Why My Blog Isn’t Funny Anymore


I started this blog over 2 years ago. I was in a really bad place and I knew I had to do something for myself; I knew I had to write because it’s not just what I do, it’s who I am. I  had to keep my hands and mind occupied because I knew that if I didn’t, things wouldn’t end well for me.

I was amazed how easy words came, how quick the rants and stories and allegories just fell out of me, like they’d be waiting so long for their moment. I didn’t go through life defining myself as an angry person. I didn’t think I needed help, and I let it roll of my shoulders when people told me I “looked mean” so often.

I had found my stride in this little corner of the writing world. People thought I was funny and honest. Every little thing that irritated me, that I was jealous of, that made me hurt- could be turned into 600 words and a funny meme that people liked. That was my purpose.

My life has changed so much that I feel like I’ve some how failed by writing wife-type blogs now. Like I caved in, drank the Kool-aid, and now I’m this lame Eat Pray Love person who has no original thoughts and just skips around through flower fields all day.

I’m still me, though. I don’t feel like I’ve changed. I feel like this Kalee, this happier, lighter Kalee has always been there, I just had no idea how to get to her. I somehow found a way to love without fear, to trust without holding a grudge, and to live without armor.

It’s all still there, don’t get me wrong, my defenses still come up sometimes when my husband and I fight. You’d be amazed how easy it is for me to find hurtful things to say, to find the quickest insecurity and shine a light on it. That part of me can gain strength.

But as I go through life today, a little bit frustrated that my posts are no longer funny, that I don’t care about people’s dating problems anymore and am no longer being irritated by babies and strollers, I know that I am newer. I know that this Kalee is the Kalee my family always saw, the teachers who believed in me always fought for. This is the me I begged for when I was too depressed to get out of bed, too alone to ask for help.

I think that’s kind of all anyone can hope for really, that they still feel like themselves, just lighter and brighter. I feel less prickly, more vulnerable. Less brave, more loving. Less independent, more welcoming. I am still searching for the balance, but anger leaves me much quicker now. I am a bit sad that my blog had to pay the price for that, but if a few snarky words are the casualties of my happiness then I will take that and be grateful.

If you are still in need of sassier writing, betches.com is hilarious.


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