I often feel like something hasn’t really happened until I’ve blogged about it. It isn’t that I need your input or advice, but it’s more that I process through talking or writing, and I can’t really move past something until I’ve talked or written about it. I’m not the only person I know who is like this…I promise!
About a month ago, a web article I wrote in 2007 was picked up and published on Yahoo!, who bought out Associated Content earlier this year.
This is the first time something I’ve written has received a large amount of negative feedback. It wasn’t just that the feedback was negative–it was that it was directed at me, as a person. It wasn’t just, “eh, I disagree,” which I expect to get on an opinion piece. It was, “This is a stupid, fat, lazy American–I feel sorry for her husband.” That’s a paraphrase–many of the comments were much more cruel.
The piece was something I wrote as a new web writer–less than 3 months after starting my writing career online. There was one typo. It was an opinion piece. And I recognized that not everyone would agree with my opinion. But I never thought people would take their disagreement and turn it into a personal attack on me.
And it’s especially hard because I write with my real name. That’s my choice…but this is the first time it’s really come to sting when I’ve seen such terrible things associated with me.
For awhile, I didn’t read the comments. They were upsetting. But then I felt myself drawn back in and read them again–there were more, and they hurt just as much as the first batch. Why didn’t I just stay away?
Marcus says that I have to let it go and move past it–that the nasty things that people are writing are a reflection on them–they have nothing to do with me. But I feel like they do, because they’re there with my name. What if you read that, see all those terrible things, and think those things are true about me? What if they change your opinion of me–the way you look at me?
I know…in my rational mind I know that is ridiculous. Someone calling me a lazy, ignorant American doesn’t make it so. But I’m embarrassed nonetheless.
Some days, I think maybe I’m not cut out for this, this writing. My skin isn’t thick enough.