Confessions of a Former Internet Celebrity: It Sucked

I used to be a big deal on the Internet.

Well, sort of a big deal.

I used to have lots of fans and followers and freebie offers. I used to spend a good chunk of my day dreaming up blog posts and figuring out how I would entertain my audience. (My corner of) the Internet loved me, and I loved it.

And in the end it made me very, very unhappy.

I never saw it coming.

In the beginning, it was like any love affair: heady and magical. For the first time in my life I was pretty and popular. People wanted to know me. I felt important, special, and validated — three things I’d never really experienced on a consistent basis.

The Internet was the adoring boyfriend I’d seen on movies but never had in real life.

I was the geeky girl who got a makeover and was suddenly appreciated.

And then I was the desperate girl who had to work really hard to maintain her new image, because the idea of fading back into oblivion was terrifying.

I had to keep entertaining. I had to always be funny or provocative. I had to be on stage constantly, because the minute I stepped down I’d be forgotten. And I couldn’t be forgotten. I didn’t exist until the Internet discovered me, and I’d cease to be if they stopped looking at me.

I was who the Internet said I was.

But the Internet doesn’t always agree.

So, sometimes I was funny and brave and beautiful. Sometimes I was a horrible wife and selfish mother. Sometimes I was pathetic and lame. Sometimes I was so smart, and sometimes I was so childish.

I was whatever the Internet said I was.

Being kind of a big deal on the Internet was like being in an abusive relationship. I wanted to please, but I was careful. I didn’t know what would trigger an attack or warrant roses. I was watchful of myself and of my beloved’s response.

My self esteem was strapped onto a roller coaster, enjoying the view from the thrilling peaks one moment and throwing up cotton candy the next.

In the summer of 2009, I crashed and burned in front of the Internet. My marriage exploded and the Internet responded with a mixture of support and glee. People were just as thrilled to see me fall as they had been to see me dance.

The Internet didn’t know who the hell I was anymore.

I had to start looking somewhere else for answers.

I went to therapy. I rebuilt my marriage. I turned in my tap shoes and started all over on the Internet, this time with a determination to share who I was becoming on my own terms.

A friend asked me once for advice on dealing with Internet trolls and hateful comments. I shared my secret:

You have to remember that haters on the Internet don’t really know you. But that can only be true if the people who love you on the Internet also don’t really know you. You have to remember: none of it is real.

Sometimes I miss the outside validation. Sometimes I resent the hard work involved with building myself up and holding myself accountable to me. Sometimes I really want someone else to tell me who I am.

But the Internet can’t be trusted to do that, because the Internet is changing even faster than I am.

Only I can be counted on to say who I am and who I will be. Only I can decide if I’m good enough, if I’m funny or smart or beautiful. Only my judgments have staying power and can be used to build a life upon.

I used to be a big deal on the Internet.

Now I’m important to me.

I am who I say I am.