Considering the impact of Dooce

Plus a Mother's Day email

Heather Armstrong, the singular writer who invited an entire generation of women and mothers to view their lives with curiosity and compassion (and to forgive themselves if motherhood sometimes drove them to profanity) died last week.

Many people wrote thoughtful, full-throated tributes to her legacy, rightly highlighting Armstrong’s fiercely original authorial voice and also her ability to start critical conversations about the struggles of mothers.

lyz

wrote about how Armstrong’s example encouraged her to become a writer herself.

Heather was a role model. When I couldn’t get my writing published, when editors wouldn’t answer my email, when it seemed my life was nothing but spit-up and baby wipes and bleeding nipples, I decided, heck, I’d publish it myself — and started my own blog. Heather had shown me that I didn’t need to ask permission, I didn’t need to wait for approval.

Rebecca Woolf wrote about being in community with Armstrong in that first wave of moms writing about their lives online.

"Because of her, I was..."

Elizabeth Angell wrote about Armstrong rejecting Ideal Motherhood™.

She resisted mightily the portrayal of mothers as beatific nurturers, who, transformed by hormones and childbirth, ceased to be the flawed, weird, angry, horny creatures we had been before children.

And for Slate, I wrote about how badly I needed a writer like Armstrong when I was gripped by postpartum depression and an overarching crisis of identity following the birth of my first child.

In August 2012, I sobbed to my mother as my newborn peacefully rocked back and forth, swaddled within an inch of his life, in a contraption we called “the spaceship.” My mother told me to go to sleep, that she’d watch the baby. I so desperately wanted to sleep. I so desperately needed sleep. Except I couldn’t sleep. I was terrified about my sleeplessness, which had exacerbated my yet-to-be-diagnosed postpartum depression, because I knew humans needed sleep. What might happen to a human who couldn’t sleep? When the baby slept, I lay rigid, fretting about his breathing, worrying about when he might wake up, calculating which boob needed to be nursed first. I was certain not only that I would never be able to sleep again, but also that I would never feel like myself again. And in my darkest moments, I was sure I had made a grievous, unconscionable error in becoming a mother.

In August 2012, I didn’t know Heather Armstrong existed. As the first in my friend group to have children, I didn’t know that someone who wasn’t me had experienced the terror of not knowing as a mother. I didn’t know about Armstrong’s struggles with postpartum depression, or that she eventually found treatment that helped. I didn’t know so many things in August 2012, but as someone who has been thinking about the impact of mothers sharing their stories online for several years, I know without a shadow of a doubt that Armstrong’s writing would’ve provided immense comfort, validation, and revelation back when I was lost to myself as a newborn mother.

I was so moved by the many people who emailed, DMed, or took time from their days to speak to me over the phone about how Armstrong had touched their lives as I drafted the piece.

Reflecting on how much has changed since the early aughts (during Armstrong’s zenith) and now, I’m struck by how unapologetic, raw, and savagely funny Armstrong and her peers were, and how the “mommy blogger” monetization model (which you can read more about in the Slate piece) allowed them (in many cases) more freedom as writers and more autonomy in the marketplace. It’s a lot harder for contemporary momfluencers, who are often responsible for conceptualizing, writing, editing, and starring in social media ads themselves, to make money solely through the uniqueness of their writing style, or their ability to draw a large audience. I find myself feeling nostalgic for an era of mom internet I never experienced firsthand, you know?

So much to think about (including the misogyny inherent to reducing her artistry and cultural impact to being the “first mommy blogger”), but I hope you’ll check out my piece.

I’m now going to very ungracefully switch gears and ask that you join me in emailing or calling your elected officials and asking them to vote for the Bipartisan Background Checks Act (H.R. 715 / S. 494).

This resource (h/t Kate Spencer) makes it super easy to not only find your reps and senators, but also to copy and paste an email (or follow a script to read on the phone).

Living in a country where thousands of people die completely preventable deaths each year? WHAT THE FUCK.