I really don’t have a niche here, you know. In this saturated blogging world (I hate that word). This is something I’ve noticed “stunted” my growth in reaching and maintaining a target audience. I don’t even have a target audience. But at some point all bloggers (I hate that word) consider this. We aren’t just talking to empty space, though I’ve found it vital to pretend I do, to stay genuine to myself. And when I stay genuine to myself, I can basically kiss a target audience goodbye.
I could have one if I wanted to, you know. I could hustle and pick up advertisers eventually. I could do all bikini pictures… body positive, work that angle, no matter how big my booty gets. Ooh, I could work it hard. But I could never share my insights on the struggle of a Monday morning with two kids and chronic migraines and how life is beautiful. I could definitely hustle the mama game, which would be so gratifying. But those who seek mama blogs don’t always dig the booty shots. And I like the booty shots. I could even get nuts with succulents, I’m borderline as it is… and don’t get me started on the astrology…
But to choose only one side of myself to share? I’d lose myself, atleast half of myself, along the way. And when you write against your heart and when you share yourself disingenuously, it’s so obvious and such a turn off. And not at all satisfying. This is true for elite bloggers and everyday common folks.
But if there were a niche for raw, honest mama blogs with a profound appreciation for Brazilian cut swimwear, astrology, succulents and boomerangs… let’s face it, I’d be the fucking pioneer. But there’s not.
And yet, YOU’RE HERE, Reading this. Maybe your like me, I afraid to be cornered into interests or parts of your personality. Maybe you want to live free and wild and ever-changing. Maybe you appreciate it all. Maybe there is a niche, albeit a small one, with no paycheck. But in the end, how did I touch the world? I can’t please everyone. Except for myself.