Please Come Back to Facebook

No matter how you feel about it, Facebook is at the center of the social media universe. According to Pew Research, 76% of American Internet users were on Facebook in 2015. Currently, approximately 40% of world Internet users have Facebook accounts. We use it, our friends use it, our parents, our kids, our coworkers, our religious leaders, our politicians. It’s used to socialize, promote businesses, promote ourselves, inform, make plans, send invitations.

It’s also used to bully, berate, defame, prey, rant, and shame. It’s a platform for racism, sexism, heterosexism, and every other -ism in the dictionary. It has widened our social horizons, but it has also diminished our ability to interact with other humans face to face. While it feeds the basic human need to connect with others, it also nurtures isolation, and I think this is a key reason bullying, racism, etc., are so easy to pursue on Facebook.

These days, I barely use Facebook, and most of the time my account is deactivated. It’s a personal choice I made last fall for my own peace of mind. In fact, just removing Facebook from my life reduced the amount of stimuli I had to deal with, which reduced some stress. But there was more to it. And it’s all rising to the surface again this week as I’ve been pressured by several friends to end my Facebook abstinence. And so I want to explain.

This isn’t the first time I’ve deactivated my Facebook account. I’ve taken several two- to three-month hiatuses over the years. I used the time to finish my thesis and work on big projects at the office and at home. Time is the key word here. Facebook eats time for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and midnight snacks. I would guess the main reason anyone might take a break from Facebook is time. But for me, this current hiatus goes deeper.

When I deactivated my account last fall, I was newly separated and divorced, working full-time, parenting two middle schoolers, working on severe anxiety with my counselor, and trying to make ends meet. I was sad, anxious, depressed, and harassed. I knew just walking away from Facebook would bring my stress levels down. But I resisted it for a while.

Facebook Messenger was how I communicated with friends and family, and how would I know of my ex-husband posted something about the kids, or worse, about me. What if something big happened or if my friends didn’t know how to reach me any other way? I feared isolating myself and losing touch.

Then I realized that some of these things I was using to justify staying were actually making my life more stressful. And in the end, it was three of these triggers that sent me flying for the “deactivate” option, the same three triggers that came immediately to mind this week.

  1. My sister was madly posting anti-divorce memes and quotes, and making judgmental statements on a regular basis and more often than usual since my separation.
  2. My ex-husband was posting shirtless selfies for no-shave November on at least a weekly basis, the sight of which made me uneasy.
  3. My Facebook feed was filled with pictures of amazing, happy couples, and looking at them made me feel beyond sad. Especially those of a particular friend whom I had developed feelings for in recent months.

Feeling angry and hurt, disgusted and sad weren’t worth it. I needed to take care of myself. I left Facebook to ease mind, and it helped. I knew I was missing out on some things. I’d hear, “Did you see that cool story on Facebook?” Or, “Did you get my message?” And I’d have to remind family members I didn’t see their announcements because I’m not on Facebook. But most of my friends easily made the adjustment. They found other ways to message with me, or they called me.

And the longer I was away, the more I realized I didn’t actually miss it. I didn’t need all the minute updates of friends’ and family members’ lives. I didn’t need the stress of happy couples. I didn’t need the stress of other people’s anger or judgment. I didn’t need to see my ex-husband—or anyone else—exposing himself to the world.

Since I’ve been asked to return to Facebook again this week, I’ve had to reconsider these things I don’t need or miss. Are the things I want, the things I do miss worth the anxiety or shame or sadness I could experience going back? Am I taking care of myself if I return to a situation I already know will cause a great deal of stress?

It’s possible my sister won’t post divorce things anymore. It’s not November, so my ex likely won’t be posting pictures of his beard (and chest). But my friends are still in love, and there will always be judgment and always be stressors.

People are isolated, anonymous, so it’s easier to share one’s opinion—to force one’s opinion on one’s friends, colleagues, acquaintances, etc. It’s easier to share pictures of our bodies or our private relationships because we don’t see who’s looking at them. We speak freely on Facebook because we don’t see who we’re hurting.

But at the same time, I know I can’t expect my family, friends, and acquaintances to protect me from their lives. I can’t judge what they post. I can’t assume it’s about me. I can’t ask them to be more careful for my sake. I can’t ask them not to share their happiness with me. Rather than it being about what they do or don’t do, it’s about me. It’s about knowing what I can cope with, what I can guard myself against, what I can accept. It’s about knowing my boundaries and when I need to walk away. It’s about knowing me.

