"I hate that you don't have a blog," said a woman about to undergo heart surgery, as she gazed sincerely up at her boyfriend, "I hate that I don't know what you're thinking."

Mark and I burst into raucous laughter and had to pause the episode of House that we were watching to wipe away our tears of glee and catch our breath.  Seriously?  "I hate that you don't have a blog?" Really?  Yep.  That's what we personal (and dare I say it, female?) bloggers are all supposed to be like.  So divorced from real life connections, so caught up in deluding ourselves about these supposed "friendships" we have online, so obsessed with our hit count, so eager for an audience, so narcissistic, that we can't even talk to our partners or parent our children, at least not unless there's a screen between us.

The comments on the recent Motherlode post on "mommy blogging" back up this perception. There are lots of women there talking about the community and connections they've made and about the therapeutic release of writing.  And there are plenty of others saying those connections aren't real and that the children of these deluded, self-obsessed women are being sorely neglected.

And it makes me wonder, why do people think bloggers and other social networkers are so crazy and scary and dangerous and delusional?  Why is an online presence portrayed as something that precludes, rather than enhances or supplements, other relationships?  What makes friendships "real?"  Why do we believe that people don't know what "real" relationships look like?  Why does it matter so much how people (particularly women) spend their free time?  What makes us believe that online time is not, in fact, free time, but time that is being taken away from more important things?  For that matter, why do we always have to be doing something "important?"  What makes something "important" in the first place? (From what I read "important" is anything from things I'd count as truly important -- like spending time with loved ones -- to things I consider not at all important -- like making sure the house is tidy and/or we're making more money.)  What makes it ok for a published author of personal essays or a memoir to write in detail about herself, her life, her children, her friends, her family, but not ok for bloggers to do the same?

If there are any universal answers to those questions, I don't know them.  What I do know is that there are hundreds of people who have passed in and out of my life and have all seen a sliver of me, both online and offline: sitting next to me in a movie theater, driving me a few miles in a taxi, clicking on a link to my blog and clicking right back out again.  I know that there have been dozens to hundreds of lurkers in my life, both online and offline, who have seen bits and pieces of me (and not always the nice bits, nor for that matter, always the nasty ones): the neighbors who (assuredly) heard Mark and me arguing or laughing or having sex through the thin walls of our old apartment just the way we heard them, the folks at the next table in the restaurant listening to our conversations, the people silently reading my blog.

I know that I have hundreds of people I've talked to and spent time with each day over the years, who've shared a workplace or the classroom or the social space, both online and offline: coworkers, high school and college buddies, neighbors, moms at my kids' schools, folks in online discussion groups, blog readers, fellow bloggers.  Some I know well, have fun with and consider good friends.  Others are acquaintances whom I don't know, and still others I don't really like at all (and vice versa, I'm sure).

Then I know that there are people in my life, both online and offline, who are my soulmates: the ones who are family or like family, the ones who would know my voice (spoken or written) anywhere, the ones I call first when I have joys or sorrows to share, the ones who can come into my house and help themselves to a drink or a snack, the ones I laugh and cry and eat ice cream with, the ones who see me -- as me, all of me -- and get me, and are there for me, as I am for them.

Some of those soulmates are people like Jay (whom I've known for almost a decade now) and JW (who is my son Austen's absolute favorite person in the world to talk to long-distance (just don't tell his grandparents)); people I met online.  I didn't know what they looked like or what their voices sounded like or get to see or touch them in the flesh for years.  And some of those soulmates are people like my husband Mark or my friend Kelly; people I happened to meet "in real life."

I also know that I am fortunate enough to have six hours a day free when my kids are in school and my husband is at work.  I know that I spend the vast majority of that time on housework, household administration and errands that are unseen by the and unacknowledged by people both in and out of the blogosphere.  And I know that I take some of those six hours, as a gift to myself and a support to others, to write.  I know there are people who don't respect that or see it as useless and "a waste of time" because I either don't get paid (or don't get paid much) for that.  I also know that I love my life and the way I spend my days, and that although what I contribute to the world (whether in doing the dishes or feeding my kids or blogging) may seem small, it's important: just as, in my favorite movie, It's a Wonderful Life, George Bailey's life and work in his small town was as valuable as anything he ever could have done if he'd gone out and built those bridges and skyscrapers he dreamed of.

