Plays Nice With Others...

Today I had my first mental meltdown about comments on my blog. Normally, I get about 3-4 comments on a post; most are from people I know or from writers of others blogs that I have been commenting on since the proverbial beginning of time (ie--since I figured out what blogs are). I read all the comments (this is not a strain, as I said, I get 3-4 per post on average), appreciate that people took the time to read and leave their own thoughts behind, and then I move on.

On my last post, the awkward transition from talking about my sweet little cousin's battle with cancer and my own far less important haircut, I received two comments that threw me into a whole existential "what's the purpose of my blog, and what am I supposed to do about comments that other people leave when really they have the right to say anything they want, but I don't know if they are trying to be nice or mean, and should it matter one way or the other if their comments offend another reader at all??" sort of angst. Please note: there is no punctuation in my head.

I've had about 3 cups of coffee while contemplating this (really? couldn't tell...) and I'm wishing now I hadn't done what I did. In a rush of "No! There can be no discord in my blog comments!" frenzy, I deleted both comments so that they are lost forever in the fog of poor judgment and crazy party-host mentality.

See, I am one of those people who has to make sure that everyone is happy. When Husband & I throw a party, be it a keg-tapping, music blaring, invite the neighbors so they don't call the cops on you party or a quieter, wine-sipping dinner for four party, I spend most of my time flitting about with heart palpitations, ensuring that everyone has what they need and that they are as content with life as they can possibly be at that very moment, lest I feel like a total and utter failure as a hostess.

It never occurred to me that I would feel the same way about my blog. When I started writing, it was because I was on bedrest and bored. I told a couple people about it, but didn't really expect anyone to read it beyond the first entry or two. I wrote without any sense of being self-conscious--I wrote about my cervix, about the trans-vaginal ultrasound (ie the dildo-cam), I wrote about my boobs leaking when my milk started to come in. It was great; I was filling up all this time on bedrest and cracking myself up at the same time.

And then....people started commenting. And that of course, meant other people were reading. And telling people about my blog. It was and is a wonderful sense of validation to know that people actually take a few moments out of their day to see what is happening in our lives here. So more people started commenting and I became increasingly aware that my thoughts were being read by lots of other people; even people who weren't leaving comments. I received a comment one day from an older, male relative whom I have no memory of ever meeting. When I asked my mom about it, she said, "Oh yeah! I emailed the family with your blog address!" That was pretty much the end of my talking about my vagina and all of the goings-on in it's neighborhood during the rest of my pregnancy.

Since then I have sort of toughened up about it. If people want to read, they can read and if they see something they don't like, well.....they can stop reading. I've made peace with that as it pertains to my own writing. But what to do when the comments left by a reader leave you, me or someone else out there scratching their head?

"Commenter A" I will call him because I lack all originality and humor today, left what was either an incredibly flattering f'bomb-laden comment about my new hair or a very mean-spirited cut at me for including such a bizarre combination of topics in my last post. And of course, the problem with the blog comment is that is lacks a real voice and therefore the intention behind the comment can get lost. I spent far too much time going back and forth between, "Wow, he's really excited about my new hair cut, to, ohmygod, he thinks I am being totally horrible and shallow for bringing up my hair at a time like this, to well, maybe my hair really does look that good, to don't be silly, nobody's hair looks that good; he's being ironic to, jesus christ, he could just be trying to emphasize his positive thoughts, will you ever learn to take a freaking compliment???!!!" It's been exhausting. But I was pretty much at the point of letting it just "be" when the plot thickened...

Commenter B came along, choosing to remain anonymous and called out Commenter A, calling his comment offensive and chastising him for using the f'bomb. I should clarify that I use the f'bomb quite often in my posts, so perhaps this commenter was also scolding me. Don't know.

Then I started thinking, what do I do when the thoughts that others have regarding my posts make me or other readers uncomfortable? I am the queen of the nervous laughter at the dinner table when someone broaches an "inappropriate" topic of conversation and I am well-skilled in changing the subject; I was raised to avoid conflict at pretty much all costs. I come from the "everything is fine!" grin and hide it school of conflict resolution. So it doesn't surprise me that my first instinct was to erase the comments that created the discomfort.

But that's not who I want to be as a writer, a blogger or a person. So I decided to pretty much give life back to those two comments with this post by explaining what happened. And I promise, I will not erase comments from my blog in the future unless the circumstances truly call for it (privacy issues, utter out-and-out nastiness, etc).

So to Commenter A, if your comment was a compliment, thank you for your enthusiasm; I appreciate the compliment and I'm sorry I'm so freaking neurotic that I misread it. If it was a commentary on the inappropriateness of talking about my hair in the same post as I talked about little Lindsay's battle with cancer, I get where you're coming from and recognize the awkwardness in it. Chalk it up to me being not a good enough writer to segue more smoothly from the deeply emotional to the inane everyday.

And to Anonymous Commenter B, I wish you had posted who you were so I'd know if I was talking to my mom or a stranger out there in the blogosphere, but I am sorry that anything in my blog offended you; this is the chance you take when you write blindly for an undefined audience. I am going to continue dropping f'bombs when I feel they are warranted, as will my readers, I am sure. I hope you decide to keep reading in spite of that.

Now I'm going to stop breathing into a paper bag over this whole thing and get the hell over it.