In the winter of 2013, I stopped blogging.
It would be easier to say I'm not sure why, but I do know: looking ahead to a gruelling regime of electro-convulsive therapy followed by five years of university research and teaching, my desire to write — or, at least, to keep writing in the same way I had been — dissipated quite abruptly. I wanted to be my raw, imperfect self and to write about what seemed real and important to me, not try to fit the mould of the blancmange wannabe blogger persona my friends, acquaintances and other readers might have come to expect.
For a long time, I didn’t have the guts or the momentum to pursue such a project. But having been an avid blogger since high school (who remembers the LiveJournal era?), I started to feel the absence of an online writing project acutely.
It left a blog-shaped hole in my heart and life.
So, here I am again, ready to write something, with no particular agenda except to post when I can about whatever I like — the daggy stuff that doesn’t really belong on social media (but what does?), the stuff I’m often too timid to explore and share in other ways. Chronic illness. Friendship. Work. Worry. Words of wisdom. Climate change. Perplexing adult acne. What I ate for lunch.
‘Ladyberg’ is a play on words, a fusion of my real/full name (which I won’t be using here) with the idea of something large and craggy and altogether more ungainly drifting just below the surface.