I feel like this title ties in with a lot of our life right now, but while we are currently rather broke, it’s actually about the comments on my post yesterday.
Hang in there with me, I dislike people who focus on haters and trolls just as much as the next person but I have a point with this.
So after I wrote this post about Sam retiring from the military, I had this comment pop up in literally like – 5 minutes after I hit publish:
I clicked on it without thinking and read it in my email, standing in my kitchen, holding Charlotte, trying to fix Bella a snack. I stood there for a moment not comprehending what she’d written, and then it literally took my breath away.
I mean. I can’t even tell you how hard it was to read that. It was literally every fear I’ve ever discussed in therapy, every worry Sam and I have ever had about his retirement and admitting he needs a lot of help for PTSD, every secret dread I had about sharing things on here again – there it was. All listed out by someone who actually thought those things about us.
Never mind the money part – that one is bizarre to me. We live in a nice area and can build a home because – El Paso. We barely make ends meet some months and when we do, it’s my writing that helps us out. Not ashamed of that, but also not sure how it’s living high on the hog.
I leaned my body against the counter and for a moment, thought I was going to be sick. THIS IS WHAT EVERYONE THINKS DIANA. YOU USED YOUR KIDS DYING FOR PROFIT AND YOUR HUSBAND IS A MOOCH.
And then I started to laugh. And laugh. Because there it was. I have wondered now for years when the trolls and haters would feel confident enough to come back. To find a weakness in our lives they saw as fair game, and I guess: “I pay taxes therefore I get a say in your life” was that weakness. And I had no idea how I would react. So I stopped writing.
But while the words aren’t funny (and obviously still piss me off) the thing is – it happened. I read it, I survived the nastiest comment I think I’ve ever gotten. Maybe the one wishing I wouldn’t have another child was close to this.
I don’t think I realized how much those fears of “What if someone doesn’t like me?” hung on until I read her words. It’s affected my writing here. Other places. My book. My therapy sessions. My healing.
I left it (but deleted the others that came because they were just stupid) because I wanted people to see this happens no matter what life hands you AND no matter how you choose to deal with it. I’ve seen people get ripped to shreds for ‘hiding’ parts of their life, I’ve seen it for sharing things.
You’re going to have people that hate you. My dad once told me, “There are going to be people in life who, if they like you, you may want to reconsider what you stand for.”
It’s a terrible thing and very sad that people can read our story and follow us and hate us like that. Or have wildly distorted perceptions of our life. But it’s part of this.
I’ll end it here: I’ve been called to write my story. I have a passion and a desire to share the life Christ has given me. I wrote (and was paid for it) long before I lost the twins, but no matter what our life would have been, I would have kept writing as long as God called me to do it. He has used my pain and often our wrongdoings for His glory and to help others. He has brought many of you to us to help us when we needed it. I’m not ashamed of that, I’m blown away. THANK YOU for being a part of our lives, whether it was out of pity or need or love or curiosity. Thank you.
And thank you “Beth”. Thank you for re-igniting that fire in me to keep going. For pushing me back into this again, for making me realize that my obstinate defiance can be a trait that allows me to read your cruel words and think, “Pssssh – you don’t even know. Hold on to your bonnet lady, I’m about to overshare all over again.” You fixed the part in me that was broke.