So, after nearly a year off of Facebook, I reactivated my account in March so I could start selling some items and eventually get our house on the market.
Then my dad ran for a local public office and I thought I might better stick around to help promote his candidacy.
And now it’s August. And I’m still there. (My dad lost, by the way.)
I said I was only going back to sell stuff….but then I remembered how much I missed engaging with people that I rarely get to see. I missed getting inspired or laughing at some of my stupid friends who share nothing but nonsense. I missed the banter my husband and I enjoyed on each other’s posts.
And then, on Wednesday, ICE started raiding several plants and factories in my state and people did on Facebook what they always do when something like that happens: they showed their asses.
And I came REALLLLLLLLLLY close to showing mine.
I don’t know…..I think maybe my meds just have gotten me to a very “nofucksgiven” state of mind, because I ended up engaging with a racist on a post. A racist I KNOW. And have a history with. And it took a lot of self restraint to not get super petty with some of the smart ass comments that were swirling in my brain and being typed then deleted, typed then deleted, typed, typed, typed………then deleted.
But the point is, I was able to check myself.
Withdraw. Before my mouth got out of hand in a way that was not productive.
I couldn’t have done that before my hiatus from Facebook. I DIDN’T do that before my hiatus. I pretty much let loose any condescending superiority I felt in my self-righteous opinions, and God help you if you came up on me in the comments.
After one of those incidents (of which there were many), I would stew about them for dayyyyys.
Not just about the subject matter and what was said to ME, but I would stew about my own words. Be angry for not just shutting up and going about my business. For letting the ignorance of others drive me insane.
I got called out one night by a friend. Privately, she admonished my most recent rant. I cried into my pillow that night, so unhappy with myself. So unhappy with a lot in my life that had NOTHING to do with anything or anyone on Facebook. Broken parts of myself were beginning to cut through the surface of my soul. And I needed to step back.
So I did.
And for that year of no Facebook, my real, in-person relationships deepened. I found myself less distracted. I read more. Wrote more.
It was an all around good decision.
Yesterday, when I had my flashback to a familiar behavior, but was able to stop short of becoming a true ass in the exchange, I had to stop and think, “Do I really want to go back to this platform?”
And I decided I do.
Because I’ve learned how to be me, and not fear it. I had some mild anxiety inducing heart palpitations during my exchange with the racist yesterday, but I think it was mainly from trying not to unleash about 20 years worth of anger on somebody who, is not only a racist, but has said some truly hurtful things to many, many people in my family.
But I didn’t unleash them. In fact, I told him the truth. I told him that I pitied him, for all the hatred he carried in his heart, and that I would continue to pray for him.
And I will.
And I’ll continue to pray for me.
And I’ll continue to speak up about things that I’m passionate about.
I’m 37 years old. The time for a popularity contest is over. At this point, any information I share or exchange I have is in the hopes that people will realize they aren’t alone in their beliefs or their struggles, and maybe my coming out of the shadows will help them be a little braver.
Or maybe some know-it-all will start rethinking their POV on some issues (I DO make the occasional good point.) And I used to be that know-it-all. Probably still come across as one, but perception? I can’t really help that. I swear I know I don’t know everything.
But I’m going to share what I DO know.
I’m out of retirement, baby.