communication, complaints, family, musings, social media

Many of my “friends” aren’t actually my friends…

Today’s blog post may cause me to lose some Facebook “friends”. I’ve decided that I’m okay with that, mostly because not being okay with it isn’t useful. It would be hypocritical for me to be upset with people who unfriend or block me on Facebook for expressing myself in an honest way. If I want to be free to express myself and have authentic reactions, then I should be willing to grant other people the same courtesy. Moreover, most of the people on my Facebook friends list aren’t actually my friends, anyway.

People have the right to feel any way they want to feel, and react the way they want to react. I try to be authentic as much as possible, even though I realize that not everyone likes me as my authentic self. I’ve always kind of marched to a different beat that not everyone understands or enjoys. It’s caused me problems my whole life. When I was a lot younger and less wise, I even tried to be different. It didn’t work out very well for me, nor did it last. So… at almost 51 years of age, I’ve come to realize that I am who I am. Take me or leave me. 😉

Two days ago, I wrote a blog post that apparently greatly offended someone who was a Facebook friend. I woke up this morning to see that she’s blocked me. She’s no longer a Facebook friend, but she is still married to my dad’s cousin, and they do occasionally go to our family events. I guess if I ever come home to another family reunion while we’re both still living, things may be awkward. Luckily for her, there’s a good chance I won’t bother going “home” again, anyway.

The post that my former Facebook friend was apparently offended by is this one…

You will notice how many (or how few) people have viewed it so far…

I’m not going to rehash too much of the contents of that post, because as you can see, it has very few hits. I didn’t realize this person was a regular reader of my blog, although I did know that she might read what I wrote and get offended by it. I have a habit of sharing my links on my personal Facebook page– usually just once. And, as you can see, almost none of the now 382 people on my friends list clicked the link.

I guess I don’t blame her for apparently being offended by my post… but I suspect she doesn’t realize that the reason I wrote it, in the first place, was because I was a bit triggered by her comments to me. I simply needed to “unpack”.

I have written more than once that I often write blog posts about things that upset or trigger me. I blog here because the blog gets a lot fewer views than my Facebook page does, and that means the responses to my thoughts are generally much less contentious. I know it’s hard to believe, but I see posting in my blog as opposed to Facebook as a kindness. Most of the really popular posts on my blog are not about personal subjects, but on my thoughts about books, movies, or videos.

I am going to be very clear. I am not sorry for writing that post, although I do regret that my former Facebook friend was evidently offended by it. It’s never my intention to hurt people’s feelings or upset them. Writing is simply how I process things. It’s just a form of communication. It’s what I do.

I do realize that not everyone likes what I do. Some people would rather I stay quiet. That’s not my nature, though. I’m naturally an outspoken person, although I often tend to be even more outspoken in print. A real friend would know this about me and understand it on some level, even if they don’t always appreciate it. A real friend wouldn’t expect me to be someone different. That’s probably why I don’t actually have a lot of real friends… or maybe I’m just a worthless bitch. That could be true, too… :shrug:

I grew up in southern Virginia, which is a very southern place. I was taught from an early age that I should always be “nice” to people, even when they weren’t nice to me. I don’t think I learned this from my mom, though. My mom is a pretty blunt person. She knows how to be “nice”, but I’ve rarely ever seen her fake it with people. When she’s upset, she lets people know. That’s even more true today. She recently told me about how she ordered her dentist and his hygienist to “shut up”, because they were blathering about something annoying while working on her mouth. She got fed up with listening to them and literally told them to be quiet. I’ve never done that to my dentist, but maybe if I make it to my 80s, I might feel bold enough to tell him or her to shut up, too.

My dad was the one who encouraged me to keep quiet about how I felt. I think he expected me to look and behave like a proper southern lady. That’s not me, though. It’s not even his wife, who kind of looks the part of a demure southern lady, but really doesn’t act like it. I can remember him frequently chastising me for being too “honest” about my opinions. He was always allowed to say whatever he wanted, no matter how hurtful. But I was expected to shut up and keep sweet. It was quite toxic, so I don’t do that for anyone anymore.

A few days ago, I shared a post a Facebook friend had on her feed. I liked the message of the post, which was to remind people to keep their toxic body shaming comments to themselves. The post had a picture of an overweight woman in a bikini. My former Facebook friend thought it was a picture of me and said I looked “great”. It seemed to me that she’d completely missed the point of the post, which was that most people (especially strangers) just want to be left alone and don’t necessarily want any feedback on how they look. Adding insult to injury was that when I pointed out that the photo wasn’t of me, she laughed and said “oops” instead of simply apologizing for the mistake.

