Writing is an exposing sport. If we do it right, we strip ourselves down to our naked humanity just to show the world what it looks like to be human, to be this human in particular. And if we’re lucky, revealing our particular humanness reminds the rest of us that we’re not alone in all the simple things that make us human.
Blogging is a particularly revealing form of writing. You write in the first person. You share stories about your life. Where I come from, secrets ruled. Don’t tell what happens in the family, or they’ll take you away. Don’t air the dirty laundry or the family will cast you out. Just smile. Everything is normal here. Everything is just as it seems.
It can be tough to shake a lifetime of secret-keeping as a means of survival.
But that’s exactly what I try to do here. Because writing doesn’t mean selling people out, as Didion claimed; it means reclaiming yourself. It means scraping together what you still recognize as self for examination. And if that means someone feels betrayed, so be it. And if the world watches too, all the better. Maybe the world will learn something. I know I do.
You’ve heard the advice. Be vulnerable online. Be authentic as a blogger. The best writing is the kind that risks something. This authenticity stuff is good advice, because we all want to feel like we belong. We’re all looking for validation. We want to feel like who we are matters. And bloggers, the good ones, show us that it’s okay to be a little more ourselves and that what we experience doesn’t make us weird. It makes us human.
But to be that amazing blogger who connects people and makes them feel okay about being themselves can be dangerous. It can be nerve-wracking. You may feel exposed. Judged. Wary of the strangers who just wait to be offended so they can unleash the pent up fury like a pressure valve on lives that feel out of control.
Maybe something I write—a missive in support of healthy sexuality, for example—pisses off some poor soul whose mother beat him for touching himself when he was five, and now he wants to enforce her decree because allowing healthy sexuality to live in the world would mean his mother was crazy. And he just can’t live with that idea.
The world is full of sick people. And living in the spotlight, however small, attracts them. The internet provides the anonymity, the psychological buffer, for many a seemingly-stable person to vet their aggression, their hidden angers and hurts, on others. The same people who hide their angers and built up resentments so well at work and at the neighbor’s birthday party unmask the monster online. How else will they escape it, even for a minute? It’s the nature of the internet in a society that leaves little room for the human.
I woke up the other morning in a panic. The day before was business as usual: responding to social media queries, planning blog posts, replying to reader and client emails. Then the realization seized me.
I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, pulled the covers around my neck, the idea of writing a post a hot white knife I couldn’t see the words through. People actually read this blog, I thought. The thousands of people who follow me (thank you, by the way!) by email and social media are all real people with individual lives and individual prejudices, and they’re judging me. Watching me perform my one-woman show as I pursue the career of my dreams. If I fall, they may jeer. If I fuck up, the’ll see. And remember.
I know these little panic episodes are normal, mine likely brought on by the fragments of an email conversation between a couple editors I wasn’t supposed to see, an email conversation about me and my writing merits that piggy backed on a forwarded email. It wasn’t anything bad. Just the normal Q&A two people would have before they hire a person. But I prefer to forget that such things occur. I prefer a wide professional distance, facts and figures and data. It makes it easier to write unselfconsciously when I can pretend no one is reading.
The moment eventually passed. As I woke up a little more that morning, the fear became just fear. And I remembered how well I’ve handled the trolls and assholes before. And I remembered how I felt when the moment got the better of me and I played the troll and asshole too (hey, I’m not perfect). I remembered it isn’t personal. Being an asshole online is to reveal our own hangups and insecurities. It’s never about the other person. And we can never escape judgement, online or off. So why hide? Why not write anyway?
I’m still here. Telling you what it feels like to be this particular human on this particular day doing this particular work. And maybe, if I’m lucky, you’ll see yourself in the words.
Hello!
Thanks for this post! I know I definitely feel really insecure about blogging sometimes. It’s so encouraging to know I’m not alone. 🙂
I always fear I’m putting TOO MUCH of myself out there, a little too much information. How much is too much? is always the question running through my mind.
Thanks, Mandy!
Kayla
It’s tough to know where the line is sometimes. I feel you, Kayla! Too bad there isn’t a hard guideline out there, but then again I’d probably see that as a reason to break it. So there we are 😀
Hi Mandy! Thank you this post (ok email, I got it as newsletter). I am struggling with finding the courage to start writing about some bad things that happened in my life, even though I know I will feel better once the stuff is there in words and not rumbling through my brain.
Have a great day 🙂
Adriana
Good luck with it, Adriana. I know you’ll find the path that’s right for you. It can be nerve-wracking to share things like that. Will people see us as some sort of victim? Will it change how they treat us? Will it cause rifts we can’t imagine ourselves living through? It’s a lot to contend with.
You’ve probably heard Ann Lamott’s quote: “You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.”
Let that be your guiding star. When you’re ready <3
Adizzy,
I hope you find courage to tell your story! Telling your story may help someone out there who may feel alone. Sometimes knowing what others have gone through helps us cope and feel stronger.
You are not a victim you are a survivor so let everyone know how strong you are! Now I’m interested to hear your story.
Mandy,
Thank you for this great article. I often only write the minimum because I feel that I don’t have a fancy degree in English and I may make too many mistakes.
Thanks,
Amy
Thanks, Amy. And by the way, you can learn all that English degree stuff on your own. And everybody makes typos. It’s the internet. We can’t be on top of everything 😉
I love your vulnerability in this piece. I’ve had an internet stalker before, a few years ago. I hid my identity for years, living in fear that he would find me again. Now I don’t care. I refuse to live in fear and post under my real name now. Kudos to you for this brave post, Mandy 🙂
I’m sorry you had that experience! And I’m glad you’ve taken your life back now. Thanks for taking the time to share this, Lori <3
I am a real person and I am judging you: I judge that I respect the hell out of your forthrightness and it inspires me. Signing up to get your posts by email was the best thing I’ve ever done with my email address. Reading your writing is hearing my (braver) self talking to me, telling me that it’s ok to get out there and be vulnerable. Nay, it is IMPERATIVE to do so.
thank you.
Thank you, V! For taking the time to say what it means to you. It makes me feel a little braver. So glad you’re here!
I love seeing something like this. You’re right, the “authenticity is best” message is all too common without any real examination of the risks. I grew up with secrecy as a coping mechanism too and it’s so hard to break my self imposed privacy to get real as a writer. I’m terrified of exposing myself. But it’s true…the more WE do it, the more others can see that it’s okay and it’s worth it. That’s why the writers and artists I love the most are willing to be honest about themselves.
Thanks again for the post!
Thanks, AJ. You make good points.