Bye Bye Crib, Hello Panic

Posted on March 15, 2014 by Lorne Jaffe

Another morning of awakening to hear Sienna chattering away in her bedroom, singing The Smurfs theme song (“So murf yur elf a griiiiiiiin!”). Sienna doesn’t cry for food when she wakes up. She can lie in her crib covering herself with stuffed monkeys and bears and Count von Count and whatever other character she chose to comfort her the night before, jabbering away while I hit the snooze button. I’m lucky that way, I guess. She can be demanding at times, but her imagination and enjoyment of singing allows me a little extra sleep each morning. So it was this morning. Sienna singing, speaking a mix of English and Toddler, me snoozing away. Everything was the same until I opened Sienna’s door to a sight that stopped me in my tracks leaving me so stunned I might as well have had cartoon birds circling my head. There was only one thing to do. Grab the camera.

How long was she hanging on like this before I entered the room? Five minutes? Ten? An hour? Elaine mentioned a couple of days before that Sienna had gotten out of her crib, but it was just the one time and I kind of put it away. But now everything changed. Seeing Spider-Girl clinging to the outside of her crib hit me with a dose of RED ALERT!

I pulled Sienna down, changed, fed and played with her and did all the fun Daddy-daughter stuff we do on a daily basis, but at the same time I worriedly texted Elaine who wrote it was time for the crib to morph into a bed which she took care of once we got home. But it wasn’t just the crib that had to change as we had to remove anything Sienna could climb. Bye bye changing table. As Sienna jumped on her new bed, we quickly stuffed diapers, Desitin, washcloths, etc., into the closet.By the time we’d finished rearranging her room it was almost 9:30. We didn’t yet have a railing, so we threw a large body pillow on the floor in case Sienna rolled off during the night.

“No more crib,” we explained as Sienna jumped on her new bed.

“Crib!” she responded gleefully.

“No Sienna,” Elaine said. “You’re not a baby anymore. You’re a big girl. Now you have a bed like Mommy and Daddy.” I’m not sure how Elaine felt about those words, but to be honest, they didn’t bother me. I enjoy Sienna not being a baby. I love this interactive phase – the singing and playing, the “Toddlerish” speak. This is the phase I don’t want to end.

“Bed!” yelled Sienna.

“That’s right!” I said. “Bed!”

Then Elaine put Sienna down for the night and we went headed to our bedroom. I started reading a biography of Jim Henson, but around 11:30 I heard Sienna whimpering and then crying and then screaming. I put down the book and found her walking in circles in the dark, her blanket in one hand, tears leaking from her eyes. Instantly I felt the sickening dread I felt when our cat Zeeb went blind overnight because cancer had spread to his brain – the poor thing yowled in shock and fear when he he tried to jump up on our bed only to leap in the opposite direction. Once more I found a creature lost in the darkness, confused, trying to navigate this massive disruption in her world. Anxiety coursed through my body, but I picked up my daughter, sat in a rocking chair and explained what it meant to have a bed. I rocked and hummed and eventually Sienna fell asleep in my arms and I placed her back in her bed. No further problems.

The next morning I walked in to find the room a mess: stuffed animals and laundry strewn everywhere. I sighed knowing this would be a new part of our routine, but it was ok. Not a big deal. I took Sienna to the local Y for playtime which she loved. Because of my slight agoraphobia and my fear of being judged for being a stay-at-home dad, I don’t take my daughter out enough meaning she doesn’t get enough socialization. But this day I overcame my anxiety and let her play with a bunch of kids, throwing balls around, climbing an indoor castle complete with a slide, letting her mouth gape open and her arms flail excitedly as a machine sprayed her with bubbles. We then did some food shopping, came home and had lunch meaning it was nap time. And this is when things went awry.

Sienna wouldn’t nap. I had no trouble with her talking to herself, but every time a loud BANG blasted over the baby monitor I rushed in to see if she was safe. At one point I discovered she’d climbed onto the dresser and panic crashed through my chest.

