I'm the first to admit it: I am, absolutely and completely -- and without apology -- a social media junkie. I love blogging, I love email, I fucking adore Twitter, and I even enjoy the Facebook now and again (this blog even has a fan page there). I have a LinkedIn account, I still have a MySpace page, I even signed up with Plurk. Google my name, and you'll get over 5,000 results (this blog gets over 40,000). Tons of people follow me on FriendFeed. I'm all over the internet, and I like it.
I began believing in the power of the internet when I first got sober and spent a lot of time in sober chat rooms and following a sober list serve. I fell in love with online communities since I was first doing one of those Major Diet Plans and found the incredible online support in their forums. Then when I was trying to get pregnant my sanity and my life was saved by the forums on a fertility site, and those very forums introduced me to blogs. Within months I was blogging myself, and now, nearly six years into my blogging life, it simply IS my life. And now it's even my job.
Yes, I know that my heart is here at home, in the face of my daughter and her unbridled giggles, in the place on my husband's chest where my head feels most comfortable, in the hugs from my mother, and in the snarky gossip sessions with my best friend. Yes, I do have a non-online life, with people I see and touch on a regular basis.
But as I've become immersed in my online life, my "online friends" have more and more often become "real life friends" because over the years I've managed to meet them in person, either at conferences or when we're traveling. And let me tell you, when you finally meet someone in person that you've been communicating with online for many years, it feels RIGHT. There is little awkwardness, little discomfort, and plenty of deep affection. Ask Julia; when we finally -- FINALLY -- met in person this summer at BlogHer, it felt like part of my heart had come home.
Many folks worry that those of us that live so publicly are over sharing. But hell, trust me on this one, I over share when you know me in person (you can ask the young woman we just interviewed to be a supplemental babysitter for Tori; more on that another day). I am exactly the way I am online in person, EVEN MORE SO. (Perhaps I'm a tad more snarky; it's easier and safer to tell in person from tone of voice, etc, when someone is being sarcastic or overly dramatic.) So when you meet me, I generally do not surprise you. In fact, folks often say upon meeting me that I sound in person just like I do on my blog. Yes, including the swearing.
My real life friends, so to speak, cross over into my online life. Sarah and I frequently tweet each other throughout the day, and we often forget whether or not we've told each other something because we assume if it's online the other person knows about it. (My mom, however, lives a bit outside the social media circle; although she does have a Facebook page, she finds it "intrusive", and feels like reading my blog is eavesdropping. Heh.) My friend Jo-Ann uses Twitter to schedule play dates with me. It's how we all communicate, now.
When Tori fell at the playground and hit her head on a pole and needed to go to the emergency room and get staples in her scalp, I tweeted about it from the waiting room of the hospital. I uploaded a photo of the injury while we waited for the numbing gel to set in. I must have updated a dozen times during that hectic day, and honestly? Reading everyone's responses on Facebook and on Twitter kept me from becoming hysterical. I know it was only a tiny cut (an inch! at most! they didn't even have to shave her head!) but I felt utter and complete panic and dread while I was alone in that waiting room before Charlie showed up, and having my online community gather me into its arms and calm me down, tut-tut sympathetically, and send me virtual hugs helped. IMMENSELY. I have chosen to life my life online, and therefore I reap the rewards, damn it.
I lean on my online friends, they lean on me, and we share our joys and our sorrows and our frustrations, by the page on the blog, by the paragraph on Facebook, and in 140 characters at a time on Twitter. This is what we do, how we have chosen to participate in our friendships.
So when a socially-media savvy mom lost her two-year old son in a swimming pool accident this week, I understood her impulse to tweet about it. I understood why she did it, even in her moment of horror and grief. If it had been me? Yeah. I would have probably done it too. Maybe not mid-event, maybe later, but honestly? I don't know. I hope I never have to find out.
While she was given much immediate support, there were a few who wondered out loud (you know, online) if it was true. Could this death be verified? Of course someone put up a donation page (not the mother of the little boy who died, but an online friend) -- and quickly, since that's pretty easy to do when you're as plugged in as we are -- so a few wondered if we should all wait a bit for verification before donating.
I also understand the impulse to question. We've been taken in -- more than once -- by scammers online. We've given our hearts and our money to people that talked about children who died, when it turned out those children had never existed. We've cried about marriages that have collapsed when the people weren't married, had never been married.
Just last week I was at a party for BlogHer in New York City (yes, thanks to the new job, I'll be traveling a great deal), and I met a PR guy who has been very active in the momosphere. He gained some infamy, in fact, for some dealings he had with mommy bloggers last summer. He told me, blatantly, that he has two -- TWO -- fake mom blogs that he maintains. He told me this like I was going to commend him for shitting where I live, for giving more people fodder to think we're all making this shit up. I asked him why he did it, and he said he "wanted to see how businesses treat mommy bloggers." I rolled my eyes, and let him know that I thought it was pretty crappy.
It's no wonder that people don't believe us. I've had people leave me comments doubting the truthfulness of my story; they say, "Really? You're an alcoholic, and you lost a pregnancy late because of preeclampsia, and you then had a placental abruption, and you went through years of infertility? All of that is true?" Yes, yes, yes -- all true. I'll happily produce all my medical records as soon as I land that elusive book deal. Usually these doubters come around in time, and I can't honestly blame them for wondering.
When this poor young woman's son died this week, it didn't take long for the doubters to clash with the supporters. Wildfires don't just happen in California, folks: they happen on Twitter, nearly every day, and burn hot and bright and furiously. In this particular case, lots of people got really nasty really fast. I'm not going to take sides; I've decided to generally not have an opinion in any online fight anymore. The whole story is rarely known, and usually blame can be generously shared all around.
But I needed to just acknowledge the impulse the woman had to notify everyone about her son in a burst of 140 characters. So many people that don't live in the social media universe don't understand. But I do. I really do.
The ones that don't understand? Well, they don't use social media as a source for community. They use it to promote a business or an organization, or to keep up with pop culture, or to fight off boredom. They might enjoy keeping up with high school friends on Facebook, but they do not understand those of us that constantly air our private lives in a public forum. And I can't possibly expect them to.
But there are some people who don't understand why you would wear white to a funeral, or dance at a wedding, or rend your clothing when a child dies, or whatever kind of culture clash you can imagine -- fill in the blank. And I have to say, judging this mom for her impulse to share her grief in a public way, in the moment of agony, is just as inappropriate as judging any other culture you don't understand.
My heart goes out to @Military_Mom and her family (that's her twitter name). I hope that she finds the comfort and support she needs, wherever she looks for it, in the coming months as she copes with such a devastating loss. And I hope that you will all hold her in your thoughts, and refrain from judgment. Even if it's hard to do. Even if your first impulse is to question it. Hold it in, and just know that it worked for her.










