Is Social Media social?
Tonight my heart aches and a heaviness surrounds me, as I sit, tucked up in my cosy bed, with a pen in my hand, poised over a blank page, purposefully away from the keyboard, to pour out words freely from my heart and into form.
I first notice the resistance to writing coming from a tension created between longing to write wildly, boldly, without censor and the fear of being ridiculed, the fear of not getting it “right” and the fear of being told I “talk utter bollocks.” These exact words having been shared with me by somebody on Facebook, who I’ve never met and doesn’t know me. It stung, even though I tried hard to pretend it didn’t.
I need to write for no other reason than to express what I want to say about the “whole situation”.
What on earth is happening to us?
In the last 24 hours I have given far too much attention to Facebook and threads around the … dare I even say this word ... “Plandemic” saga.
On first watching this film I wept deeply, recognising the bravery of a woman doctor speaking out, without shame or fear, from her experience and wisdom. I felt every cell in my being light up as I watched her speak, and an intuitive sense of something important, and some dots joining together from other things I had read and researched, (that’s my version of researched btw) and I immediately shared it. I didn’t check if it was true or not. I simply shared it, aware it could be removed, and feeling strongly that others needed to see it too.
Fast forward 24 hours later and WOW! The dissenting voices appear. I am anxiously questioned around my intention for posting it on the different pages I had shared it. I explain as best I can, aware I have shared something that is creating a big reaction. Of course! Just like me! I flail and flounder. Why do I need to justify myself? Why am I letting it get to me?
I see thread after thread of people slating this film. Saying it is a bunch of lies. That what she says is not true. I see the word “debunked” a lot. I notice a far too quiet voice in my head wondering if it had been a man sharing, would it have been received differently. I question a lot.
Aarrgh. And it hits me again. Fully in my guts. This sickening feeling, a potent combination of disbelief, anger, shame and despair which I grapple with internally.
I continue to read these threads, driven by a hunger for truth, something to hold on to, aware of a feeling that haunts my dreams, and stirs a primal life force in me that almost winds me, as it’s in such stark contrast to the isolated days spent at home with my son, tending and nurturing a safe house for us both. A space for him to be held and loved, during times which have no advice manual or guide.
I read comment after comment, all disparate in nature, back and forth, back and forth, jarring and crashing. I read on and on, my pulse rate quickening, my breath getting shallower. A part of me hooked into the drama, like a TV soap, receiving a hit of endorphins. The younger part of me willing an outer authority to step in and break up this sad fighting, and the hungry part of me gorging on the information and opinions shared, to the point of feeling sick.
I feel I am watching a war. I am sucked in, as people belittle, patronise, insult and slander others. Sometimes referencing people as if they aren’t there, with not a crumb of kindness expressed.
I sometimes steel myself to comment too. I have something to say! My heart in my throat, then wincing as I receive a reply notification on my phone. Bracing myself for the perceived onslaught.
As I read responses to my messages I feel my sense of self being trampled on. My boundaries being crossed and my energy draining from my body. My hands are cold. My armpits are sweaty.
I start to wonder if these comments are coming from people who are high or have been drinking. I wonder if these people would dare repeat what they share in person, to people they have never met in real life, as often is the case on social media.
I am aware how easy it is to walk away from ugly discussions online, I’ve done it myself, leaving a toxic fug of unresolved issues. I wonder what would happen if these conversations were held in the real world what the outcome would be. The reality of this virtual world sinks deeper into my being.
I wonder about the children who are being raised in this space and what the impact will be on them in the future. I wonder a lot, did you notice?
It’s a mind fuck basically. My mind and the minds of others are fucking with me, and a part of me likes it, and a part of me is disgusted.
I quickly remember that posting on Facebook rarely meets my fundamental human needs. To feel safe, to be loved, to belong, to be heard and understood.
I allowed myself to get hooked in again. Damn!
Why do I continue to do this?
I feel dismay and hopelessness. This feeling has no place to hide and I don’t know what to do with it.
In the past I would have numbed it away with wine and cigarettes. Today, thankfully and gratefully, that is no longer a choice I take.
Don’t misunderstand me here. These past weeks in lockdown I am deeply aware of the longing to escape. The longing to ease the discomfort of uncertainty. The longing to quell the fear and anxiety in the most societally conditioned way of all. By drinking alcohol. “There, there, all better now.”
I remember my father, who often chose alcohol over the love of his family, (been there, done it, got the cap and signed program), pouring my mother her evening glass of Cinzano, referring to it as “her medicine”, and hearing her anticipatory laugh in agreement, as he did so. A welcome sense of edges being softened.