SHE’S NEVER GOING TO NAP AGAIN! HOW AM I GOING TO HAVE TIME TO DO ANYTHING FOR MYSELF NOW? HOW WILL I BLOG? WHEN WILL I BLOG? I’LL NEVER BLOG AGAIN! THERE’S NO TIME! THERE’S NO TIME TO READ! THERE’S NO TIME TO CATCH UP ON FACEBOOK! THERE’S NO TIME TO READ EVERYONE ELSE’S BLOGS AND COMMENT! ALL THE PEOPLE I MET IN NEW ORLEANS…ALL MY FELLOW DAD BLOGGERS WILL ABANDON ME BECAUSE I DON’T HAVE TIME TO READ THEIR STUFF IF SIENNA DOESN’T NAP! I’M ALREADY WAY BEHIND! I WANT TO WATCH TRUE DETECTIVE AND HOUSE OF CARDS AND KEEP UP WITH WHAT’S GOING ON CULTURE-WISE, BUT NOW I’LL NEVER HAVE TIME AGAIN! NEVER AGAIN! THERE’S…NO…MORE….TIME!!!

My head swirled. My heart pounded. My chest might as well have been a block of cement.

I called my mom, stuttering that I was on the verge of a panic attack. She came over right away and took care of Sienna while I lay down. Once the physical manifestations begin, it’s so hard to get out of an anxiety attack. Once the rational part of your brain is reduced to a whisper, you’re lost. There’s only one way out for me. Sleep. It’s the only way to clear my head. My mom gave Sienna dinner. Then my dad arrived and took over until Elaine came home from work. I slept because I couldn’t face my daughter. I couldn’t let her see me like this.

Elaine put Sienna to bed and we talked. She told me how I go crazy each time Sienna transitions, but then I find a balance and routine. I stubbornly argued that this time there would be no balance because of time…ever since the Dad 2.0 conference I’ve felt perpetually behind and now the loss of those precious few hours when Sienna napped? I’d never catch up. Never.

“Just because Sienna didn’t nap today doesn’t mean she’ll never nap again,” Elaine assured me, but I refused to listen. It was over. I would forever be behind. I’d never blog again. I’d just found this community in which I felt somewhat accepted and now, just like I’d experienced so often before, they’d abandon me.

So I created a desperate thread begging my fellow dad bloggers for advice, espousing my fears of desertion, asking how they do it. How do they juggle their time so that they can blog and read other blogs and do things for themselves all while taking care of their child(ren)? Because I have no idea how to do it. I’m as lost when it comes to time management as I am when it comes to calculus, and what kills me even more is that I need to solve this NOW because I’m a perfectionist. I received a lot of helpful responses and below are some examples.

Aaron Gouveia of The Daddy Files: The trick (and I don’t know how to get you to this point personally) is to realize you’ll always be running at a deficit and be OK with it. You and your contributions are always welcome here and the support isn’t going anywhere. Even if you need a week or two away from us. Prioritize on a continuous basis, do what you have to do, and try not to feel guilty about what you’re not doing. Easier said than done, I know. But you’re a conscientious guy and as long as you keep making sure the important things are being taken care of, you’ll be OK.

James Austin of Luke, I Am Your Father: I hear so many guys here apologize for ‘not contributing enough’ or ‘being gone a week.’ Every time. EVERY time, my reaction is ‘I didn’t even realize you were gone.’ I suspect most of the guys would agree. You don’t have to be here all the time to maintain a noticeable presence. Don’t try to give more than you can. We will all be here the next time you want to check in.

Lee Bodenmiller of Souvenirs of Fatherhood: What I have learned is that achieving perfect balance is a myth. I might even call it a destructive lie. There is no such thing as a single perfect state of time management. Responsibilities shift. Expectations change from different people in your life. New demands pop up while old ones become satisfied or unimportant. The key is to constantly be shifting the fulcrum in your life to what is most pressing and urgent.

