My niche

And its nonexistence

If you have ever been part of a writing community, you’ve heard the advice to find your niche, narrow your focus, find your ideal reader and serve him/her with your one single brand of expertise. 

When I began writing online many years ago, it was within a very small homeschooling community. I could talk about homeschooling all day long, having spent 21 years teaching five children from kindergarten on. I “hung out” with likeminded moms—a virtual echo chamber that was not without its upsides. I could ask questions without having to define every term; my cohorts understood what a spiral approach to learning mathematics was. That’s where I first became the grammar queen. And there was no shortage of empathy and encouragement for our daily life in the home education trenches. I definitely had a niche. 

Then my children had the audacity to grow up and graduate from high school. (Please note that word from. One does not “graduate high school.” One graduates from it.) Anyway, the children all flew the coop and I was left in a group I was no longer technically part of. 

So I branched out. I moved on to empty-nest writing, which afforded me a wider range of source material but left me somewhat adrift in a new space with some uncertainty. I was a new farmer with cute calves to write about, I had a group of friends with whom I regularly hiked in the mountains of Western North Carolina, and there was a seemingly endless supply of grandbabies that came at regular intervals (there are currently 13). Where’s the niche in all that? It appeared to be gone, but I kept searching for one. 

Then came the big event—the car accident that introduced me to the world of trauma and mental health and therapy, and I thought, “This is it. This is my niche whether I want it or not.”

So I write about the healing process and all of my experiences in this realm, mostly so other people know they’re not alone and that other people are going through the same things. I especially want to help Christians not be ashamed of mental health struggles. God knew we would have them, and he actually has plenty to say about them.

But I also still write about the farm and the crazy husband and grammar and grandbabies and what I’m currently reading, so with all that, do I actually have a niche? It’s not looking good.

And then just about the time I start to feel somewhat settled and I have myself on a good two-essays-a-week schedule, I get thrown off the kiddie ride and onto the big daddy of all life roller coasters. 

Which brings us to today, when the topic of helping my elderly parents through a rough spot dominates every waking minute and everything is upside down. Suddenly the farm is nonexistent and trauma recovery seems to be a mere blip on the radar. Someone else has my dog and the crazy husband is calmly supporting me instead of vice versa. 

I am watching my brothers work their regular jobs, pass around a cold, handle bats in the garage attic and a swarm of yellow-jackets in the soffit and keep the bills paid and mail piles at a minimum and what is that mystery puddle of slime on the garage floor? All that (and more) while I have the care and feeding of Mom. I’ll take Mom over bats any day.

I was struck today by the many differences in all of our gifts (including the brothers and their spouses) and how God is using them all in this situation. One brother makes things happen while another has more tact and sensitivity than the rest of us combined, and both are needed these days. One sister-in-law keeps us in fresh fruit and articles on the topic of the day. Another helps Daddy with some personal care the rest of us would be clueless about. It’s like watching an orchestra but knowing and loving all the musicians.

I still think I have the best of this deal. I get to come home every night and listen to my mother play.

All this to say, I have no niche. No singular focus. I admire those who do, but I am not one of them. My writing is 100% reactive. Am I the only one who lives a writing life like this?

My brand of expertise changes with the day, and today that is parent care. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?

Thanks for sticking with me.