This part of my programming has taken me 20 years to decode and rewrite. Something I am very grateful, and equally bitter to have experienced.
And the deprogramming continues. So I sit with it. The hopelessness.
In case I lost you.
Are we at war?
Friday was VE day. The realisation of it hit me hard. I called my mother. She was diagnosed with dementia 8 years ago. I asked her to recall what happened on that day, knowing that her long term memory burns bright and full of joy, which in turn raises her self-esteem, so badly bashed by the loss of her short term memory.
She was 13 years old back then, living in Manchester. She recalled parties and dancing around a bonfire. She recalled all the neighbours holding hands and creating a long human chain, weaving in and out of each other’s houses, collecting everyone as they went, ending in a big gathering in the street, where they sang songs together. She recalls that nobody needed a drink because they were all so merry anyway! High on the relief of it all being over! Yes, I can imagine that.
Even though her long term memory mostly works, the recollection of these memories can get muddled, and she shares the story of going down into the air raid shelters, during a bomb scare in the middle of the night, two or three times during our conversation, and it’s apparent this memory overrides the others of celebration.
She tells me how she went to bed wearing an all-in-one outfit her mother made her. Not her normal pyjamas. This was so that when the siren went off, in the middle of the night, she was ready to leave the house quickly, only needing to grab a blanket, to get to the safety of the Anderson shelter in their garden, one they shared with neighbours.
She recalls her mother with a lot of love and affection, making sleeping bags for her and her siblings out of old eider downs, to keep them as warm and comfortable in the shelter as possible, and how she used to watch her mother leaving the shelter to make refreshments for everybody. How this scared and thrilled her. How valiant her mother was! I recognised this hereditary trait of showing love through providing sustenance immediately. Like grandmother, like mother, like daughter.
Now where was I?
Oh yes …. War …..
The war we are fighting today is not in the everyday world. Not really. It is a based in a virtual one. Step outside. There is no bomb damage. No signs of aircraft. No troops. It’s not obvious. It is subtle and nuanced, yet equally pervasive, through our use of technology.
We use words, quotes, “likes” and emojis, in place of guns and bombs. We mentally battle individual v individual, of any nation, rather than physically battle against individual nations.
It is a war arisen from the crumbling of outer authorities that hold the illusion of our “togetherness” together. We are lost. Parentless and trying desperately to appear certain.
In the chaos of not trusting or knowing who is leading, we are pitting facts, figures and credentials against one another, in the vain hope that we can prove and secure our very existence. Fuck consequences. Fuck responsibility. “I’m scared.” “Where’s my mummy?” or dummy. (Oh hang on a minute, I threw that out the pram along with my integrity.)
Where’s the connection?
Reflecting on my mummy’s memories of feeling so loved by her mother, at a time of such tension and uncertainty, I underpinned a knowing, a certainty that exists in me, quite simply because I exist.
This certainty, which I can prove, without a shadow of a doubt, is LOVE. The ONLY medicine we ALL need is LOVE. And for extra certainty, let’s make it unconditional.
Love busts through everything. Obliterating fear and misunderstanding. A universally shared language, and nobody needs a doctorate or PHD to wield it.
I believe, YES, I BELIEVE, (in caps for all the naysayers who claim we aren’t allowed beliefs anymore), it is the cure for everything. Prove me wrong. I dare you.
This war we are fighting comes from our minds, the place where our fear is birthed and ultimately dies. Our brilliant minds made for measuring and comparing, conceptualising and theorising, and NOT for ruling us or making decisions to act upon, as the sovereign, multi-dimensional beings that we all are. (Yes, I said multi-dimensional.)
Humanity is forever expanding and growing, along with the universe in which we live, and my opinion is that the invitation happening right now, is to continue growing by connecting our knowing with all our feelings, emotions, instincts and intuition, so we can live our FULL potential, here on earth. So rather than going around and around, stuck in our minds, and what we know, we get in touch with our innate body wisdom. We become more whole. Not just a mind living in a body.
Originally I wrote this piece to invite a Social Media Love-In day, dedicated to loving exchanges only. A detox of sorts. It felt like a really good idea at the time. I shared my idea and this article with some close friends, and realised after I received their support and input that this is not what I need to do.
What I need to do is get off Facebook and drop deeper into me. Drink my own medicine. I thought I had gone as inwards as I could go, and yet it appears there is more!
So I am surrendering further. Reminding myself to follow my heart because it leads me to the most magical places.
Like right here. Right now.
Gosh I need a hug.