Neal Call of Raised By My Daughter: I’m poised to step back a bit, because [blogging is] a seriously deep pit that sucks and sucks at you, and I have a hard time wrapping my mind around all of it. Facebook, particularly, sucks time away. And, even though I’ve had my little successes over the last year or so, it’s pretty clear to me that blogging will probably not be a direct income source. Perhaps it will be a platform for other projects . . . a lot of the guys who are prolific here have older kids or have their younger kids in daycare/pre-school. With a needy kid at home almost all day (which I totally get), I’ve just had to get comfortable with the idea that a lot of my projects are going to have to wait until my daughter is in school.

Scott Behson of Fathers, Work, and Family: Rule#1 for me is you can’t take care of others if you don’t take care of yourself- just like the airplane thing- put your oxygen mask on first before helping with others’. At this point (I say this as a PhD is psychology, but without really knowing your situation), I think you need to prioritize yourself and work on coping with your anxiety- your therapist and family are best positioned to help. Don’t worry about us. We’ll be here whenever you need us.

Eric B of Dad On The Run: I also enjoy reading and watching TV and never have enough time to do all I want, and sometimes not enough time to get what I need done. Prioritization is key. You have to decide how much time you can devote to these areas of your life and stick with it. I don’t know any better way of saying it. Don’t worry about the group abandoning you or wondering why you haven’t read something or commented on something, that’s just self-imposed pressure…I chime in when I can and where I want to. I read what I see and what interests me and comment, provide blogging feedback where and when I have the time. We all understand that there is not enough time. When I post something and it gets little or no response then I figure guys have other more important things to do and I get that. Work on that understanding, it’s a river. We dip our feet in when we can, we wave at passing boats when we’re in it and we handle life when we’re not. I’ve found life in general to become more and more overwhelming as I’ve aged so I’m trying to be careful to be sure my social media presence is helping me deal with that instead of exacerbating the problem.

I’m so thankful. So thankful. Because I feel less alone. Because they get it. They get me. They get that I feel like I’m drowning in social media, that I’m so scared of not being able to top my Dad 2.0 reading; that I feel this ridiculous obligation to each and every person who stood up and clapped and complimented me in the Marriott hallway; that I’m terrified the dad blogger community will cast me off just because I don’t have time to comment on or share one of their blog or write something witty or emotional myself.

Unlike the people in my past, these dad bloggers understand me. Even if they don’t suffer depression and anxiety, we have shared experiences in child rearing. We’re all trying to figure out how to manage time for ourselves while our children grow and change on a daily basis. Routine is an illusion when it comes to raising children and if you get sucked into one, you’re going to be shocked when it changes in a split second. If I don’t remember that in my bones I’ll continue to suffer panic attacks each time Sienna transitions. I can’t let that happen. I have to grow and stop letting my anxiety get the best of me. I have to step back from Facebook and stop feeling guilty if I don’t comment on something. I have to stop feeling discomposed if I don’t get a hundred comments and “likes” on a blog post. And I have to stop comparing myself to those who are so prolific in the blogging community because the reality is many of them have jobs in addition to fatherhood that allow them to interact with social media throughout the day; others are former or current journalists and have an easier time writing and know the tricks of the trade; and some have older or younger kids that require less attention. None of them will hate me if I I miss a blog here or there or don’t hit a “like” button.

If I felt I’d found my tribe at Dad 2.0, after this most recent panic attack and my plea to the dad blogger community, I know I have.

As for time management, I’ll figure something out. Maybe my mom will take Sienna for a few hours a couple of times a week. Maybe Elaine will give me some time away on weekends. Maybe I’ll cut back on sleep. Maybe I’ll have to miss a program here or there. As Elaine says, I’m not Superman. Hell, I doubt even Superman could handle all the things I want to do as well as raise a little girl about to turn 2 who now sleeps in a bed instead of a crib, but I know he wouldn’t feel guilty and anxious about it. It’s time I don’t either.