No doubt there are people out there who become so obsessed with some aspect of their life or group of friends that they ignore other relationships.  No doubt there are people who can't tell the difference between a genuine friendship and the high of a falsely instant connection (I'm married to someone in recovery for just that, remember?).  No doubt someone, somewhere in the world, has to conduct a poll of everyone she knows before making major life choices.  No doubt there is a mom out there somewhere who is ignoring her kids while she does something else.  But all of that is hardly new to the Internet, just as "real" friends in my life haven't been confined strictly to people happen to have met in person.

And that's why Mark and I laughed as we listened to that fictional blogger on House.  We laughed knowing that I blog (about intimate details of our lives) and he doesn't.  We laughed knowing that we were snuggling on the sofa watching House after talking for over two hours -- about everything from mundane topics, like scheduling the kids' doctors appointments, to quite serious matters about our marriage -- during which I never once wistfully opined that it would go better with a keyboard in hand.  We laughed because Mark knows me better than anyone, online or off.  And we laughed because we both knew exactly what bits and pieces of those few hours spent talking and watching TV would go on the blog and what never would.

My daughter Janie ran up to me today, curls bouncing and eyes sparkling, and exclaimed enthusiastically, "Mama, I love you the most of anyone!" Then she thought for a moment and (clearly not wanting to leave her other loved ones out of the picture) tempered that with, "More than anyone outside our family.  I love our family the most!"

"I love you so much too! I love you and Austen and Daddy more than anyone else in the whole world," I replied.

"What about our cat?" asked Janie, "He's part of our family. Don't you love him too?"

"Yes, I love our cat, but not as much as I love you."

"Oh," said Janie, "Do you love your friend JW?"

"Yes, I love JW."

"Do you love her more than the cat?"

"Yes, I love her more than the cat."

"And who else do you love? Do you love your other friends, like Jay and Kelly and other people like that?"

"Yes, I love my other friends too."

"Do you love them more than the cat?"

"Yes, I love them more than the cat."

"Why?!" she asked, clearly shocked at the amount of love that was being directed outside of our immediate household and away from the cat.

"Hm, because the cat is, well, a cat not a person. Cats can't talk to me and have a relationship like people can. So, I don't love cats the same way that I love people."

"Do you love all people better than cats?"

I laughed and thought of a whole slew of people, from the kid who used to shoot spitballs at the back of my head to my high school history teacher to George W. Bush to blog trolls, and said, "No, I definitely love our cat more than some people."

When I first started blogging, I had this notion that blogging was the province of teenagers and that most blog posts were written in the nearly incomprehensible idiom of text messaging. (Which does lead one to wonder why I started a blog...) In any case, I was surprised when I began poking around in cyberspace and found vibrant communities of mama bloggers, autie mama bloggers, recovery bloggers, feminist bloggers, spiritual bloggers and more. And in my cyber travels, I found The Junky's Wife.

And I was blown. a. way.

A kick ass writer who was insanely in love with her junky husband, this woman was smart, funny as hell and all kinds of well read. She was the right kind of crazy, and that's everything I like in a friend. (Was it JW of one of our mutual friends who said that all we look for in a friend is someone smart who spent her childhood chained to a pole her her stepfather's basement?) It was blog love at first sight.

We first got to know each other (as we bloggers do) through comments, and while we've moved on long ago (in this huge, lump-in-the-throat, leap into the chasm of trust way) to being real life BFFs, I was still sad to see her saying goodbye today to the blog where I first found her.

I know her relationship with her blog has been nearly as tempestuous as her marriage itself, so I wouldn't be surprised if she came back one day or if she never came back at all. She's like one of my favorite literary figures. Um, no not Hamlet. I was thinking of something a little more, well, along the lines of the literature I actually get to read these days... She's like the Lorax, lifting herself by the seat of her pants to that patch of blue sky and leaving us wondering at the words left behind.

