How to Protect Yourself From Social Media Sting…

social media banner

Why do you lock your doors at night?

I’ll tell you why.

Because it would be bizarre to awaken, parched, at 3:17 a.m. and find your neighbor, David, in his boxers enjoying an Oreo in your kitchen.

Or to discover an old high school friend catching up on episodes of The Blacklist in your living room.

Sure, we want to bar the bad people who’ll make off with our TVs and wedding rings while we dream, but truly our objective is to keep everyone out.

And no one’s offended by this measure of protection and privacy.

If Emily, Ross’s mom from your son’s baseball team, rolls by at 10:42 to rant about the coach’s apparent disregard of her little man’s awe-inspiring athleticism, she’s not going to be angry to find your door locked.


Too bad we haven’t created similar protections and privacies about who we allow into our heads.

According to an article published last year, Americans typically check social media 17 times a day, “meaning at least once every waking hour, if not more.” And even more surprisingly, folks ranging in age from 25-54 were found to boast the highest usage. Not teens.

Another source cites that the average American internet user spends 1.72 hours a day on social media alone. That’s almost one day of waking hours per week.

It’s no wonder I can’t get anything done.

 london woman on phone

On a scale of 1-10, how much pain are you in?

The symptoms are as varied as opinions about Donald Trump. Social media burn can present as anxiety:

  • Should I have posted that?
  • Was that oversharing?surprised girl on phone
  • That was really funny, but was it inappropriate?
  • What if people misinterpret what I meant?
  • What if my post makes people angry?
  • What if no one likes what I posted?

The sting can manifest itself as insecurity:

  • Oh look, their marriage is dreamy.
  • Their vacation is extravagant.
  • Her legs are skinny.
  • Her children are beautiful.
  • Her dinner is healthy and colorful.
  • Her dog is so well-behaved and photogenic.

Overexposure can look like anger:

  • [A slow, guttural growl…] I CAN’T BELIEVE SHE SAID THAT [fast typing fingers, tapping out highly emotional, purely opinionated response]!!!
  • Followed by Anxiety symptoms listed above.

Finally, it can look like lethargy. I’ve noticed when I’ve spent too much time wearing my thumb out scrolling through feeds, I just feel yuck. Like my head is so stuck in other people’s lives that I’m not living my own. I feel less present in the moment with the people in front of me. I feel lazy and restless on my insides, and I don’t love that.

Social media sting targets whatever is crippled in us at any given moment.  A healthy relationship with Facebook or Twitter or Instagram or SnapChat is only possible to the extent that our insides are healthy.

Get out!

One way of protecting yourself from overexposure (and the internal yuckness that can result) is to wait as long as possible before opening social media each day. If you turn off the alarm, stretch, yawn, rub your eyes, and grab your phone, this is what you invite into your morning…

crowd

All of us.

We’re all there.

With our loud opinions and our quiz results for which Elvis song is our life anthem (I’m Blue Suede Shoes, btw) and our food pictures and our biting sarcasm and our darling animal videos and our belabored political agendas.

And you haven’t even had coffee yet.

Don’t unlock the door until much later, friend. Because once we pile in, it is impossible to shove us out. Your thoughts have been hijacked by beach photos and hilarious mom ecards. Oh great, now you’re crying. You watched the footage of military personnel returning home, walking through the airport when an impromptu standing ovation erupts from all bystanders, didn’t you?

Your focus is now shot. At least you didn’t have mascara on yet… Silver lining.

And for the love of Mark Zuckerberg, TURN OFF NOTIFICATIONS.freedom screen shot

You can also delete the social media apps from your phone, so we, the masses, aren’t crowding under your elbow in the car or creating a spectacle at the grocery store checkout.

Two days ago I was introduced to Freedom, an app that blocks social media, other apps, even the entire internet from your phone. You can choose the applications you want to restrain and then schedule the block to create a distraction-free time period.

For instance, I write best in the mornings. But if I ever open social media the first time…..even to schedule a post for later……my focus is gobbled up. If I wanted to block those applications from 5:00 am – 1:00 pm, I can build a wall of protection around my most productive writing time.

Self-discipline would accomplish the same thing, but sometimes we aren’t so good at that, huh?

 beuatiful woman with phone

Unfollowing is not unkind.

We are not obligated to receive everything everybody distributes. I genuinely enjoy connecting with people on social media, and I very rarely unfollow or unfriend anyone. But if I notice a recurring negative response in me to an individual’s posts, I will create a boundary that actually protects my ability to like that person.

I will mute them on Twitter. I don’t unfollow them, but I don’t see their posts in my feed.