Speaking At Dad 2.0 Challenges My Defenses

Posted on February 13, 2014 by Lorne Jaffe

Pity

The word careened through my flabbergasted brain because it was the only one that made sense.

Pity

I remained at the podium staring into a fog of bodies united in a standing ovation, a cacophony of applause stinging my ears.

My defenses screeched and shook. Pity. It had to be pity.

I recalled someone telling me before I read from my blog to focus on him if I got lost or scared. Now I couldn’t remember who told me that and it didn’t matter anyway because I couldn’t see any faces.

At some point the room quieted, the audience took their seats and I left the stage. My body trembled. Slowly tears began to fall. Someone asked me if I needed help, if I needed to leave the room for a bit. I nodded and was led down a hall framed by companies sponsoring Dad 2.0 and into a room. Jason Greene, Kevin McKeever and Chris Read were with me speaking words of praise and comfort, but by the time my sister-in-law arrived and gave me an enormous hug, the tears were no longer silent. I cried loudly. I sobbed in shame and fear and anxiety and relief. Jason and Kevin kept telling me how proud they were. Chris told me the story of his own reading the previous year, how he was so wrecked afterwards that he had to return to his room to recuperate. Either Jason or Kevin or maybe both told me I was the star of Dad 2.0 2014, that I would be thing most remembered about the conference.

No one pitied me, they said. Rather the room coalesced in genuine awe at my bravery and my raw, powerful words. My mind screamed at them to SHUT UP!!!!!! JUST SHUT UP!!!!! My mouth kept returning to the pity thing, the disbelief thing, the distrust thing. It’s not real. It can’t be real.

Chris (I think it was Chris) told me to get ready to hear a ton of compliments, but even so I had no idea what I was in for. There was no way for me to prepare because this would be an experience so foreign to me that my usual coping mechanisms of self-deprecation, sarcasm and deflection (something the great Whit Honea told me he shared with me) could never work. As person after person after person (men and women both) congratulated and praised me, called me brilliant, courageous, a hero, I felt like I was stuck inside a hornet’s nest getting repeatedly stung from every direction because the fact is I, and my lifelong, irrational, negative defenses had NEVER received such validation; I didn’t know how to deal with it. I called Elaine and left some unintelligible message. I called one of my best friends who finally helped me calm down. All the while my sister-in-law and brother-in-law stuck close by.

People who I knew only via the web, people like Carter Gaddis, Aaron Gouveia, John Kinnear, Oren Miller told me to just relax and accept it, but how could I yield to something I didn’t trust? Each time someone came up to me, I stammered a thank you. Often I stared in confusion which I can only hope didn’t make them think I was insane. Lance Somerfield, co-founder of the NYC Dads Group, and a man I so, so wanted to please, told me how proud he was, told me I was a special part of this community of dads.

When I asked a question at a panel titled “Parenting it Forward: Compensating for Our Own Flawed Fathers” given by Charlie Capen, Ryan Hamilton, Eduardo Vega and moderated by Caleb Gardner, the first words spoken to me were about my reading and then room burst into applause. WHAT THE HELL????

When I went out to dinner with some of the guys, I learned that another table was talking about me and my reading. Again…WHAT THE HELL????

And as my defenses kept scrambling to regain finger- and footholds, a fellow dad (I’m not sure if he wants me to name him), came up and said he was so nervous about talking to me, but he wanted to because he felt like I “got it” more than anyone else at the conference; how he’d planned to leave until he heard me speak; how he too suffered from mental illness and it concerned him in his role as a father; how if I was brave enough to get on that stage, he should be strong enough to talk to me. We spoke for a long while acknowledging our similarities. We hugged. I teared up. I felt I had touched someone who truly understood.