Namaste, Junky's Wife.  I'll miss your blog.

Today I went to an event that included a reception beforehand with light refreshments and crowds of people I didn't know. While years of recovery work has me better equipped to step outside my usual comfort zone, these situations remain challenging for my introverted self. Not surprisingly, I found myself heading for the cookie plate like an alcoholic would head to the bar to get a little something to help loosen up.

I downed a handful of nuts and an alarming number of cookies while I surveyed the room until it occurred to me that I could leave the reception and return when the event began. I went off (with a few cookies for the road) and found a quiet little corner where I thought to myself (not for the first time), "I have a problem with food." Now the popular wisdom would have you believe that admitting you have a problem is the first step. But the popular wisdom is wrong. (Has the popular wisdom ever even read the actual First Step?)*

Admitting there is a problem is like standing up and getting read to take that first step; it's necessary for change, but it's not where change starts. , and for me to have the deep down willingness to do the kind of work it takes to make real changes in my life, I have to not only admit I have a problem, I have to admit I have a BIG problem: big enough to bump it ahead of the many other priorities in my life. And while I can answer "yes" to ten of , while I've known for years that I use food to self-medicate, while I know food is a "problem" for me, while I've thought about working on those issues, I'm still not ready to push my food issues to the top of my to do list. I haven't become ready to take the actual first of the 12 Steps and admit that I'm powerless over food and that my life is unmanageable.

I took myself out to lunch today. Nothing fancy, just a fast food place. I was appropriately decked out for the occasion in my classy mom gear: a battered old college sweatshirt. The man waiting on me looked, I thought, older than I am. He had thin sharp features and bright eyes, but his hair was grey and his face lined. His movements were quick and nervous.

"Did you go to school there?" he asked, pointing to my sweatshirt.

"Yes," I answered.

"I went to college near there," he said, naming a very well respected school, "I majored in History and I remember that, back in the 80's, your school and mine had two of the top history programs in the region. Our department was trying to court away a professor at your school."

"Yes, I was there in the 80's," I said, naming the year I graduated, "But I wasn't very familiar with the History department."

"Ah, I graduated the year before that," he said, then gestured apologetically at his uniform and the setting, "But then life... Things..." His voice trailed off awkwardly and he looked down.

"I know — believe me — I really do know."

I thanked him for my order, and he thanked me for listening, and I walked away with my food. I don't know what happened to that man, but like that little party game that the Junky's Wife plays, I filled in his story with what I knew: with addiction or mental illness, with a hard crash to bottom and a shaky attempt to stand again. Whatever it was, it wasn't (according to the lies he once told himself or the lies I once told myself) supposed to happen. He had a college degree from a good school. And that apologetic gesture around the fast food restaurant told me that kind of thing was supposed to have protected him from whatever catastrophe had made him fall so hard that he ended up working there, prematurely aged at forty.

As I ate my lunch, I started thinking about a friend of mine who went out drinking the night before a big event. I remember saying goodbye before I headed off to bed to rest up for the next day. My friend held up a bottle of water in a parting gesture: a talisman of hydration to ward off excessive drinking and hangovers. It didn't work, that talisman. It didn't ward off the vomiting or the blackout or the face bruised by a fall or the splitting headache the next day.

The fast food worker's college degree, like my friend's water bottle, was a false talisman. And my own life has been full of false talismans too, things I thought were going to keep me safe from pain and hardship, from addiction and codependency: my love for my husband and his for me, my intelligence and my own good college degree, my external successes, my husband's refusal to touch alcohol or drugs, my own abstinence from drugs and lack of interest in alcohol. In the end, none of those talismans worked because none of them could work. Things happened, life happened, addiction happened in spite of all that. Realizing that those things couldn't save me was part of my own crash down to bottom in my codependency. I couldn't prevent that fall, but I could get up and go to work: cleaning tables, filling the napkin racks, checking the drink dispenser, starting over.