I will unfollow them on Facebook. This is not the same as unfriending; when I unfollow, again their posts just don’t show up in my feed.

I have even used a secondary app, Primary, to hide people on my Instagram feed.

And – to be honest – in 99% of the cases where I have constructed a social media boundary, I have been the source of the issue. I’ve been envious of a person. asian girl on phoneOr too close-minded to graciously handle where their opinions differ from my own, or simply because they keep my eyes and perspective pointed towards the past when my feet and my head are moving forward. To be honest, the last reason has been the most compelling motivation for me.

I love the people I have removed from my feeds, but sometimes protection, with the right heart, has to trump accessibility.

So, if you’re feeling the burn, get these people out of your space. Lock the doors. Kick David out in his boxers with his Oreo. And your classmate with her feet propped up on your coffee table and the remote in hand. ‘Cause that’s just invasive. And weird.

[Images: Yoel Ben-Avraham, Antoine KRoberto TrombettaMichael Dornbierer, Bob Vonderau, and Tokyoform ]

The Secret to Difficult Conversation.

Kudos to the girl who called me out.

conversation

Essentially the Facebook message said, “I’m working on cleaning up some things in my life; can you meet with me sometime soon?”

I am often afforded the opportunity to have coffee or lunch with beautiful souls, so I thought little of it.

The sender and I travel in nearby friend circles and have attended the same church for years. Some time ago, when I was on staff at our church, she had entrusted me with a difficult road she was journeying, so I shot her some options for getting together, and we put it on the calendar.

We met at church during the second morning service, finding a quiet meeting room where we could close the door.


It soon became evident this conversation wasn’t at all what I expected.

Initially, I couldn’t figure out where she was going. It was like expecting to have a nice lunch downtown but instead being whisked on a flight to an unknown destination. I was listening….using context clues…….trying to get my bearings……and then I caught on.

This conversation was about me.

Am I seriously sitting here listening to this woman tell me she doesn’t like me? Is this real life?

My jaw tightened as I sat a little straighter, taller. My insides bristled.

She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t accusatory. She was almost charming as she related an interaction where I had been rude and exclusive. After having confided an intimate struggle to me in the past, she felt judged and snubbed by me in the more recent episode in question.

Father, You’ve got to help me here. Part of me wants to lash out; part of me wants to get up and leave. I don’t have to do this. But part of me wants to listen. Show me what’s true. Give me the courage to receive what I need to receive. Give me the wisdom and the strength to wade through the emotions to resolution.

I’m not usually one who can do multiple things at once, but I listened, talked, and prayed with a mental agility not my own.

She confessed anger, bitterness, and unforgiveness towards me. She told me unkind things she said about me to other people, and she told me who she said them to.

Oh my. 

She disclosed she had been invited to participate in Who’s Your Daddy?, the Bible study I wrote, with a group of other women and that she had quickly rebuffed the offer.

Well…okay then…..this is going swimmingly.

And then she got me.

difficult conversation

“Listen, I didn’t want to do this. I have allowed so much garbage to take up residence in my heart, and this is how God told me to be done with it. This was not my idea; I just want to be free.”

You see, I know that slavery. I have junk in my heart. Bitterness and unforgiveness and stale hurt, and I want to run madly towards liberation too.

I get it, sister.

She continued, “Because here’s the thing. I really want to join these ladies doing your study. It’s been a long, dusty path full of a lot of hurt for a good chunk of years. I want to start and finish this study. But I can’t do it until this is right.”

Holy moly. This is legit.

Yes. My self-talk vocabulary includes “Holy moly.” And there was more…

“I don’t need anything from you. I don’t need you to explain or apologize; I just need to ask for your forgiveness. Please forgive me for harboring bitter, angry feelings towards you and for speaking ill of you to others.”

This is one of the most beautiful conversations I’ve ever been a part of. I am rocked. 

I apologized for my rudeness and assured her of its inadvertence. I asked for her forgiveness and attempted to give context to the interaction that had gone afoul.

And I thanked her.

I thanked her because something Biblical had transpired. She was brave and gracious and wise and articulate. But most of all she was pure.

I applauded her.

She schooled me on the art and discipline of difficult conversation, and I hold her in high regard.

—————

Approximately 74% of people have a fear of public speaking. It’s long been feared more than death even. But I wonder if there isn’t a dark horse that rivals the fear of public speaking, especially among Christians. The fear of difficult conversation.

Though most of my professional life has required me to initiate difficult conversations on a regular basis, I hate them.