At the time I saw her responses to me, my authentic feelings could be described as annoyed and a bit hurt. However, I resisted the urge to react with anger on Facebook, even though that was how I honestly felt at the time. Unfortunately, I was still perturbed about it the next day.

On Sunday morning, I felt compelled to write about the incident on this blog. There was a lot of angst and personal stuff in the post, because I was being honest and trying to explain where that reaction comes from. Could it have been less “angry”? Yes, maybe… but then, it wouldn’t have been authentic. And, as you can see, very few people have read the damned thing, anyway. One of those five hits came from the person who inspired my post in the first place. That’s precisely why I wrote it in my blog instead of directly confronting the person on Facebook. But maybe, in retrospect, I should have called her out on social media for all of the rest of my 382 Facebook friends to see. Perhaps that would have seemed less “shady” to my “victim”.

Now… this isn’t the first time someone has told me, in so many or few words, that I shouldn’t write about something. In fact, I recently wrote about how former tenant tried to silence me on multiple occasions when she didn’t like something I wrote in my blog. She brazenly implied that I was “mean”, “crazy”, or a liar, and clearly never even considered my perspective. It was pretty poisonous stuff, especially since she was monitoring me and tattling to the landlady. If she didn’t like my content, she could have simply minded her own business and unfollowed, right?

Several years ago, I was inspired by a former Facebook friend who kept sharing quotes that were falsely attributed to George Carlin. My post wasn’t really even about my former “friend”; it was about the common practice of sharing falsely attributed quotes. His repeated fake George Carlin posts just gave me the idea for the topic.

But boy, you would have thought I’d insulted his mother or something. He very dramatically blocked me, after telling me off, then got all his redneck friends to stalk my blog for days. All it resulted in was extra AdSense pennies. If he’d been a real friend, he might have stopped and thought for a moment about what I wrote. Maybe he might have considered my perspective and determined whether or not what I wrote objectively made any sense, rather than simply reacting with a wounded ego.

In my opinion, that’s what an actual friend would do… because they’d want to understand and relate. He wasn’t a friend, though… not that I ever had expectations of a real friendship with that guy. I was just there to up his friend count. I do think it’s funny, though, that we “met” on a Web site called “Epinions.com”, and sharing opinions was what the site was all about. I guess it’s okay to share opinions as long as they’re always about someone or something else.

Now, I’ve evidently offended my cousin’s wife, who actually offended me first, by disingenuously saying that I looked “great” in a photo that wasn’t even of me. Then, when I pointed out the error, she “laughed” and said “oops”. When I further tried to explain my point about not being so focused on appearances, she still didn’t get it, and complimented me again. Since she didn’t even know the photo wasn’t of me, and wasn’t getting that I didn’t find her mistake funny, how can I take anything she says about my appearance seriously? And why is it even necessary to make those comments?

I certainly don’t mind hearing that I’m pretty or look young, but I would hope the compliments are sincere and aren’t just said to be “nice”. Because, as you can see, “niceness” can backfire spectacularly, and most of the time, there’s simply no need. I think it’s better to be kind than to be nice. There is a big difference between the two.

When I decided to process this situation through writing, which is something I commonly and regularly do on this blog, her response was to– apparently– get pissed and block me. That’s not much of a friendship, is it? She had claimed to be my friend, but chose to block me rather than have a simple conversation. I don’t think that is the action of someone who values a relationship. If she had ever actually cared about me as a friend, she would communicate with me. I did try to communicate with her before I wrote my little read blog post that evidently so upset her.

Although I always regret losing friends– or even “friends”– it seems to me that in many cases like this, when a “friendship” is suddenly lost over a Facebook or blog post that goes south, we were never really friends in the first place. And the more I age, the less time or patience I have for indulging people who aren’t interested in forming an authentic connection. The older I get, the more I realize that most people aren’t friends… at best, they’re acquaintances, with just the barest surface knowledge about the people who aren’t in their immediate orbit. Social conventions, especially in the South, have trained us all to act the part of a friend, even if it’s not genuine. It’s that whole “bless your heart” attitude…

If you’re not from the South, allow me to explain “bless your heart”. It sounds nice, and sometimes it really is meant that way. Say, for instance, if you’re a little kid and you fall and skin your knee, you might hear your Granny say “bless your heart” as she offers you a cookie and a kiss (although my Granny never did that to me).

However, a lot of the time, when you hear someone from the South saying “bless your heart”, what they really mean is that you should either be ashamed of yourself, or you’re just clueless or stupid. Instead of being straightforward when we communicate, we’re taught to “soften the blow” with fake platitudes like “bless your heart”. Women, especially, aren’t taught to be assertive and straightforward. Instead, we offer up heaping loads of bullshit to each other, and pretend it’s better than simply being “real”… and, by the way, being “real” isn’t akin to being rude or mean. Being real is about simply not being disingenuous.

