What I’m about to ask is going to be harsh, very harsh for some.
Go pull up your Facebook feed right now. Read it aloud, and imagine reading it to a complete stranger at the Post Office.
Imagine sharing pictures of your newborn baby with a special guest appearance by your WWII Trench Puss to a stranger.
Imagine reading the TMI status updates about your kids or family or husband to a stranger.
Imagine telling the stranger the same things you write on your wall.
Does it make you uncomfortable? Does the thought of sharing this with someone you don’t know give you the creeps or the social-contract-failure-goosebumps?
Then stop posting your ridiculous bullshit for the world to see.
You have to knock your shit off right now. Social Media is NOT the same as chatting with a couple friends. You are, essentially, sharing it with the planet.
Every time you post something on social media, imagine yourself painting it on 8 foot butcher paper that you then attach to your house and your car, to be seen by everyone. Would you feel comfortable with that? Imagine driving to Albertson’s with, “I HAVE A WEIRD DISCHARGE, ANY IDEAS?” on your car.
Do you want a picture of your naked toddler inexplicably covered in pureed carrots on the side of your van while you run errands? No, because you’re not a crazy person.
Do you want to hang the details of your latest recurrence of your chronic yeast infection on your roof in bold yellow lettering? No, because you’re not a crazy person.
Do you want your selfie with your dead grandfather on your Tercel? No, because you’re not a crazy person.
(Those are all real examples I have seen in the last 5 days.)
Yes, I could hide you from my feed–and I do when you post insane shit, but this is a PSA for you, not me.
Seeing pictures of your naked kid taking a dump puts that image in my brain and that is terrible. In my mind it is akin to leaving your kid, naked and shitting, on my desk for a while with no explanation. That’s crazy person behavior. I don’t know what to do with that information now that I have it. It’s just in my head and unwelcome, like a wasp with a bone to pick and also he’s SOMEONE ELSE’S NAKED SHITTING KID. I don’t want that, you don’t want that, your kid doesn’t want that. Some things are for you and your memories alone.
We’re all guilty of posting things that you know other people won’t give a shit about. Mundanities, stories about kids and family, stupid photos–I am also a terrible offender. But I would read my feed to a stranger in a heartbeat, because while I know I would come off as strange, I would not be a crazy person.