But they are vital to our health (mental, emotional, spiritual, and even physical), and not one of us is excused from the responsibility to have them.


Are there difficult conversations you need to initiate?

  • Putting off a difficult conversation makes it harder 100% of the time.
  • The success of a difficult conversation depends wholly on your purity of heart and motive. There’s no faking this one.
  • Pray a lot. Before, during, and afterwards.
  • Go into the conversation without placing ANY expectations on the receiver or his/her response.
  • The success of the conversation is not determined by a favorable response. It is defined by you effectively communicating your message with purity and grace. You have no control over the other person; God can handle the other half of the equation.
  • If you are on the receiving end of a difficult conversation, be an open recipient. Allow God to show you truth and guide your response.
  • In any conflict, there is almost always wrong on both sides. Own your part and ask for forgiveness.

Epilogue

The lady in the story above…..she did complete the study. I had the chance to share a meal with her at its conclusion and hear her thoughts.

She and I have corresponded about this post. She’s been praying over it because we both want you to run madly after liberation too. She has challenged me, and I am taking some hard next steps in this area myself. When I informed her of that, she said, “Pursuing you into that conversation was one of the hardest acts of obedience yet in my life, humbling and yet incredibly freeing.”

She also went on to share, “My greatest struggle is what to do with those who will not meet with me. Hard to know which way to walk in that and break the chains of bondage – forever.”

That’s a reality. Not everyone will be receptive.

Romans 12:18 makes allowance for that. “If it is possible” suggests that it isn’t always possible. And “as far as it depends on you” recognizes that peace doesn’t only depend on you.

If we extend ourselves – in purity and grace with love and peace as the motive – and we are rejected, God’s pleasure and His freedom can still be ours. It just won’t look like relational resolution, unfortunately.

[Images: Paulo Valdivieso and  Neha Viswanathan]

Tips for Stilling the Fear in Your Belly

From focus groups, we’re hearing anxiety is an epidemic among women.

We’re not surprised.

anxiety

Because we battle it too.

I am anxious as I type this. Its physicalness resembles a smoldering bed of glowing coals in my stomach….like the effects of making a mid-morning snack of embers. For the past couple of weeks, I awaken from a sleep as deep as death into full-blown fear.

It subsides and flares throughout the day, without obvious prompting. This isn’t altogether new for me, but I am usually aware of the triggers (i.e., hormones, media, parenting issues). This bout has seemed global and random.

And I’m in good company. A 2010 report entitled America’s State of Mind disclosed the following:

Anxiety disorders are the most common psychiatric illnesses affecting children and adults. An estimated 40 million American adults suffer from anxiety disorders.


Not surprisingly, women constitute the largest demographic prescribed anti-anxiety medication, almost twice that of men.

While I haven’t determined how to completely extinguish the dogged heat in my guts, I have discovered some strategies helpful for managing the fire.


anxiety drawing

Tire it.

As much as we may hate to hear it, exercise is a natural antidote to anxiety. Our daughters were both fighting through anxiety four years ago. We registered them for the city’s recreational track team, and it eliminated the issue. Physical exertion uses up the excess energy that bounces around inside of us as anxiety.

Question it.

What is the real source? Because I am a praying girl, I spent the morning asking the following questions:

  • What lie am I believing that has me afraid?
  • What aspect of God’s character am I not trusting?

This equipped me to apply the right Truth to my fear. When I determined that this current season of anxiety is rooted in a fear of failure, I was better educated about how to combat it.

If you’re not of the praying sort, it would still benefit you to dig into the underbelly of your anxiety to address it most effectively.

Act in spite of it.

The more we cater to the thing we’re afraid of, the bigger the fear grows. Do what terrifies you. Press into it. Believe Truth when it feels false, and do what needs to be done – even if your stomach is on fire.

Give it room to breathe.

Rest and space in our schedules grant us the margin to fight smarter. Busy exhaustion contributes to anxiety. When anxiety is high, expect less of yourself. Extend more grace in your own direction and confront the thing instead of running from it.

Starve it.

All forms of media (including social media) increase my anxiety, so I have found it helpful to limit or eliminate what unnecessarily feeds my fear. What compounds fear in your life?

Downsize it.

It’s impossible for me to stand before the ocean and not feel smaller. Being in creation and fully aware of it provides right perspective about how small my fears and I are. It refocuses my attention on the God who’s already been to my tomorrow, and He’s vastly capable of handling what’s there.

Share it.

Allow a friend to know you’re battling anxiety. She can pray for you, encourage you, check on you, and you can return the favor when it’s her turn. Avoidance is a byproduct of anxiety, so we can proactively disable the isolation we’ll default to by inviting someone in.

