Five Problems with Social Media


So…hi! I was going to start this in November but I got on a roll today. So, today, I am starting The Writer’s Circle’s 30-Day Writing Challenge. Each day there is a topic and I will do my best to write as honestly and boldly as I can on each. The first one is, admittedly, a bit negative but a necessary truth. To make sure it isn’t all negative, I have tried to include some positive things that I am doing to address/combat each problem as I see it. And here…we…go!

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  1. It’s addictive. I admit. I have a bit of a Facebook addiction. I usually have a tab with it open on my browser all day long as I tend to post whatever I find encouraging and edifying throughout the days, as well as a few daily staples, like my workout (it’s my personal accountability to post it each day). Aside from Google Hangouts, it’s my main method of communication/knowledge with a great many friends. These are not excuses, simply acknowledgements. But, yes, it’s very addicting. I have been working hard to make sure that Facebook is not the first thing that open on my phone or computer when I wake up in the morning, trying to be intentional about spending those first few moments of the day in quiet time with God before I do anything else (aside from the caring for the toddler if she needs me).
  2. It’s subjective. Social media allows us, if we want to, to only show the best parts of ourselves and our lives. Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, etc. We can completely change the image of our lives by what we post and share on social media. We can make ourselves into supermoms, studs, A-students, etc. We live in a comparative society. We compare ourselves to others and they to us. If we are not careful with social media, we can project (as well as accept defeat at the hands of) an image of perfection that no one can live up to. We are here to support one another, not compete with one another, because everyone loses that contest.
  3. It can be quite negative. I’ve known several people who portray only the worst parts of themselves on social media – the vindictive, critical, argumentative, or bitter. I can entirely understand voicing your opinion but when that privilege comes along with tearing someone, something, an issue, or a stance to tiny little shreds and then dancing over those shreds with malicious glee…no. Such a thing is cowardly and unkind. I have had to check myself on several occasions when I have started to allow my dislike of something to tiptoe from a difference of opinion into unkind nastiness. True, I tend to pull myself back fast but the dirty feeling doesn’t leave quite as quickly. We need to make sure that we are not allowing ourselves to spread or be infected by the massive levels of negativity that can pervade social media. If that means unfollowing, unfriending, or not posting altogether, then that’s a conversation you need to have with yourself.
  4. We can fall into the approval trap. We need to be careful that we are not basing our self-esteem on the approval of social media. Our pictures, our stories, our opinions. I never want the basis of my personal self to be built on how many comments I received on that selfie or how many people liked my blog post, even. We cannot build ourselves around the shell of social media.
  5. It can distance us rather than connect us. There are articles and videos and PSAs aplenty about social disconnect and how being connected on social media can actually leave us physically and emotionally disconnected with those in our personal sphere. I don’t want that to happen. I am working harder on putting my phone down or computer aside when my daughter runs up excitedly and wants to tell me something, or cuddle with me and read a book or watch a movie. I trying to be intentional in conversations with my husband: turn off the ringer/put the phone down, set the laptop aside, turn the TV down or off, full eye contact, and actually listen to what is being said to me because, whatever it is, it is important to him, important enough for me to give him my full and loving attention, even if all he wants me to do is listen as he orders his mind through conversation. I never want to be so media connected that I am socially no good.

Flash Fiction: The Despairing Truth


“You must stop this, sir! You mustn’t speak this way!”

The lady’s hand pressed against the bodice of her dress as if to keep her heart from breaking through the cage of her ribs, corset, and stays and bursting right through the delicate silk of her dress. His words shocked and startled her and she struggled to stand her ground.

“Nay, Madame! I must and will speak my mind,” the gentleman insisted.

The lady drew back from him as if in fear. Spoken words were dangerous, as they could not be unsaid. Spoken minds were even worse, as they could be forever remembered.

“I beg you, say no more!” she pled, anger beginning to forment within her at this intrusion to her serenity. “I am a married woman, I remind you.”

“And your husband is a fool to make such a devoted wife penniless after his own foolishness!” he spoke hotly now at her mindless defense of the man all knew to be a thoughtless cad.

Her breath was stolen by that hard-slung word.

“Penniless?” Impossible. “You are mistaken, sir. Utterly mistaken. My family–”

“Has been in debit for months, Madame.” His voice betrayed his sadness as this fact. “Your fortune is in shambles. Your husband has borrowed against promises and his debts are being called in. Even now, the bailiffs are on their way to your residence.”

The warm summer day had turned deathly chill to her and she felt herself grow faint, grasping at the tree under which they stood to keep herself upright. He reached to help her but she held up a trembling hand to ward him off.

“I must get home. The staff will be aghast and my children so frightened. Please, take me home, Stanton, and, as we go, you will tell me all. Do you hear me? All!”

Stanton did as commanded, offering her his arm to lean on. He led her back towards the road, hailed a hansom and, as they drove through the busy morning streets as quickly as may, he detailed Isabelle’s husband’s descent into disgrace, shame, and penury at the gambling tables and moneylender’s counters.

Isabelle’s face grew pale and then stoney as marble by turns as her eyes were opened to the unabashed truth to which only she had been a stranger. “Then we are indeed ruined,” she breathed in horror-stricken resignation, “Utterly ruined.” Not only in lack of money but their respectability – her respectability – was now stricken through in black. Lowell had ruined not only himself but also her, shattered their children’s prospects, and their family name.

She turned her eyes to the man who sat across from her, those eyes made brighter by the tears that filled them, her hands twisted together so tightly as to almost tear her delicate gloves. But she did not cry. Instead, she fixed her face like a flint on this man who claimed to be her friend and asked,

“Stanton, what am I to do?”

The look on his face said all she needed to know.

Memories Trapped in Chestnut


There was a memory trapped somewhere in her hair, a memory she desperately wished she could remember. She knew that it was one she had cherished and replayed with all fondness. Its scent was tangled there in her chestnut tresses, and she caught it when she would tilt her head just so or when the wind would throw her hair about her head like a halo. What was it? A person? A place? Perhaps just a moment in time? Whatever it was, it lingered there, teasing her affectionately and she found herself smiling at every little moment. And that, in itself, was precious.