One of the reasons I delayed entering the life-changing world of Facebook is the stunningly high percentage of posts that involve children. My children. My grandchildren. My nieces. My nephews. And, so on and so forth. Having none of the above to show for my sorry life, I delayed entry into Facebook, not because a woman of my age could not withstand the social stigma of not being like one of the others, but for the lingering pain of being childless not-by-choice.
As a side-note, someone should identify a clever acronym to describe those of us female types wandering around the globe longing for children and unable to have them, in biological format or otherwise. Then, such women (including me) could purchase T-shirts with said acronym emblazoned upon them and more effectively make light or fun of one of life's greatest disappointments.
Back to the matter of Facebook. I decided to get over my Facebook phobia one quarter in the life of teaching. I attempted to bargain with students in my advanced technical writing class. On the first day of class, I said "If you put your heart into learning to write this quarter, I will get over my issues with Facebook and jump into the mainstream, not only setting up a Facebook account, but finding a way to participate productively in this fascinating social media." Thereafter, I pleaded with my students to befriend me upon Facebook, so I would not find myself with few friends and no place to post. In response, only one of 75 students friended me. But, I digress.
As I attempted to fit into my Facebook shoes, I thought that if nothing else, seeing a plethora of cute children and happy moms would surely desensitize me to my own loss, deficit, and heartbreak. It's not that I have anything against happy moms or would wish anything but happy parenthood for their lives, but the feeling of a knife into my gut every time I see a pregnant woman, a happy new mom, a whole family.... just never seems to go away. I wanted to grow past the heartbreak. I wanted to learn the art of quickly ripping the knife out of my gut, throwing it away, and taking another step forward in life, all wounds aside.
And during my first three months of being active on Facebook, I perused many a photo of children, grandchildren, nieces, nephews, godchildren, and munchkins of all shapes and sizes. I read posts, I "liked" photos, I responded to some comments, I tried. And the desensitization program worked to some extent, as now the feeling I have when I am initially reminded of my childlessness is akin to only a steak knife in my gut rather than a full blown butcher's knife.
Until one day. I was perusing the page of an acquaintance, an ex-coworker, whom Facebook had named friend without my permission. I liked my coworker and missed him in the workplace, but friendship was still a word I reserved for few, not many.
As I scanned posts, taking seriously my new endeavor to modernize my interactions and relationships, I came across the coworkers's latest thought mixed in with a dozen or so photographs of his new baby:
"You are only as good as the pictures of your kids that you post on Facebook"
Ugh! Back to the butcher knife experience.
I can definitely see how Facebook can make some feel like less. Thank goodness I am now at the age where that feeling is increasingly short lived and inclined to be ridiculed (by me) rather than taken seriously.
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