And so it ends

This will be my last post in this space. Soon, I’ll take steps to password protect this blog and these words, pulling them from public view in a quiet, gentle, fitting sort of way. It feels  like now is the right time to make this move. Our lives have changed dramatically from the early days of my blogging and as I wonder about how to move forward, how to carry on with my writing, my craft, and our family life, this no longer feels like a good fit.

I am choosing to end on a high note, at a time when things in our private life feel effortless and easy, a time when the boy is riding high on a wave of success and happiness, a time when it feels like an exciting new chapter is about to unfold.

I am hopeful I will find my way back into my novel in the coming weeks. That I will be able to carve out the time and the space necessary to devote to that hard hard task in between the freelance assignments and the parenting and the responsibilities and the events that so completely fill my days.

I wondered whether I could just slip away unnoticed—one of many bloggers who for whatever reason essentially stops blogging. But I am not comfortable with simply neglecting this space, leaving you to check back for updates that will never come, stories that will never be told. That’s not me. I need things to be said. To be acknowledged. To be somehow official. So this is it. My final post.

There are not enough words to thank those of you who have stuck with me from the beginning, who followed me here from the earliest days of my blogging, and bore witness to our unfolding story. You are family. This blog is a dear dear friend. And letting go will not be easy, but it will be right.

Thank you for sharing my journey. I am grateful.

xxk

17 thoughts on “And so it ends

  1. Good for you; I’m not there yet. Still not writing, but also not shuttering. I keep thinking back to the oh-so-many people that my blog/blogging brought into my life, you among them, and I hesitate, wondering who I might miss if I go away. And yet, I don’t write. What you’re doing makes so much more sense.

  2. I will so miss this space, your words of wisdom and questing, your perspective. I cherish the journey we have taken together, no matter where it has ultimately led us or how different the endings of chapters may be from what we expected.

    I wish you so much. Of everything. Abundance of grace, wisdom, learning, laughter…love. I know you aren’t truly gone, with a capital G, and yet…it feels empty already. Namaste, my friend.

  3. Oh no! I understand, but I am sad, selfishly so. Your words and your stories have done so much for me. I’ll miss reading you. I am so glad that you wrote, that I found your words, that we connected outside these pages. I will hold onto the hope you so often gave me through telling your story. It’s selfish of me, wanting you to keep going, so I could “see” how it all unfolds. I am so happy for the space you are in. Good luck!

  4. oh boy… and that password protected space is tougher to get into than fort knox. oh well… i really like catching up live. nothing beats a phone call from an old friend. i’m just saying… xo

  5. Ah Kristen, you will be missed, but I so understand. Your words and insight have been so helpful to me along this similar path that I walk with my son. Your words helped give clarity and understanding to experiences and feelings, and it was often ironic how similar our thoughts were. I never blogged, but used to read a lot of ASD blogs, but I too have stopped most of them (yours made the cut of 5!). I am finally in space where autism is not so big, and I want to live and experience life with my son and family in our own way, not read about it. Thanks so much and Godspeed on your new path.

  6. I get it, very much so. It feels like an end to an era and you know I am in a similar boat. You are braver than I, but perhaps you’ve given me courage to put one last post out there. You and G have been as much a part of my own journey through the joy and grief that mothering brings. Love you and will miss your words here but like others, look forward to seeing them in another form!

  7. Totally understood, but *sob*. It’s been a privilege to read this blog. And your novel, it’s there. It’ll happen. We all have faith in you, and in that. Sometimes I think writing is like looking at the fainter constellations, like the Pleiades — focusing directly on them makes them harder to see.

  8. Thank you so much everyone. I will miss this space too, but I’m excited to see what’s around the bend. More writing, no doubt…how, where, about what? Time will tell. Thank you again for the kind words.

  9. Your blog was a very important space for me for a long time. More than you probably know. Thank you for that. I can’t wait to read your novel when you publish it. I love you!

  10. Your words and experiences have always resonated with me, and I will miss following your (and your boy’s) journey. That said, I completely understand your reason for turning the page in this way. I am grateful for all you have shared on this blog, and grateful too that you chose to not just disappear without a word — something that always saddens and unsettles me. Wishing you and your family much joy in the times to come!

  11. I do not know you IRL and I am not a blogger so can’t share my life, but I have been reading you for several years and love the way you write. We live in the northeast, but part of our hearts (and my husband’s family) are in California so I always enjoy reading about your summers there. If you password protect and have a way for unknown, but long-time readers to join in, let me know. All the best to you and yours.

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