And if you are experiencing debilitating anxiety, share it with your doctor. While I’ve never taken anti-anxiety medication, I have driven myself to the ER mid panic attack. It’s a vicious thief that can snatch your ability to function normally.

[Image: The Home of Fixers on Flickr and Kyle Steed]

The War on Women & Hateful Christians.

Christian protester

Nothing sparks the powder keg of my passion like women’s issues. Particularly the cause of women without a chance. Women so disproportionately matched by their circumstances.

I love prostitute women.

Single moms.

Incarcerated women.

Addicted women.

Abused women.

Gay women.

Trafficked women.

Uneducated women.

Poor women.

Women who’ve had abortions.

Hurt women.

I have the hardest time loving privileged women. Like me. Especially privileged angry women.

I was drawn to the allegations of a “War on Women” because something rings true about it. I began researching the claims, genuinely ready to be educated…….recruited even. Quickly disillusioned, I unearthed a lot of political propaganda, a multitude of neon posters yelling about reproductive rights (“If I wanted the government in my womb, I would #$&% a senator”), and an army of privileged angry women. Keeping it classy.

Belligerent wit hasn’t proven effective in catalyzing change. It looks clever and feels good in a crowd though.

Pro-life legislation isn’t an attack on me. Abstinence education is not an affront to my freedom. I realize some women feel oppressed by such policies, but I’m not one of them. This war is not on me.

One site claiming proof of the GOP’s War on Women cites the Republican disdain for the Girl Scouts as evidence: “The Republican-Christian authoritarianism mindset does not like empowering women and it is absolutely horrified by the idea that impressionable young girls should get uppity notions which can only turn them into anti-religion, baby-killing feminazis.”

After several searches, I honestly wondered two things.

Is this war really on the Bible and its teachings?

This sign was a bit of a give away.

war on women

When did civility expire?

Civility and conviction aren’t mutually exclusive. Ever.

—————

To be fair, Christians may have taught the world how to do extremism so poorly. We show our hind parts on any number of issues. Our dogma – a blend of hypocrisy, ignorance, and savage cruelty – absolutely runs counter to the faith we claim.

I am convinced nothing is more detrimental to the cause of Christ than hateful Christians.

hostile Christian

So, while I am disturbed by the vicious intolerance for Christian beliefs, I am not surprised by it. I feel it a bit earned. And I feel it a bit my responsibility to help fix it. I hope you do too.

That doesn’t mean I don’t actively advocate for my beliefs. That doesn’t mean my convictions are lax. It means they will always be tempered by compassion.

The pro-choice proponents and I disagree about when life begins. Gay couples and I have different beliefs about marriage. But our differences don’t negate the command to love. Genuinely and well.

That’s the real change agent.

Forgive me if my approach seems overly simplistic. Pollyanna-ish. Passive. Impractically idealistic. It even seems a little like that to me. But the most time-tested document of all history says love is revolutionary.

I happen to believe it.

Here’s an idea. How about if we extend the same grace we want? That’s how grace works. By definition it is undeserved and is incapable of being partial.

jesus rally

—————

Now about this war on women…

I do believe it’s a thing. But in a different context than I found. I was hoping to find a healthy discourse around the impossible circumstances of single mothers in America.

  • “…single mothers with dependent children have the highest rate of poverty across all demographic groups.”
  • “The poverty rate for single-mother families in 2013 was 39.6%” with more than half living in extreme poverty.

I was hoping to find a fruitful discussion about violence against women.

  • “More than one in three women will experience rape, violence, and/or stalking at the hands of an intimate partner in their lifetimes.”
  • “About three women are killed by their partners every day.”
  • “Domestic violence is the leading cause of injury to women between the ages of 15 and 44.”

I had hoped to discover efforts aimed at abolishing sex trafficking in America.

  • There are “800,000 people trafficked across international borders every year; 80% are women and girls.”
  • “There are 100,000 to 300,000 underage girls being sold for sex in America.”
  • “1 out of 5 pornographic images is of a child.”

Sadly, that’s not what I found.

Instead, I found a mob of privileged people – on both sides of the aisle – wrangling about rights. While little girls are servicing men in dark hellholes around this country with little hope of escape.

So, if you want to talk about a war on women……let’s talk about a war on poverty. Let’s talk about a war on sexual exploitation. Let’s talk about a war on abuse.

Sign me up for that.

Otherwise, I’ll pass on the witty neon poster.