As the conference continued, I somehow was able to compartmentalize the terror and unworthiness I felt and began to feel a camaraderie I’d never before experienced. Despite my anxiety, I felt a little at peace. I felt like I belonged. And that’s something else I didn’t know what to do with because I’d always believed myself to be the outcast.

I refused to look at Facebook for 5 days because I couldn’t bear any discussion about me. I’ve slowly gotten back into it, but I feel like I’m drowning. I feel like I’m obligated to “like” every single thing, to read and comment on every single blog written by my new friends because I owe them lest they abandon me. In the near two weeks since I gave my reading, I’ve been inundated with friend requests, instant messages, e-mails, blogs written about me, quotes about me, tweets about me (I joined Twitter right before the conference and have no clue what I’m doing). And I’m having so much trouble. My therapist, Elaine, my parents, my sister, my friends, my family, all told me how proud they are, how I deserve every little bit of praise I’m receiving. Fellow dad bloggers have written that I don’t owe anybody anything except to keep being myself, but that can’t be true, can it? Because my frigging defenses keep screaming that I deserve none of this! Nothing makes any sense anymore! And yet, in a haze I bought a ticket for Dad 2.0 2015 because I so want to see everyone and feel that esprit de corps.

And two days ago, one day after my 40th birthday, it was my voice screaming those phrases as I had the worst panic attack I’ve had in years. It began in front of Sienna and my mother-in-law (who speaks very little English). The trembling, the tears. The facial twitching. The stuttering. I texted my mom who came running. I used a translator to explain to my mother-in-law I was having a panic attack. I held on until my mom arrived. She took me to the bedroom where I fell into hysterics, repeating how I didn’t understand anything and didn’t deserve all of this ridiculous recognition and how I could never ever ever live up to this. I thrashed and cried and moaned through a session with my therapist, begging for Elaine to come home, my therapist telling me this is where I go, that my defenses are now fragile because of the influx of validation, they’re struggling to keep hold while a new me is fighting to be born. My mom stroked my head. My therapist told her to give me a diazepam to help calm me down and I fell into a bitter sleep with the words, “Help help help” leaving my lips.

I don’t remember when I woke up, but I was shaky. So shaky. Sienna was still awake, but it scared me to go near her because I didn’t want HER to be frightened of me. My mom stayed and took care of my daughter. I returned to the bedroom. When Elaine came home she held me tight. She explained that I finally got what I craved (approval, affirmation, acceptance), but because I was emotionally stunted, I didn’t know how to traverse these new, wild waters. She said that half of me wants it all to go away, but the other half is thrilled, a huge dichotomy, like I’m now playing the role of Two-Face in the Batman comics, but I’m only villainous to myself. She said that when I had my most recent nervous breakdown, it was like an angry 6 year old took over and right now I’m an adolescent looking at this new tribe in black and white: popularity or abandonment. And thus the desperate, nonsensical belief that if I don’t “like,” read, and comment on everything, they’ll all go away. I also needed to learn how to manage my time, to stop looking at things like a mountain and instead concentrate on one thing a day (Kevin McKeever had written me the same advice). I still don’t know how to do that, but I felt warm in my wife’s arms. Loved. I listened.

And yet I woke up jittery and Sienna throwing tantrums, being a normal toddler, made things worse. My mom had to take her for the day and then for the night. I needed time to recover from this last panic attack, one of the worst in my history. I needed to sleep. A lot. I needed to veg. I needed to THINK and think clearly. I woke up today knowing I was going to write, feeling the little sparks emanating from my fingertips. Is this blog too long? Is it exactly what I wanted to say? Does it matter? I’m trying not to let the latter question stop me.

All I know is that I found my people and I’m putting myself out there. I’m going to do everything I can to trust them and to hell with my defenses. It’s going to be a slow process as I try to accept all of these accolades and let them grow within me until they eventually destroy (or at least overtake) the defenses I’ve built up over 40 years. I won’t be able to respond to people immediately. I won’t be able to keep up with every conversation or read every blog and tweet, especially since my daughter comes first. But I’m part of a community now. An important, loving, caring community. I’ve never had that before, so bear with me.

