I wrote an essay recently that I shared with my writing group, noting that it was one “for the vault.” One of the other members came up with that phrase a few years back to refer to essays we wanted to craft and share and maybe revise and improve—an essay, in other words, not a letter or journal entry—but wouldn’t be sending out into the world for the foreseeable future, if ever.
I wrote a blog post, sometimes twice daily, for years and years and years. A community of writers and parents and disability advocates and caregivers grew up and around me, and I became friends in real life with at least a dozen, probably more, of them. My children's exploits and pictures are there, still, and I don't know really how I feel about all of it. I've debated with fellow writers who also have disabled children (now adults) about what to write, how to write, how to be a voice for the voiceless and remain true to one's own voice, how to tell a story for oneself and also that of the voiceless. It's nearly impossible to figure out. I feel old when I read your knowledge of this world. I feel old and perhaps oblivious and careless (not the good kind of "careless." The whole thing is exhausting.
My advice is to err on the side of writing more about your kids rather than less, and on the side of taking more pictures rather than fewer. Sharing with people other than your future self -- no, that's not as generally called for.
I wrote a blog post, sometimes twice daily, for years and years and years. A community of writers and parents and disability advocates and caregivers grew up and around me, and I became friends in real life with at least a dozen, probably more, of them. My children's exploits and pictures are there, still, and I don't know really how I feel about all of it. I've debated with fellow writers who also have disabled children (now adults) about what to write, how to write, how to be a voice for the voiceless and remain true to one's own voice, how to tell a story for oneself and also that of the voiceless. It's nearly impossible to figure out. I feel old when I read your knowledge of this world. I feel old and perhaps oblivious and careless (not the good kind of "careless." The whole thing is exhausting.
Along those lines , there’s this https://news.ycombinator.com/item?id=27634920
What a great essay!
My advice is to err on the side of writing more about your kids rather than less, and on the side of taking more pictures rather than fewer. Sharing with people other than your future self -- no, that's not as generally called for.