Michelle Thooft

A follow up from my post in our local paper last week — for anyone who is interested in a civil conversation:

I’ve had a heaviness pressing on me since our trip to DC. I’ve ugly cried a lot, almost as much as when I went through the cancer scare. I’m up early most days, talking with God and writing. I’m forgiving people who’ve hurt me and cutting the lies off that their pain introduced. I’m asking God to teach me the actual truth, rather than my painful perceptions. I’ve talked to friends who have helped me get clarity. And I’m seeing my way through, a little.

In case you missed the last couple weeks, here's a short recap, but this is not what this post is about, so skip the next three paragraphs and hang in there. I’ve been told that many have replied to my column in our local paper, and frankly, I’ve stayed away. I went to DC to see for myself. I’ve never been to a rally or a protest, least of all a Trump event. I didn't go to rally or protest. I asked questions. I wrote what I saw, I reported what people said to me, I am trying to understand. I asked, how can we be so severely divided? I am interested in feedback that is open and honest and respectful, and I have several conversations in progress. I am so grateful to these people. I am not interested in attacks, and I have deleted those people from having access to me.

I made many disclaimers—I don’t claim to be right (in more ways than one). I have more accurately nailed my (political) position to “conservative independent.” Which feels very alone, but there it is. I’ve seen the super far-right conspiracy theories (I’ll give them this: they would make a GREAT outline for a novel), I’ve seen the more believable middle ground thoughts. Friends are filling me in, daily, of what the left believes to be true. The gnarly hard point of all this is: I have a deep respect for all these people, who are presenting all these sides. I have no idea what’s true anymore (with politics, anyway)—I’m not sure I ever did. I’m a little sorry I asked, frankly.

What the hell. That’s how it all feels. And there are so many more out there like me. But they are afraid to speak. They’re seeing what is happening to me and they’re more silent than ever.

I have had my eyes opened to the breathtaking amount of hatred and cruelty there is out there for anyone who thinks different, anyone who dares question, anyone who is trying to understand both sides. I’ve been accused of doing all this for sympathy (which I honestly did laugh at), for being “complicit” (really?? Don’t even—I’ve got a lot of comparisons there for you), for being gullible, and many more things that I refuse to read but kind-hearted people have written and warned me about. I’m experiencing the quiet (you think I don’t see? I absolutely do) and not-so-quiet withdrawal of people I love, which is by far the most painful, the cruelest cut of all. I’ve purged my social media a little—only those who can disagree with civility have been allowed to stay. And there are a few that are still on the edge, due to their disrespect and unkindness to other people on my page who don’t agree.

And you know who have been the kindest and the best throughout all this? Most of my Jesus-following friends, and one or two dear ones on the left who disagree with me but fiercely love me anyway. The ones who believe that humanizing each other is more important than anything else.

But over all that, I’m remembering what God did for me during the cancer scare three years ago, ironically during this same time frame of the calendar year. He dropped the phrase “this is not for your destruction” in my mind when I wasn’t expecting it. He gave me three songs on three nights while I slept—and they correspond with faith, hope, and love, the three things that remain. Don’t You Worry ‘Bout a Thing, The Best is Yet to Come, and Superstar, which declares that you are loved even when you left, said you would be back, and lied. You are loved in spite of yourself. You are loved unconditionally. You are loved in spite of the idiots who say you’re not. They do not speak for me or my God. These things give me hope.

A friend helped me see that possibly, in a very small way—I am experiencing what many of our children experience with cyber-bullying. I’ve heard of it, I’ve grieved with the parents who lose their children to su***de because of it, but I had no idea how it felt.

Now I do.

It is an intense heaviness of heart that you physically carry constantly—fear along with anxiety and raw pain that feels like emotional (almost physical) internal bleeding. Like an emotional knife wound to the heart and mind. It throbs incessantly and overtakes your mind if you allow it, and how would a child know how to stop it? How would a child feel protected from it? Even if you don’t read what is said—you know it’s out there, and you hide your face when you go out in case anyone recognizes you. You don’t want to tell neighbors you meet on a walk your name for fear they already hate you. Paranoia creeps in, and as an adult I can see that and cast it out like any good Harry Potter fan—but as a child?

And if it is much easier to believe the negative than it is to believe the positive—no wonder we’re losing our children over this.

I don’t think anyone in my community would walk up to me in a grocery store or at my office at school or on the street and let loose with verbal abuse. I don’t think they’re that brave. I think they’re angry, they’re worried—and my column provoked that. And it’s easy to write anger and hatred because it’s detached from a human element. They didn’t look into my eyes as they wrote their hate. They hadn’t just laughed at my lame jokes or let me make them a cup of espresso. They hadn’t experienced my dog rounding their feet in joy at seeing them. They hadn’t sat by my fire and grieved the loss of a child’s love in safety. They hadn’t dangled their feet in my pool on a hot day, they hadn’t laughed with me at our comical chickens. They hadn’t borrowed my husband’s tools, and my husband, to fix a leaky door frame.

No, they read my words and declared, “what a pile of crap.” They imagined the worst about me, without knowing me (and spouted rhetorical questions that proved they hadn’t read a word of what I said in the first place)—and it gave them power to spew their rage in front of everyone. My whole community has seen it. They have exposed themselves.

And that doesn’t make me happy, it makes me sad. They are doing, as adults, what bullies do to children, online, every day. Then they punish by withdrawing their love and friendship. They punish someone for having a question, a thought, a point of view that doesn’t agree or even just questions.

When did we get so afraid of questions?

I don’t have an answer. But one thing I do have is an increased awareness and understanding and fierce tenderness for our kids who experience this every day. I can ask for support, I can ask my family and friends to remind me that I am loved, I can put my hand on my heart and declare “peace, hope, joy—I am healthy and whole and well. Life to every organ, every system—life to my blood and my bones and my cells.” I know that words create worlds, and I use them to that end.

“I will stick with love,” said Martin Luther King, Jr. “Hate is too great a burden to bear.” Love toward myself, love toward those around me. Love for God, because I’m thinking he’s our only hope here.

And I’ve withdrawn from a lot of social media. The distance is healing. Maybe that’s what we need to do for our kids. Dear God, tell them today that you love them, and no matter what they ever do or say, you will never stop loving them. Assure them that if and when they ever disagree with you, or when they fail because they certainly will, that you will never cut them off. It wouldn’t even cross your mind. Tell them that they are safe from that twisted knife-to-the-heart, at least from you. Be a safe place.

That’s what I’m still striving for.

**And to you who know who you are: just in case you missed the thesis of this little essay—it’s “Now I understand cyber-bullying a little, and it breaks my heart.” I will immediately delete any comments that are abusive to me or anyone else, or any that harangue and belittle. I promised to not let my heart grow cold, and that’s what I need to do to protect it.