[Images: Danny Hammontree, Peace Education Center, hissingteakettle, and philippe leroyer]

Subscribe to the blog, so you don’t miss a post.

Bogged Down in the Mundane?

divers

I live with feet on the dirt. Sometimes.

I hate pictures of me because they document weight gain.

I want other people’s approval, and I feel sick in my gut minutes after I combust on somebody. Usually the people I love most dearly.

If I’m not diligent, bitterness and unforgiveness seep into my bones and make them leaden and brittle.

In a weak spot, I’ll order french fries to abate a mounting frustration, and I will coddle fear. I’m out of town as I write this, and I actually opened the closet in my room last night to make sure there wasn’t a dead body tucked in there. I don’t even know…

Too often I live in the world where To Do lists and the expectations of others (or more savagely, those of myself) are the tyrants of any day.

I live in the land where my house is rarely clean, and I am perpetually mocked by laundry mountain ranges and a dishwasher full of clean dishes…..except for the spoon, bowl, and milk cup someone just loaded and newly soiled the entire lower rack.

That’s how I experience the world a lot of the time.

But.

Sometimes I see the right things.shoe store 2

The mundane reality of dirt dwelling is unzipped to unveil the timeless.

The eternal.

It’s a bit like trouncing through a colorless shoe store thick with the tang of leather and finding a secret door in its stock room. One that requires a password after an anonymous bulging eyeball scrutinizes you through a formerly latched peephole.

This seeing of right things is less about the things and more about the seeing. The objects in their physicalness retain the same dimensions and weight. A flower still looks like a flower, but its color is richer and it evokes a soul reply. Its song reverberates along the train track of my nervous system.

Behind the shoe store door, kindness looks like strangers high-stepping through tall grass on the interstate shoulder to assist a driver who spun out.

Peanut butter lands brand new and leads a call-and-response of praise with a choir of taste buds.

A “No Farms, No Food” bumper sticker feels earthy and true.

readingThe final pages of a good book bring the most satisfied mourning, and a small hill with three crosses on top, drawn in the dirt on the back of a semi, makes perfect, beautiful sense.

Videos of dogs when their servicemen return, cancer warriors when they ring the bell at the completion of chemo, a husband walking away from his wife’s grave with their toddler daughter on his shoulders. Wedding photographs of an older couple.

Grief and joy and perseverance and second chances captured.

Writing by a fireplace in the mountains. Driving with the moonroof open and the hatchback glass down, the breeze sweetened with the incense of honeysuckle. Walking through the smell of baby at the grocery store, passing all the Johnson & Johnson products. The giddy novelty of shredding chicken with a mixer. Biting into a strawberry minutes out of the field, the drippy perfection of real and fresh.strawberries

Tiny occurrences that somehow touch the fabric we’re made of. Small stuff that resonates with how we are fashioned. Who we are meant to be. What we are meant for.

I am touched as I pass a pack of four motorcycle troopers, and I cannot even articulate how to my own self. Gratitude and concern and respect stirred into a sentimental, patriotic swirl.

As I traveled down the interstate alongside a funeral procession, I was struck by the display of honor and remembrance. Their headlights ablaze and their flashers signaling in unison. I wondered so many things. Who he was. How he died. Who he left behind. How old he was. What kind of life he lived. What he considered his greatest accomplishment. What he regretted most.

And I wondered when my day will come.

Along the drive, I burned through some George Strait Pandora, and I sang extra loudly and wildly to Tim McGraw’s “Live Like You Were Dying.” In it, a man given a terminal diagnosis in his forties shares how his new reality shaped his perspective of his limited time:

I went sky divin’,
I went rocky mountain climbin’,
I went 2.7 seconds on a bull named Fumanchu.
And I loved deeper,
And I spoke sweeter,
And I gave forgiveness I’d been denying,
And he said, “Someday I hope you get the chance,
To live like you were dyin’.”

A gift.

Perhaps my soul is old-fashioned and simple. Dusty and conservative, homespun and irrelevant.

But in my shoes, grace and love and respect and beauty and compassion and wonder and joy and thankfulness and peace and honor and kindness are the good stuff. The right things.

Rail against it as we will, we were made for such things. Our souls feel at home in them. They fit like a favorite pair of jeans.

A supernatural sage once penned,

Think about what is up there, not about what is here on earth. Colossians 3:2 (CEV)

At every given moment, our eyes are either on the dirt. Or the invisible important. We cannot entertain them both at once.

May we unzip the mundane more often and look with eyes attached to our souls.

[Images: Dimitris Stiliaras, Pierre Lachaine, Julie Falk, Squash Valley Produce]