I really tried to be more “nice” when I was younger, but it’s simply not in my nature. Trying to be superficially nice is, to me, like wearing shoes on the wrong feet. I do always try to be kind, but there’s a difference between being kind and being “nice”. And I’m afraid I’m not always “nice”. I’m definitely not “sweet”, either… and it kind of makes me cringe when someone says I am. Hey– if you know, you know! And if you’re calling me “sweet”, you definitely don’t know me very well. But then, maybe you’d rather not know me, if you want to be around someone who is sweet.

Living in Germany and Armenia, both places where people can be painfully blunt, has made me even less likely to indulge people who say “bless your heart” and lie to my face. I’ve come to realize that it’s a waste of time to adopt that style of communication, anyway. So many times, I’ve wasted time trying to be “friends” with someone who turns out to be full of shit. And then I’m left with the hurt and trauma of having wasted the effort… when they couldn’t even attempt to accept me for who I am, or try to see things from my perspective. And they’re always allowed to be offended, but I’m not.

I know that many people would tell me to process this crap by keeping it private, or by talking to Bill, or a friend. I don’t have local friends. Bill hears this stuff all the time, but he manages to love me anyway. And I think other people can relate, or might even be interested in the topic, so I write these posts for them. I know that a lot of people, for instance, are tired of being body shamed by strangers. They just want to be left in peace. That was really what the initial offending post was about, anyway.

Reading my blog is always a choice. I suspect that my cousin’s wife isn’t even a regular reader of this blog, but chose to read that post because of the featured photo, which offered a clue as to what the post would be about. She correctly realized it would be about that viral post of the woman in the bikini, and how she thought I was her.

As you can see by the tiny hit count on the above post that got me blocked by a family member, not that many people DO read my blog… just like few people read the posts they react and respond to on Facebook. More people read my Facebook page than this blog. I know most people would just let this stuff go without comment… but I’m not “most people”, just as you aren’t “most people”. We’re all individuals. I am me, and this is simply how I respond to things. If that’s upsetting to you, maybe it’s better that we’re not “friends”.

But don’t worry. I probably won’t be at the next family reunion, anyway. A lot of them don’t like me, either. 😉

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love, marriage, music, musings

Writing about my scars for the past nineteen years…

It’s time for another goofy selfie. Today’s featured photo was taken in Innsbruck, Austria, in August 2020. We’re both a bit broader and greyer.

Good morning, everybody. It’s November 16th, which means it’s my wedding anniversary. Nineteen years ago, Bill and I tied the knot under somewhat scary circumstances. He was a 38 year old man who had been through divorce, bankruptcy, foreclosure, domestic violence, and 9/11 at the Pentagon. I was 30 years old and recently graduated from a double master’s degree program that had put me in a lot of debt.

We met in a chat room in 1999. He was newly separated from Ex and had recently rejoined the Army as a full time officer. I had just started grad school and didn’t know anyone. We fell into a friendship in November of that year, finally meeting in person in 2001. When 9/11 struck and no one knew we were dating, we decided to go public… and not long after that, we got engaged.

I know I used this photo last year, but it’s really a good representation of us… and how we are. And we don’t have any recent photos of us. Maybe we’ll take one this weekend.

Now, here I sit, pretty much debt free, but never having used those degrees I spent three long years working to earn. Bill is retired. The last nineteen years have been full of adventure and, for the most part, a lot of fun. I talked to Bill and my mom last night. Bill is in Poland on business. Mom is in Virginia, watching ships pass from the windows of her apartment, which offer great views of the Chesapeake Bay. I didn’t have much to say to Bill, since I last saw him at 4:00am Monday morning, before he flew to Warsaw.

To my mom, I said I was surprised by how well marriage has worked out for Bill and me. Especially considering how and where we met. Lots of people had doubts about the feasibility of our relationship. My mom, especially, was creeped out that we met on the Internet. She thought it was WEIRD. Years later, she admitted she was wrong to doubt us.

My career didn’t work out the way I had hoped it might. Now I think that’s probably a blessing, even if it’s hard on my ego. I had always wanted to be a writer. Sure enough, that’s what I am. Almost every day, I write something, even if lately, I’ve been putting up a lot of reposts. I don’t mind the reposts, since a lot of them eventually do get read, especially the book reviews. The reposts are, for the most part, from days when I had good thoughts to put down, and I see nothing wrong with recycling stuff. I live in a country where recycling is the law. Aside from that, sometimes I just can’t think of anything I want to write about that badly. That’s not a bad thing. Taking the odd day off is good for the soul and helps me recharge, and sometimes old posts are still entertaining or educational.

