facebook

I used to be the kind of person whose every thought was fodder for Facebook, Twitter, and Tumblr. No matter how mundane, morbid, ridiculous, or inconsequential, I shared it. You might even say that sharing it was part and parcel of experiencing it.

Tinder's convenience hasn't “converted” anyone into suddenly only wanting one-night stands. I’ve never heard anyone say “I used to only want to sleep with people I was emotionally invested in, but Tinder is SO CONVENIENT.” Nobody’s treating their sexuality like impulse-buying a candy bar by the checkout counter at a fucking grocery store, so stop treating them like they do.

However, these seemingly innocuous stories are, in a very subtle way, reducing the subjects to their base level, judging them solely on their disability, and assuming that they are incapable of the same things as their peers, like hobbies or love.

Parenting a toddler is invigorating, exhausting, dirty, and intense. But since I want my daughter to have cousins (or at least pseudo-cousins) one day, I can’t always share the truth about my tiny tyrant on social media, for fear that my friends and siblings would never reproduce. And because, sometimes, you just want to project the image that you're calm, cool, and collected.

Last night I almost quit Facebook. I’d had yet another political argument, had my opinions and information dismissed as inaccurate, and I was just DONE. Fuck that social media noise. Who needs it, right? Sometimes social media feels like the toughest school playground, full of yelling and strange games and cliques.

For example, if you’re having gastrointenstinal distress, resist the urge to hashtag it with something generic like #diarrheacramps. Instead, include your first and last name and the date to make it your own: #LynnSmithDiarrheaCrampsFebruary2016.

As a journalist and outspoken feminist, I always knew the risks of being online. I’ve read stories of extreme harassment and doxing, such as when a troll pretended to be writer Lindy West's deceased father or when game developer Brianna Wu received death threats and had to flee her home.

My relationship with my father was never father-daughter picnics. Maybe when I was very little — or maybe this is less a memory and more of a wish — I have an image of myself as a very little girl sitting on my father’s lap, and we are both laughing. Perhaps my father enjoyed fatherhood when his children were very little, but that joy seemed to curdle into constant frustration as my brother and I grew up.