I lovehate our social media age.
I love that Facebook keeps me semi-connected to people who I have at one point been close to. Or met that one time. I hate that I seem to spend all my goddamn time on it. Seriously, the other day my son was pulling on my pants leg, because my face was zeroed in on the tiny screen in my hand reading a political hate article. How is that nonsense remotely more important than the rapidly growing baby tugging on my yoga pants? And yet, I find myself clicking that icon before I even realize what’s happening.
I love how I can put a visual to dear ones on Instagram. It’s like Facebook, without the political clutter: oh look, a baby. Oh look, a pretty sunset. Oh look, a clever hashtag. I hate how eventually I start comparing my life to those photos. Oh look, she must have the most perfect baby ever. Why isn’t my baby perfect? Oh look, a sunset that I’m too lazy to get up and look at. Frick, I’m lazy. Oh look, a hashtag far too clever for me to come up with. Seriously, who can explain the hashtag to me? I feel like a grandma.
I love that Twitter can give us news the instant it happens. I hate that people have taken it to be so reliable. And I hate most of Twitter, let’s be honest.
I love that Snapchat helps me stay connected to my younger friends. Seriously, would I know ANYTHING about my little adopted sisters without it? I hate that I can never seem to get a good angle, or remember to snap that cool thing I did yesterday.
As you can see, I’m fairly plugged in. If you look slightly to your right, you’ll see I even have social media for my books. Oh yeah. So why the hell would I need to add to all of that?
Recently, a friend posted a controversial article about sexism in the Mormon church on Facebook and the comments section turned into a scene from Sparta.
Seriously, it was nasty and hate-filled. As a former member of the Mormon church, and someone who felt very strongly about the content in the article, I was angered and revved and saddened, and I found this intense desire to share my story. So I did. Not in the comments (because that would be stupid), but in my own separate post. For the first time, I shared with the entirety of Facebook that I am no longer Mormon.
I braced for war.
Instead, I got love. Perhaps something about my phrasing? Perhaps because I don’t really tolerate intolerable individuals as Facebook friends? It doesn’t matter, that’s not the point. The love I received is not even the point.
It was the private messages.
In the space of twenty-four hours, three individuals reached out to me to tell me that their story was similar. They reached out to share in their pain, to express excitement at finding a like-minded person, to express sorrow that given their individual circumstances, they had to hide their lack of belief.
I felt… connected. I had this intense knowledge that I wasn’t alone, that my words actually MEANT something. And, in almost the exact instant, I realized that I have so much more I want to say.
I want to talk about Mormonism. I want to talk (REAL talk, none of that fake shit) about being a Mom, being a teacher, being a feminist. About spirituality and friendship and… I don’t know. The important stuff. And Facebook and Instagram, Twitter and Snapchat are really not the best platforms for that.
And thus, I, Molly Marie, created a blog.