So I’m back to my decision. Do I reactivate my Facebook account because a few friends want to socialize with me in that way? Am I ready to place myself within an environment I know will cause me stress?

No, I’m not. My anxiety is still too high and the sadness is too deep. I’m still traumatized by the past. I am still susceptible to being shamed.

I know I can’t avoid the social media world forever. But I can choose to give myself a little more time, to take care of myself until I’m stronger and steadier emotionally  and until I’m ready to face courageously the challenges that await.

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Lousy with Deep Red Roses

In my haste to minimize my belongings, I didn’t see the brick wall coming. I opened the box: photo albums and picture frames. Easy. Save the pictures, give away the frames and albums.

And then it was there staring at me: my wedding album. White and pearly with the words “our wedding” written in calligraphy on the cover.

Apprehension filled my chest, but I can be brave when I need to be, and I opened the cover and stared at my 20-year-old face. I was an ugly bride. My hair was half-grown out and awkward, and the hair stylist curled it, sprayed it, and then ratted it to fit around the veil. No one helped me with my makeup, and I didn’t have a manicure, though all my bride’s maids did. And though the wedding dress is a beaded work of art and the bouquet is lousy with deep red roses, it’s all overshadowed by half-hearted smiles and sad eyes.

It doesn’t even occur to me to look at my stomach, though it’s all I could think about that day. I was five months pregnant with my daughter. It’s impossible to tell. The wedding dress fit perfectly without a single adjustment. Swollen breasts and stomach made the dress fit when it had been too big three months before. The only indication something is off is the shame I can see covering me from head to toe. It stained everything that day, from the glow of wedding candles to the matching white-gold rings we put on each other’s fingers.

I felt my shame acutely that day. I wonder now if anyone knew the torture inside me. Did anyone know how much pain I was in? Probably not. But I cried as I walked down the aisle with my parents, and it wasn’t the first time I’d cried that day.

I thought everyone was so kind to me. Friends and family circled and fussed and asked how I was doing. I didn’t understand it. I was overwhelmed by their goodness because I believed I was unworthy of it. I was so ashamed, so completely undeserving of anything good. And even now, it’s difficult to discern their unconditional love from the memory of feeling like a burden.

Most of the pictures I stacked and set aside out of sight for my kids to look at some day. It might be fun to look back and laugh at mom and dad and grandmas and grandpas. But a few pictures I saved for me. My dad looks so handsome, and he’s smiling at me. My mom is too. She’s so beautiful and happy. And there’s one with my grandparents, all four them.

I touched the picture of my mom’s parents. They’ve been gone a long time now, my grandfather dying just thirteen months after my wedding. My dad’s dad is gone too. And I cried and wished my ex-husband wasn’t standing next to me in the center of the picture. It was a battle between sentiment and disgust, but I chose to save the picture.

It was the first time I overlooked the sick feeling I get when I look at pictures of the man I now know took advantage of me. And it was love that conquered that feeling. No matter what, my grandparents always thought the best of me. I love them so much, and when I looked at their faces in that photo and remembered that, my ex-husband quickly faded.

This doesn’t surprise me, now that I think about it. I can’t stand to look at myself in these pictures, but I’ve rescued the ones with my mom, dad, sister, and grandparents. I saved a picture of the wedding cake with the flowers a now passed friend grew just for my wedding. I can look past all the hurt I felt that day and all the sorrow I feel for it now for the people I love, and that’s something worth knowing. But what about me?

I don’t feel the shame anymore, but I remember it vividly. I remember a scared young woman who was desperate to be told “you are worthy.” I feel pity and sympathy for her. I want to hug her and tell her the truth about herself.

I’m a little angry no one told me I didn’t have to get married to earn my worthiness back or to make things right, that I was never unworthy and things were never wrong in to begin with. I’m so sad for all the lies I believed back then, about myself, about the man I married, about right and wrong.

But I also feel a little less unworthy about that day. People were kind because they were happy for me, and they loved me. I won’t say I deserved it, but I was worthy of it, if only because I loved them and they loved me.

The bad feelings don’t miraculously go away just because I feel love and a little worthiness. There’s still a heavy weight in my chest and a darkness to my day that won’t be penetrated by either 40-watt bulbs or afternoon sunlight. My wedding day is still a difficult memory and it still makes me sad. But I’ve faced down one of the challenges that awaited me since I left my husband last August: the wedding album. I won’t have to do it again.

And there is something else that I know after today. I will not be that forlorn woman again. I will speak my heart and I will search for the truth. I will trust in my goodness and overcome my shame.