I humbly thank everyone who came up to me, wrote to me, tweeted about me, friended me, wrote about me, believed in and continues to believe in me. I especially thank Doug French and John Pacini for inviting me and allowing my sister- and brother-in-law to be there in New Orleans (I had no idea I’d need them as much as I did) and I thank my sister- and brother-in-law for being so kind and loving and supportive. Thank you to my friends and family for your encouraging e-mails. Thank my parents for giving me this time to heal and for being so proud. Thank you to my therapist for all your help (don’t worry, your job’s far from over). Thank you to Elaine for your love, compassion, words, hugs, kisses and for giving birth to our incredible daughter, Sienna.

But most of all, thank you to myself for going to Dad 2.0, for getting up on that stage and bearing my heart and soul in front of 200+ people, and for beginning what could become one of the most significant journeys of my life.

I still have more to write about my Dad 2.0 experience, but I can’t say when it will happen. It’s enough for now that I got this out.

Regardless, I can’t wait to see my people again at Dad 2.0 2015!

Chosen – Dad 2.0 Summit

Posted on January 6, 2014 by Lorne Jaffe

Last week I was contacted by Doug French, founder of the Dad 2.0 Summit , who let me know that I had been chosen as a Blogger Spotlight Reader for this year’s conference in New Orleans. My initial reactions were shock and humility. “Me? Why me? How? How is this possible?” I actually asked Doug that as we spoke on the phone and he said that he enjoyed my blog and thought I had an important voice. I was told my ticket to the conference would be paid for and that to help save money, Doug would help me find someone with whom I could share a hotel room. Was I willing to go? As we spoke and I stammered my responses, nervousness flooded my veins and my chest felt as if it had been dipped in liquid nitrogen, like a little poke in the ribs would shatter me to pieces. I told Doug I’d have to look into flights and see about that hotel roommate and ask if I could get Sienna coverage and most importantly, see if could overcome my anxiety. Doug said that was fine and to let him know as soon as I could.

The first thing I did – and this is highly significant – was contact Danny Giardino, a friend I’d met through the NYC Dads Group, who had offered to split a room with me when I was debating going to conference a few months ago. I asked if the room was still available. It was and since the first 2 nights were comped, the total cost for my stay would be negligible. Why is this so significant? Because I actually did something instead of crawling into bed and shaking. I took initiative in solving a rooming situation.

Next I contacted my mom about Sienna coverage. She told me she was proud of me and said she and my dad would absolutely be able to watch Sienna on Thursday and Friday. Again significant because I problem-solved.

Then, despite my sense of dread at how things were falling into place, I searched for flights and found one that was doable money-wise. Non-stop both ways on JetBlue.

I then called Elaine and stammered my way through letting her know that I’d been chosen, that the founder of the Dad 2.0 Summit (described on its homepage as “an open conversation about the commercial power of dads online, and an opportunity to learn the tools and tactics used by influential bloggers to create high-quality content, build personal brands, and develop business ideas”), had read my blog and wanted me to read from it in front of a large audience of fellow Dad Bloggers and marketers and real go-getters in the At-Home Dad community, people so unlike myself, people who don’t cost their child a few hours in the park because they’re too anxious to go outside. Elaine, like my mom, was proud of me, but knowing my anxiety level must be through the roof, she said we’d talk about it when we got home.

As I said earlier, I had debated going to the conference a few months ago, but I felt that I’d be overwhelmed by the marketing and business aspects as well a fear of feeling completely inadequate in the face of so many seasoned bloggers, people whose work is so much better than my own. I’d gone back and forth and back and forth and finally decided it would be too much for me…maybe next year when I’d have done more writing and had a lot more therapy. Now I was being invited by the founder himself and the dominoes were falling leading me to a date in New Orleans in late January.