This morning, I was reading some old posts I’d written. I was trying to think of what I wanted to write about today. I found a post I wrote called “My Special Brand of Shitty Sunshine“. I had forgotten what it was about, but was intrigued by the title. One might think that post would be full of vitriol. Actually, it’s a fairly thoughtful post inspired by Caleb Wilde, the guy who runs the Facebook page for Confessions of a Funeral Director. I wrote it on May 19, 2019, after having read an insightful post Caleb had written. I was struck by his thoughts on why he writes, and I related to it so much so that I quoted him:

“Speak and write about your scars, not your open wounds. That’s the axiom you’re supposed to follow as a writer.”

Anyone who regularly reads my writing knows that I often write about my scars. However, like Caleb, I also write about my gaping wounds. Sometimes people don’t know how to take some of my more “honest” thoughts, especially about certain subjects. I have occasionally been on the receiving end of unsolicited advice about some of my content or opinions. Some have warned me that sometimes I come off like an ass. Of course, that only stands to reason, because just like almost everyone else out there, sometimes I actually AM an ass. I’m just being authentic. 🙂

On the other hand, people have also told me that many times, the posts about my open wounds are useful. They relate to them, or are entertained by them. Or, sometimes they SHOW me the posts are useful to them, by stabbing me in the back and talking trash about me to a certain mutual former landlady, or to likeminded people who don’t like me and want to stir up shit among themselves. While I’d rather people didn’t use my writings to cause trouble, there’s not much I can do to stop people from doing what they’re going to do. That’s the price I pay for writing down my thoughts and sharing them. Besides, since we left Stuttgart, most of that juvenile crap has stopped, since I have made a point of not engaging with most of the military community in Wiesbaden.

I know a lot of people make lifelong friends through ties to the military. My parents had some dear, wonderful friends from my dad’s 22 years in the Air Force. Bill and I have made a few friends, too. But, by and large, I’ve found that trying to make friends with most people is kind of a fruitless exercise. It’s kind of like dating. You date someone for awhile and break up… and sometimes you can be friends afterwards, but a lot of times, there’s too much pain and the relationship falls apart. I haven’t dated much in my lifetime, but I have found that I’ve had a lot of “friends” who turned out to be temporary. On the other hand, I’ve had other friends who have been around for decades, even if very few of them are “close friends”.

Maybe finding real friends is more like panning for gold, which in some ways, is harder in the age of the Internet. It’s easier to find “friends”, but harder to find quality friends. A lot of people think I’m weird, anyway, and don’t take the time to get to know me well. But, in fairness, I don’t invest a lot of time in them, either, because I sense that they don’t quite accept me the way I am. At my age, changing for the sake of a friendship that will probably be temporary isn’t worth the effort. So, those who take me as I am, like Bill… and even my mom, these days, are people I make an effort to keep in my life. There are a few true friends, too… including a couple of people I’ve never met in person and know little about.

But, in all seriousness, having been associated with the military lifestyle for the past 19 years, I gotta say that as much as I loved living in Stuttgart– especially since a total of six of our years as a couple were spent there– it really is the most toxic place we’ve ever lived. It’s even more toxic and dramatic than living on Fort Belvoir was. We spent four years living there, and we saw a LOT of drama. And that was before Facebook or Twitter! Stuttgart the second time was even worse, even though we didn’t live in a stairwell apartment but, in fairness, that probably was because of social media.

Caleb continues with this: “Burnout, secondary trauma, PTSD, depression, fear, disassociation, social anxiety . . . these are all a part of my concoction of diagnosed open wounds (more on the diagnosed part of things when I’m feeling up to talking about it). And these wounds rarely have time to heal when their source is your job. For some of us, like me, writing from our scars isn’t entirely possible because some wounds just remain . . . open.”

Well… he’s a funeral director, so he’s bound to see and hear a lot of sad stories. He’s not unlike a bartender or a mental health counselor of any stripe. I wrote the post that fathered this one in May 2019, before COVID-19 was a thing. Caleb’s business is bound to be even more difficult today than it was two and a half years ago. In fact, it occurs to me that I haven’t seen any recent posts by him. I just checked his Facebook page, and it looks like the last fresh post from him dates November 13, 2020. I can only assume that he’s very busy with his work. I hope nothing worse has happened.

