Today I received two comments on two different blog posts. They were very negative, and not surprisingly, anonymous. I deleted them both. They were obviously posted by someone who knows me...okay, someone who knows my husband and THINKS that they know me. I hesitated about deleting them, because I dislike censorship in any form and want people to have a voice, even if I don't agree with it, or it is combative towards me.
Unfortunately, there were sentiments expressed in the comments that really required that the commenter have the courage to identify themselves. Also, there were issues raised that I could not have responded to, without sharing information about my husband that I do not believe is in his best interests to share.
For most of the history of this blog, my comments have been open. I decided to start checking them out before allowing them to be posted when I began the blog series on grief and mourning. I had received two confrontational phone calls from my husband around the time of my mother's death, one only two days after she died. I realized that as much as I had hoped for a moritorium on the aggression during this time of mourning, it wasn't going to happen. If I was going to be able to share openly about my feelings, let alone invite others to do the same, I would have to make sure that my blog was a safe place to do so.
Because I have not allowed the comments to be posted, I won't respond to them. Not even here. Trust me, though, I am tempted. To be honest, posting those comments was actually a compliment to me. This is my forum, my world, and words are my tools. It has been said that the pen is mightier than the sword. It would be easy to accept the invitation to respond to the anonymous comments with pages and pages of accounts of experiences that would prove me innocent of the accusations. I could spend the next two months posting stories of things I went through during the past years, in detail. My husband used to say about me that I remember everything, while he couldn't remember any of the details of the difficult events in our home. He was right. I do remember. And here, I could put it all out there.
But I won't. And I never would even consider it. My commenters know this. No matter how much they poke and goad and taunt, I won't do it. Even though they would never admit it, they do know this much about me. I am safe enough to poke at, even though I am carrying the equivalent of a nuclear weapon in my arsenal. So, yeah, thanks. I appreciate the vote of confidence.
If you really want your voice heard, especially in the sensitive subjects of domestic abuse and bullying, you are going to have to buck up and take responsibility for your beliefs. Be brave enough to identify yourself, or be quiet. I put myself on the line all the time here, sharing my failures and weaknesses along side the victories and hope. Don't tell me you can't own your own thoughts, or stand up to a discussion, a debate, the opinions of others. So you can hide behind a tree and shout stuff at people. Can you stand up in public and defend your views? Next time, try.
The thing is, when negative things are posted anonymously, they simply become ugly, dark words that mean less than nothing. I wrote in my previous post about there not being room in my Limbo-land for the dark words from the past. And then, there you were. And you know what? I was right. There really just isn't any room.
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