PTSD
I've got PTSD.
No I wasn't in the service. No I wasn't attacked or in a car wreck.
I wrote a blog.
This blog was so controversial that I lost two friendships over it. And since then, my blog writing has been few and far between, and when I have posted blogs, they have been innocuous and non-controversial. But that's not in my nature, to be so...mild when I blog. What gives my writing LIFE is the conflict. Yet I've shied away from it.
Some people thrive on conflict. I do not. So why, then, did I try to challenge readers so much with my controversial blogs? Mostly because I never met with much dissent, and I took that for granted--took for granted that no one would want to tussle with me verbally. And I was mostly right.
But this one friend, when he read my blog, he didn't realize it was MY blog. He thought I was just reposting someone else's blog, so he disagreed with the premise, vehemently, and I fought back--hard.
What pushed my buttons the most was his use of expletives that, to my mind, were violent. Yes, language can be violent when used in a certain way, especially when a man uses it against a woman. Which was ironic because he was supposedly all "pro-feminism" and he thought my blog was anti-feminism. He was fighting for the rights of women using sexually violent language against a woman. Yeah, irony just doesn't cover it.
When he realized it was my blog, he backed down a little (I guess he didn't like confrontation much either) but before we could hash out our differences, he unfriended me and blocked me--as if I would harass him or something. (I'm still trying to find out where he lives. That's a joke. ) I tried to mitigate the situation as best I could, but he unfriended and blocked me before I could do much.
The situation hit me on a particularly vulnerable day, as I recall, and I didn't take it well.
So the controversial blogs stopped--actually, all blogs stopped for a while because every time I'd sit down to write one, I'd get anxiety. I wondered how someone could take it wrong, or take it and bash me with it. I guess he ran away like I ran away, only we did it differently. He ran from me, I ran from blogging.
I guess this is the part where I declare to the world that I am over that now, and I'll be back in the controversy soon with my in-your-face opinions and bombast. But I'm not going to say that.
What I am going to say is that I am more mindful of my readers now, and although I plan on tackling some controversy, it will be with temperance and an eye on those who would oppose me, so that when they do, I can handle it with more dignity and less stress on my own system.
I am mounting the stairs toward the public eye with every book I write, and my goal is to be in the public eye--and not everyone is going to like or approve of what I write. If a friggin' blog gives me PTSD, what will a horrible review along with a character attack do to me? I've got to make sure that the answer to that is: not much.
So how do you grow a thicker skin?
It seems to me you have to have a level of apathy to grow a thick skin. Apathy is the opposite of empathy, and empathy is what makes a good writer, and also, a good human being. I don't want to lose my empathy.
Then it hit me: I don't need apathy--I need even more empathy.
When someone has a knee-jerk reaction to what I write, rather than take it personally, I need to go to them in my mind and figure out, to the best of my ability, why they reacted so harshly.
Case in point.
I did an innocuous Facebook update that, like other people, bemoaned something trivial and silly, but nonetheless was an issue for me. A friend of mine, thinking she was "calling me on the carpet" or giving me a "reality check" wrote in almost all #hashtags that I was whining about a "first world problem." She pointed out, again in hashtags, that I was complaining about things that most people would feel lucky to have on their plates.
The comment instantly made me defensive. I told her in a nice way that 'we all have our struggles,' but the comment stayed with me as I argued with her in my mind for what seemed like a whole day.
Then it hit me: the comment had nothing to do with me, and everything to do with her and her "stuff."
She sees me as privileged financially and she sees herself as struggling financially, something she has done almost her whole adult life. While her comment was couched in giving me a "reality check," what it really belied was her own feelings of lack and scarcity. Once I understood that on a deeper level, her comment didn't sting anymore. I understood her. I loved her even more. I wished she felt more abundance in her life. My empathy kicked in, and I didn't need a thicker skin. I just felt love for her.
It tells me that once again, practicing empathy and compassion leads me to a better understanding of the human condition. That is why empathy and compassion are my religion, nothing more.
And when I write, like when I live, if I can hold onto that--I really can't go wrong.
