Uncool -

You know what I love about blogging? It’s making me rich. Not in money – the currency is love, friendship, and community.

Some of you have already rolled your eyes and closed this tab. The rest of you know what I’m talking about.

My life has been enriched since I started blogging. Here, it doesn’t matter who I am. It doesn’t matter what I do, or what kind of a car I drive or how pretty I am. What matters is what I share.

Everyone feels uncool sometimes. Yes, everyone. Think of the most popular girl in high school (was that you?) and I guarantee she was insecure about something. Or maybe a lot of things. Perhaps even a lot of the time.

Ironically, blogging can sometimes make us feel especially uncool. We succumb, at times, and measure our worth in visits, clicks, comments and re-tweets. We follow our Google Friend Connect numbers like they’re our bank accounts – waiting, begging, praying for them to go up. We want people to “like” us, on Facebook, but in general as well.

It’s the curse of the blogger and I’ve seen many post about their blogging insecurities, only to be assured that, yes, their blogs are great. Their writing is great. They are great. Which is great. Sometimes it’s nice to be reminded of these things by someone other than your mother.

Coincidentally, three of the leaders in my PPD community have recently posted about popularity in blogging. Lauren from My Postpartum Voice wrote about her Klout score. Katherine from Postpartum Progress and Yael from PPD to Joy both wrote about popularity as a result of the Circle of Moms contest for the top 25 mental health blogs. (If you read Yael’s post, you’ll see where the inspiration for this post came from.)

I think Klout is probably bunk, but when people award me Klout points I appreciate it, not because it affects my score, which I care nothing about, but because I take it as a compliment.

I was nominated in that Circle of Moms contest – another compliment – and ended up at number 10. I’m grateful for what it will do to raise awareness about postpartum depression, but I have no illusions about what it means for me – it was a contest that allowed a vote a day, which is hardly a valid measure of the top anything. Some of the ones that came in below me are more established, more authoritative, more lots-of-things blogs.

So no, those things don’t mean I’m cool. I’m not cool. In high school I wasn’t popular but I wasn’t an outcast either. I was just me, and I’m glad of that now.

Now I don’t worry (very much) about being cool. I don’t fuss about what I wear around my more fashionable friends. I don’t look at the moms who seem put together and totally with it and feel inadequate, because I know they have bad days just like the rest of us. My taste in music probably resembles a 16-year-old girl’s more than a 36-year-old mom’s, but I don’t care. It makes me happy.

Instead of worrying about whether I’m cool, I try to relish the relationships I have. What matters to me is that people like you show me that what I share with others matters.