But this is what he posted, almost a year ago… and I guess it offers some explanation:

There’s a sliver of time in a person’s life when society actually encourages us to care for ourselves. That sliver of time we’re afforded for self-care happens when we experience a loss. After we lose someone or something, it’s like all of a sudden everyone around us becomes caring and encouraging with phrases like:

“You can get through this!”

“It’s okay to express your feelings.”

And . . . “You need to take some time for yourself.”

And for a minute we believe them. We allow ourselves to let our space get a little dirty. Or maybe we stop shaving. Maybe we order out and watch more Netflix. During a loss, we let ourselves take care of ourselves.

But in the back of our minds we have an imaginary clock that’s counting down the days til self-care takes a back seat to “responsibility.”

Right now all of us are experiencing a loss. A loss of normality, of the rhythms were used to dancing to. Just like with the loss of a loved one, we’re suddenly having to learn an entirely new dance with no promise that the old dance will ever play again.

We’re friends, right? You’re here because you’ve read something I’ve written and you connected to it. So, as your friend, let me tell you:

“You can get through this.” There’s no promise the end of this will be the same as the beginning. It won’t be. But we can get to the other side.

“It’s okay to express your feelings.”

A lot of us don’t like the COVID versions of ourselves and that’s okay. It’s okay to be less patient, less stable. Take all the time you need to accept yourself as you are right now.

“You need to take some time for yourself.”

You can stay safe and not be a martyr. Nobody is asking us to sacrifice ourselves. Do something you like (the pic is me doing something I like). Stay away from things you hate. Train your mind to think on things you enjoy, not things that make you angry and fearful. You have total permission to care for yourself. I’ve been telling myself that it’s okay to be a little more patient and gracious to myself right now. I give that same grace and patience to the families I serve at the funeral home. I don’t have to starve myself of what I give.

I don’t know what Caleb Wilde is up to right now. I hope he’s alright, and the realities of life in 2021 haven’t buried him, either figuratively or literally. It occurs to me, though, that his writings about his scars and gaping wounds have inspired me, and taught me new things. Likewise, I hope some of the things I write are inspirational, educational, entertaining, or even just offer some reaction of some sort. Even if that reaction is disgust or anger… or something else negative.

I’m sitting here writing this post today, on our 19th anniversary, mainly because 19 years ago, we said “I do.” I didn’t go off and work for a public health agency or take a job as a social worker. I didn’t become a grant writer or lobbyist. I didn’t do what I had been planning to do when Bill and I had that chance meeting in a javascript chat room, back in 1999. We later progressed to mIRC, and then Yahoo! Messenger, which is where I got the news that he’d survived 9/11. I remember the first time I heard his voice was over VoIP, rather than on the phone or in person. I never thought that would lead us to marriage. In fact, I never thought we’d meet in person, let alone become husband and wife. I have to admit our partnership has really worked flawlessly on all levels, in spite of everything, including COVID… 😉 And yes, it’s worked out “in spite of ourselves”, too…

Wish COVID-19 hadn’t taken John Prine… because this song could be our theme song.

And… just as I’m about to close today’s musings, James Taylor’s song, “Daddy’s All Gone” just came on. As I sit here, wishing Bill was home on our anniversary, and I’m reminded that his career has taken him away so many times… though so far, not permanently… I realize how prescient that song could have been for him. He wasn’t a James Taylor fan before he met me, but he’s come to appreciate his music. I’m sure I’ve played “Daddy’s All Gone” for Bill. It might have made him choke up, especially given that he missed out on raising his daughters.

This song has meaning for Bill…
And this song has meaning for me… especially this particular version.

We were supposed to see James play in Frankfurt on February 11. We have second row seats. Unfortunately, COVID-19 has fucked that up, and James had to postpone his European tour. I hope he gets here eventually. I really could use another show by him. I’m not surprised the tour was postponed, though. A year ago, we were supposed to see Keb’ Mo’ play in Mainz. He has postponed that show three times. At this writing, we’re due to use our tickets for last year’s concert on May 11, 2022. I had to look it up, because I can’t keep all of the updates straight anymore.

Well, I guess I’ve prattled on long enough. Those songs remind me I really need to practice guitar. Thanks to COVID-19, I may have more time for practicing, because I fear there may be another lockdown soon. Anyway… we’ll probably do something celebratory over the weekend. And maybe I’ll put up the fucking Christmas decorations while he’s gone. Wow… this year has flown by. Before we know it, I’ll be thinking about what to write on our 20th wedding anniversary.

Edited to add… Bill and I walked down the aisle to “Highland Cathedral”. I just happened to stumble across this rendition, and now I’m a blubbering mess. Seriously… it is GORGEOUS.

I could listen to this all day.

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