My blogroll was long overdue for a makeover. As you all know, the rules are: comment regularly and ye shall be put on the blogroll. But oh, what a headache to keep track of all that myself! Enter a neat little piece of code that keeps track of that for me. You comment, and it automatically adds a nice little linky to you over on my sidebar. Yay!

The only problem is that I want to break my own rules. Ok, actually, I did break my own rules a little, because the Junky's Wife has been my blogging BFF since I started blogging almost two years ago, so she will always get a link even if she's too pretty to comment anymore. And also Bev, because I said way back that I'd link to her even if she didn't comment. See! I've broken the rule twice already. And I really want to break it some more times. Because some of the very wonderful relationships I've built -- and some of the blogs I stalk most relentlessly -- are not on there. And I know some people lost track of me when I moved to the new URL.

On the other hand, I don't at all want to break my own rules. I hate playing favorites. And I like having a way to reward the wonderful community of folks who write on my virtual bathroom wall, as well as a snappy response to those creepy spammers who beg me to link to them, like I'm some kind of cheap blogging one night stand. (Don't try to win my heart by commenting either, people with the virtual marketing-hair. You go straight to my spam folder.)

In the end, I've decided to let the rules stand for the time being -- no matter how hot or hilarious or real life friend (sh! don't tell) a blogger you are. Thank you all so much for being here. Enjoy the new (automated!) blogroll. I know I will!

Image credit: Photo by beachblogger on Flickr Licensed under Creative Commons

I have mentioned a few times that I'm working the 12 Steps with an online group, and several of you have asked where you can get in on the action yourselves. The group I'm working with is at The Junkies' Wives Club. We are currently on Step 9, so we're not taking anyone new in at this point. However, the Junky's Wife is working on setting up a new online space for people looking to work the Steps online and I'll certainly make an announcement when it's up and running.

There is also a new group starting for those who want to work the Steps online around compulsive overeating, but you will have to be a member of the Junkies' Wives club and send a message to R for an invitation in order to join.

CoDA (Codependents Anonymous) has online meetings (although not, as far as I know, Step groups or a specific process for working through the Steps online). If anyone else knows of any other 12 Step online groups, please let me know.

Image credit: Photo by Trapac on Flickr Licensed under Creative Commons

I've been going through the process of working the 12 Steps around my own personal craziness, and last week, I reached the point where I was supposed to humbly ask God to remove my shortcomings. Whew! That has so many problematic words in it. I mean even if we forget about "shortcomings" (because, let's face it, don't most of us want to keep on keeping on with the ignoring in that department?), we have words like "God" and "ask" and "remove" and (trickiest of all) "humbly."

I don't know about you, but I don't have a healthy sense of humility. I can do self-righteous superiority or rampant insecurity or defensive arrogance or abject self-abasement. But there is no healthy medium of humility for me without either a heaping dollop of "I suck" or a secret "see how much humbler I am than you!" I did some 12 Step readings around humility, but I still couldn't envision that middle ground. What I heard were exhortations to perfection: "Do this, but not too much! But then again, don't go too far the other way! Get it juuust right." Then the Junky's Wife helped me out by sharing that she saw humility as simply asking for help when you needed it. I'm not good at that, but at least I can understand and aspire to it, which I could see was a step in the right direction.

So, I sat down and prepared to humbly ask God to remove my shortcomings. And I couldn't. I was stuck. So, I thought about what the Junky's Wife told me about humility as being the ability to ask for help when you needed it. And I thought it was pretty clear to me by now that I could use some help. So, I tried to ask. But I still couldn't. Now that's frustrating. So, I tried to figure out why I might not want to ask. Was I holding on to my shortcomings? Was I afraid to lose them? Was I stuck on this whole asking thing not working with my particular concept of God? What was the problem?

And then it hit me. I needed to ask for help asking for help. So, I humbly asked God to remove my inability to humbly ask God to remove my shortcomings. And guess what? My newly humbled self was unstuck. Go figure.

Image credit: Photo by Cayusa on Flickr Licensed under Creative Commons

My brilliant friend Jay at Two Women Blogging suggested a workaround for my dilemma with linking to my work at the Second Road: I could post there and then wait some period of time before reposting the content here with a link. Ah ha! That satisfies the need to give the Second Road original content, satisfies the desire of some folks to read posts here and satisfies my drive to have all of my writing in archived in one place.

