Did You Know Medium Isn’t Facebook?

Many people don’t

I generally love Medium. It’s been in a sense, a refuge for me.

During the worst crisis of my life, when I contemplated suicide daily, Medium gave me a space to pour my heart out. And pour it out I did, as I struggled to comprehend how my older daughter could casually cut me out of her life, along with her two daughters. Those precious children I loved with every fiber of my being.

My life hasn’t been a particularly happy one. Yet, despite the near-lethal blow dealt me by my child, the blessings have been greater than the heartache. That’s the key to surviving tragedy, it’s seeing the whole picture. And it’s incredibly hard when you are mired in grief.

Had it not been for the unwavering support from every member of my immediate, as well as extended family I don’t believe I would have. Even my former husband, it was my decision to leave him that precipitated the action undertaken by my daughter, was utterly crushed. We cried together, staring at each other in bewilderment, struggling to comprehend her decision.

That was almost two years ago. In recent months I’ve been doing better. By no means am I home free. I’m not sure if you ever are once you’ve walked to the edge and very nearly stepped off. Especially when you know the soul-crushing loss you suffered will remain at the forefront of your thoughts forevermore.

So I balance life, most days leaning toward the light, but always on guard lest the darkness overwhelms me.

I know very little about Ev Williams. From what I’ve read, my opinion is when he envisioned the platform that became Medium, he didn’t intend that it function as a Facebook spinoff.

I’ve been writing infrequently on Medium for almost 18 months, and continue to consider myself a novice. I don’t understand exactly how things work on here but continue learning. For instance, I was unaware Medium paid for content initially. It took me even longer to figure out that work could be submitted to publications.

Something has been bothering me for a while. It has to do with comments I, along with many other writers receive on this platform. In no way do I feel singled out, as I’ve seen similar remarks directed to numerous authors. I began to notice this when a story I wrote last year inexplicably took off, read by thousands, months after I wrote it. That story was about a revelation I experienced, the night I realized the hurt my daughter had leveled upon me had destroyed the love I had for her.

When it became apparent I no longer loved her, I struggled not to hate her. Now, all of those feelings have vanished, and I feel nothing. I am numb, literally, there is no discernable feeling for her. I have a sad awareness I no longer care for many other people and things I previously had great affection for. Maybe that’s the only way I can continue living. Perhaps when someone extinguishes a flame inside you, they turn out other lights also.

I didn’t write about the decision my daughter made to remove herself and her children from my life looking for sympathetic responses, but I have been showered with them. No one in my family had ever heard of a child doing such a thing to a loving mother, and grandmother. It would be somewhat understandable if I was an alcoholic or drug addict who had beaten my children or been verbally abusive to them, but none of that ever transpired. I suffered the misfortune of having a son-in-law with whom I had differences of opinion. For the record, my husband feels as I do.

The overwhelmingly sympathetic, kind comments and encouragement I’ve received have been beyond helpful. I wish I could express my gratitude as eloquently as so many have expressed to me the sadness they feel for me. For every thoughtful expression of sympathy I’ve received, I’ve tried to at a minimum acknowledge it with appreciation.

Unfortunately, there have been a few utterly cruel comments. The worst thing about them is they negate much of the good the supportive comments do. I remember being stunned when I first received them. These were like personal attacks.

They weren’t even questioning remarks. They were more like proclamations describing to me what a horrible person I was. Only a mother who had done something terrible could have a child who would treat her in such a manner.

I was told to just admit what I had done and stop beating up on my daughter who was obviously an abused child. Others also hurled personal insults regarding my appearance. And tore my writing to shreds.

One was so over the top I reported her to Medium. To Medium’s credit, she was immediately removed. I was sad to see a couple of weeks later she had resurfaced with a different name, but the same photo and bio description.

I don’t know if these people realize the damage they do. Hurling unwarranted criticism and insults at writers who have no agenda other than expressing their personal feelings concerning how a tragedy has nearly destroyed them is dangerous.

Either these self-proclaimed psychologists don’t understand they are the very last thing a despondent, desperate individual might hear, or they don’t care.

People such as these rarely affect me these days. I’ve become accustomed to their ignorance and hateful rhetoric. They certainly don’t make me feel good, but I can manage them without much upset. Usually, I delete their comments, but recently I left one, hoping other readers might see it and add her to their lists of whom to avoid.

Getting into a back and forth with these people is pointless. At times I might offer one response, but generally, they come right back at me spewing even more vitriol, so it’s best to delete their remarks and if necessary block them.

This has now happened to me often enough that when it occurs, Facebook is the first thing that comes to mind, which makes me sad. I now consider Facebook a dirty rag, a sleazy place to visit, and rarely access my account.

The thing that I thought was different about Medium is that I wouldn’t encounter the kind of incendiary commentary so freely dispensed on Facebook. I thought this was a place for people to read articles and stories they found of interest, not a website to beat up on generally thoughtful writers.

I don’t write fact-based, scientific, or technological articles. I generally write about my life, or how events or individuals have affected me. Occasionally I might offer a generalized opinion piece, but that’s not common.

Therefore, when subjected to an attack, I have no facts or figures I can produce to dispute mistaken conclusions. If only I did. When reading stories I and other authors write echoing similar themes, if you choose to read them, of course, you can draw your own conclusions. If you disagree with the author, and they have indicated an event or episode upon which they are expounding has virtually destroyed them, it might behoove you to consider that before launching into a full-blown assault.

I’ve had to toughen up since becoming the recipient of inexplicably nasty, reprehensible rhetoric, but not everyone can do that. Only recently have I been able to. And the Medium police can’t predict who might cross a line on any given day. I didn’t expect to find this on here, but I’ve always been somewhat naive.

I can’t help but wonder what type of backlash I’m setting myself up for by writing this. I can handle it, but I wish I and all other Medium writers who dare to open up the chapters on tragedy running throughout our lives didn’t have to.