It’s been a long time, I know. I’ve missed you.

It’s not you, I swear. It’s me. Nothing you did caused me to disappear for so long. It’s all me. And I’m sorry I left without telling you why.

It’s just that, well, I was kind of seeing someone else. Another blog. And it’s not that that blog was better than you. Or prettier. Or younger. It’s just that I’ve been wrestling with a few things lately, and, well, that blog understands me.

Not to say that you don’t. You’ve been there for me through many of my ups and downs the last year. And we’ve had a lot of both. It’s just that this other blog is very simple. Uncomplicated. Generally supportive of the things I’m saying. And it occasionally just looks back at me with these adoring eyes like I can do no wrong.

Sometimes I like that.

And you? Well, you, skirtblog, ARE complicated. And challenging. And while all of the deep thoughts you make me thing aren’t altogether unpleasant – in fact, it’s actually quite cathartic and rejuvenating to process so many observations and feelings – I just can’t help but feel like there is a cost to all of this stripped-down honesty.

Because what I enjoy writing about most is my life. And I don’t live that life alone on a deserted island. I have a husband, and children, and parents, and siblings, and friends, and clients, and even the occasional fan, and I love to examine the way we interact, relate, connect, or even dis-connect, and really? There are a whole LOT of people who have their own opinions and feelings and yes, even privacy, which deserves to be respected and protected.

And skirtblog? I just haven’t figured out how to write about the things that make my fingers itchy in an honest and interesting way while keeping that protection top of mind.

Sometimes I just can’t seem to say what I want to say without wondering what my mom will think. So that blows a whole list of essays about my years enjoying Chicago nightlife or the night I got so wasted that my friends just sat and watched what is now affectionately referred to as The Sue Show.

(Sorry Mom).

And sometimes I worry that publishing a particular post will be like handing over a few pages of my diary. The pages where my venting about my roommate’s total inability to wash a plate evolves into an amateur-psychologist diagnosis of his combined OCD and narcissistic personality disorder, but excluding the next few pages where I negate everything I just said about him and proclaim that he’s the most thoughtful and genuine human being to walk the earth since Jesus.

I don’t aim to be nasty or judgmental. And I never intend to use you, skirtblog, as a platform for me to be the voice that is always ‘right’. But as witty or truthful or resonate as a post may be, there are still other people associated with my observations, many of whom I want to love me well after I hit ‘publish.’ And I’m beginning to wonder if I’m doing it right.

But, I am still writing. A lot. And I am reading. I am reading lots and lots. I have a stack of books by my bed, and I lose many baby-naptime hours reading blogs – some of my current favorite writers are found on blogrolls, and their “creative non-fiction” just makes me insanely happy to read. The creative juices are still flowing, but I’m just a little reluctant right now about sharing.

I guess what I’m saying is that I still want us to be friends, skirtblog. I still want to write here, and I still want to come here daily to read and read and read. Because this is a place where I have seen pure genius, where I have laughed until I peed a little, and wept for women whom I’ve never met. I have been supported here, and I hope I have extended the same. I guess I just needed a break. I needed to take a step back to take some time to write just for me, to find my voice and work out some of the kinks.

I’d like to get back together with you skirtblog, but maybe this time we could just take things slow.