter, sister, friend, mother), realizing that those low moments where you feel like you are not (doing) enough for your child(ren), that lingering mom guilt, that sense of defeat and shirking responsibilities becomes an easy way out...  all of these emotions and experiences are by all means normal, and moms should never be shamed for feeling that way.

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As I'm writing this, my trooper of little bear is sound asleep, fighting his fever on the day he's supposed to start at a new daycare center. Oh my... This one is yet another story to tell.

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