I think the only entity that will not be satisfied in this transaction is Google, who (according to expert search engine temptress the Junky's Wife) doesn't like reposted content. But to that I say (and those of you sensitive to foul language should cover your eyes here) fuck Google. Google hasn't exactly done anything nice for me lately, so I'm going to fight my people (and corporation) pleasing urges and ignore Google's desires. (Except that they do host my blog. What if they hate me and delete it and leave me for not being good enough? I take it all back, Google! I'll work harder! I'll do better! Please love me!)

Oh, and to that one person who answered my poll by saying you love me so much you'd pay me not to write at the Second Road and do it here instead, since I'm overly trusting I'll assume you're totally serious. I only hope you're the same person who asked what I'd do with two weeks of babysitting and $5000. Call me. Let's talk, sugar mama (or daddy).

So few months ago, I took a personality test and was told I am a "Helper" (read: codependent). Then today I took another personality test that storyteller linked to from Sacred Ruminations. The results? I'm a "Nurturer" (read: codependent).

Hi, I'm Mary and I'm an insanely helpful super-nurturer. Yep. I like that label better.

You Are 2: The Helper

You always put on a happy face and try to help those around you. You're incredibly empathetic and care about everyone you know. Able to see the good in others, you're thoughtful, warm, and sincere. You connect with people who are charming and charismatic. At Your Best: You are deeply giving, altruistic, and humble. You devote your life to others while caring for yourself too. At Your Worst: You are manipulative and enjoy making other people guilty. Your Fixation: Rejection Your Primary Fear: Being unworthy of love Your Primary Desire: To be loved unconditionally Other Number 2's: Mother Teresa, John Travolta, Princess Diana, Dr. Phil, and Mr. Rogers.

Results The four aspects that make up this personality type are: Summary of Nurturers Care for the important people in their lives Strive for harmony and avoid confrontation Think of themselves as gentle, conscientious, and mature May have trouble making decisions that could hurt others More about Nurturers Nurturers are quiet people who believe in order and diligently look after the people they care about. They focus on the needs of others and establish routines to help them meet their commitments. Nurturers are the most likely group to say they prefer a job where the same thing happens every day, according to a UK survey. Nurturers remember details that are important to them, such as their friends' birthdays and anniversaries. People with this personality type value others' feelings and may challenge behaviour they think is insensitive. In situations where they can't use their talents or are unappreciated, Nurturers may feel bitter and seek support by complaining to their colleagues. Under extreme stress, Nurturers may become preoccupied with the worst possible outcome and believe that they are heading for disaster. Because they are so caring and loyal, Nurturers run the risk of being taken advantage of. Nurturer Careers Nurturers are often drawn to jobs that allow them to help others. It's important to remember that no survey can predict personality type with 100 percent accuracy. Experts say that we should use personality type to better understand ourselves and others, but shouldn't feel restricted by our results. Overall results The graph below shows the percentage of people with each personality type out of everyone who has taken this test. Big Thinkers Counsellors Go-getters Idealists Innovators Leaders Masterminds Mentors Nurturers Peacemakers Performers Providers Realists Resolvers Strategists Supervisors

Human body homepage The mind homepage Psychology tests Spot the fake smile What's your millionaire potential? Sensation-Seeking Careers test Morals test Disgust Reading faces 1 Reading faces 2 Interactive lonely hearts ad Interactive body Brain map Facts and features Personality type Flavour and personality Moral maze Seeking perfection Brain Psychology in sport Personality tests and job interviews The British Psychological Society Relate Myers Briggs OPP: Personality at work The BBC is not responsible for the content of external websites.

Read about the 16 personality types from the What Am I like? Personality test:

Big Thinker,Counsellor, Go-getter, Idealist, Innovator, Leader, Mastermind, Mentor, Nurturer, Peacemaker, Performer, Provider, Realist, Resolver, Strategist and Supervisor.