I called my best friends who told me I absolutely have to go, that is an opportunity of a lifetime and I’d regret it forever if I didn’t answer that knock. I texted my therapist who said the same.

A few hours later after Elaine had come home and we talked a bit more I booked the damn flight before I could change my mind. I took a massive leap, something I almost never do. I let Doug know that I accepted the honor and would indeed be there and he wrote back: “Great news! Thanks again for doing this. You’ll be great. I know it.” I also peppered him with anxiety-related questions: What do I wear? Do I have to look professional? I normally wear jeans and a baseball cap (Aside – I had planned to write about the meaning behind my cap today, but this popped up instead). What happens if I become overwhelmed? Can I leave for a bit? Take a walk? Do I wait for an official announcement? (The announcement was posted today.) I apologized for the frenzied questions and said I hate my brain to which Doug responded, “Don’t hate your brain too much. It’s the reason you write as well as you do.” I didn’t know what to say to that.

My sister- and brother-in-law live in Baton Rouge and want to be there for moral support, but I don’t know if they’d need to pay to see me read. Even if they can’t make it to the conference itself, they want to take the trip to drive me from and to the airport to which I said they’re nuts and was told that they’re a nutty family.

I can tell you that I’m scared out of my mind. I’m terrified of the marketing aspects. I’m frightened I’ll feel eclipsed by the other bloggers there. I’m nervous I’ll feel very alone even though Doug and others have told me that people look out for each other at the Summit, that it’s a community of friendly faces. I’m even afraid I’ll unwittingly walk by Madame Marie Delphine LaLaurie’s mansion (she being the infamous, sadistic slave torturer currently being portrayed by Kathy Bates on American Horror Story: Coven) and I’ll see one of those weird orbs people claim appear when they take photo of the place (ok, I’ll confess, I actually do want to visit the mansion – anyone up for a New Orleans nighttime ghost tour?). I’m anxious people will feel I wasn’t deserving of this honor, that I’m not good enough, that I’ll discover I’m not cut out to be a Dad Blogger. I’m scared I won’t have Elaine with me.

But…I did take those steps to see if I could go and I did it on all my own. That means something. That means a lot. I’m proud of myself for that. And I’m proud I took a leap I don’t think I could have taken even a few months ago. Plus I’ve never been to New Orleans. If there’s time, I’d like to see a few things. I’m also looking forward to meeting so many people who have been supportive of my writing since I joined the Dad Bloggers group. Already some of these fellow bloggers such as Carter Gaddis, Kevin McKeever, John Kinnear have posted personal congrats to me on FB as have people I already know including Lance Somerfield, Jason Greene and Sat Sharma.

I’m nervous as hell, but I’m not letting my anxiety hold me back. Not this time. It’s probably not going to leave me, but come January 30th, we’ll be together at the Dad 2.0 Summit in New Orleans.

Blog Anxiety 2 – “Dad Bloggers”

Posted on December 3, 2013 by Lorne Jaffe

Today is the first birthday of Dad Bloggers, a terrific Facebook group currently 523 strong that I joined right before writing my blog “Tumbling From the Moon and Getting Back Up” about my sadness in feeling so puny in the blog world and my need for “Raising Sienna” to TAKE OFF NOW!! And while my blog hasn’t shot into outer space, I have gained some new readership (I think, I don’t know my numbers) and some new friends. Dad Bloggers is a terrific community and I congratulate Oren Miller, founder of the page and author of “A Blogger and a Father,” but it’s also overwhelming for someone like myself. I’ve posted three more blogs since joining the group (my mind’s screaming, “NOT ENOUGH!”). At times I feel like I can’t keep up with the site, that I’m drowning, that I’m in competition with 523 (and growing bloggers), some of whom have been doing this for years, many of whom I feel are so much talented than me. In addition, dads post links to current dad-related media like advertising or articles which tend to make feel like I’m late to the party (especially having a masters in media studies), that I should have blogged about these things before anyone even noticed them. That’s irrational, of course, but it’s another example of living inside this head of mine. So rather than continue to lament these feelings I wanted to talk about what I’ve done to work through my blog anxiety:

Joining the group was a huge step in itself. It’s something that I’d never have done in the past. I would have stared at the page for awhile, clicked on some other site and chastised myself for being a coward. So I have to acknowledge that I grew just by joining

Seeing all of these dads and their respective blogs made me realize I’m not ready to go to the Dads 2.0 Summit at the end of January. If I’m overwhelmed by this page, there’s no way I’ll be able to handle a conference dedicated to dad bloggers, media and sponsorship. And you know what? That’s not such a bad thing. It doesn’t mean I won’t be ready in 2014. It just means I’m not ready now.

While really stressing about how often many of the group members post, I wrote to an author friend of mine, Caren Lissner, whose excellent first novel, Carrie Pilby, is soon to be a movie. Caren’s been a big supporter of my mine and she told me exactly what I needed to hear: “I think a lot of bloggers have that problem – once they start, they feel bad if they don’t post regularly. A week is not very long to wait. I think a week is good! You can even do a post saying that there may be a week or two between posts at times. A blog shouldn’t be a nightmare; it’s YOUR blog, not a job.” This current blog would not have been written without Caren’s advice about blogging about how I get freaked out because I feel I’m not blogging enough. Thank you, Caren!

I had the guts to write, via FB, to a couple of Dad Bloggers’ major contributors to ask for advice. This is something I never would have done before. I asked John Kinnear, author of “Ask Your Dad,” if he was intimidated when he first joined and he responded thusly (sorry, I’m still not great working with WordPress so not sure how to indent): “Nope, but mainly because I didn’t know how many heavy hitters there are in this group. Once I found out who the big guns were, I was already friends with them and didn’t really feel the need to impress. Neither should you man. We all have blogs of various sizes and honestly, traffic shouldn’t be your first goal. Write what you love, what makes your feel, what makes you laugh, and what makes you a better dad. Make sure you share it so people can find you. Respond to comments. Comment on other blogs. Make friends. Your audience will find you over time.” Those words made feel much better because I was obsessing over traffic. I further asked him how often he posts and he said he tries to post once a week. That gels completely with what Caren had told me and made me feel a lot better. Thanks again, John!

I even had the courage to write to Oren Miller himself, founder of the Dad Bloggers group, and he told me: “There are a lot of people there, but I think most of them, including the more successful ones, know that there’s a lot of great writing from smaller blogs, and it’s often the smaller blogs that really speak the truth (it’s easy to lose your way once you start dealing with promotions and reviews).” Again, that helped settle me down. Thanks again, Oren!

Taking all of this advice into consideration, I’ve been “liking” and commenting on as many blogs that touch me as I can, and have been making some friends. Whenever I feel overwhelmed by the amount of content pouring in, I click away and count to ten. It doesn’t always work, but I do it as much as possible.

Caren, John and Oren also reiterated something my therapist has been trying to drill into my head for years: not everything I write has to be timely. If I still want to write about “Breaking Bad,” for instance, I can. So I thank all three and my therapist for that advice.

I still obsess over about what to blog; I have an idea for one, for instance, with which I’ve been really struggling. It’s kept me up late the last few evenings. Tonight I’ll take a melatonin in hopes it’ll quiet my brain. And I’ll say this now, something else I probably never would have said before: I’ll get to it eventually.

Joining Dad Bloggers has been tough, but rewarding, and I wish Oren and his group a very happy birthday, continued success and many, many new members. It’s definitely made a difference in my life just by the fact that I’ve been able to write this here blog. I like knowing that there are people I can turn to should my brain start getting the best of me, maybe even some who suffer anxiety and depression like myself. As I said about the characters in Silver Linings Playbook, sometimes the best help you can get comes from people who truly understand you. It’s clear I’ve found a few.