woke up this morning to an email (either a twitter or people magazine recap) stating that Heather Armstrong (aka "Dooce") had died by way of suicide on May 9th.
ooof.
I'm not one to be typically affected by 'celebrity' news. Generally speaking, I have no idea who is who in the world of society A or B listers. Sure, I know of some actors and musicians but let's face it, I'm just trying to keep my team of three afloat; not giving more than half a shit about what so and so says to eat or wear. Will I watch a movie or show and listen to music and attend a concert? damn skippy. but until one of these folks is paying my bills or feeding my kids or doing my job, I just appreciate them for their ability to entertain me, and that's about as far as it goes.
Does that mean I'm unaffected when I hear about tragedy? no. I still feel sadness or compassion when I hear stories about so and so's divorce/accident/sickness/death etc. but somehow... in the early morning darkness... this one hit different.
Seeing her name was like being hit with an instant combo of confusion and familiarity. I admit; it took me a few minutes to truly remember WHY I knew that name - but almost as if I were a bottle of soda that's been roughed up on the way home from the store, my feelings of true sadness were like a tense pressure that, although slow to start, ended up being a fast and furious wave of release.
Dooce was there back then. Straight up OG. I didn't personally know who she was but MAN she was a great writer. a BLOGGER. a founder of blogHER. Before the days of the Twitter Fail Whale, instagram, snapping and any of these 30 second tiktoks. She was REAL. well, she felt real to me. unabashed raw musings that gave me courage to feel my feels and write about them. Well.. a FILTERED version of my feelings, because I knew (strike that. I "firmly believed") that I could never be my true self for the public to see/read/digest.
For whatever reasons I honestly don't recall... probably just got busy with trying to survive my OWN life and stopped trying to pay attention to OTHER people's lives. Anyways.. I stopped following her. But hearing that name was a wave of familiar then sadness to learn of her death.
I thought about all of the different people I "met" through blogging. it was such a good community. random souls that, among other things, supported my unbridled love for murray's french toast sticks when I was pregnant with Rhena. They cheered via comments and consoled in ways that were warm and genuine about topics I believed I couldn't voice to friends/family/neighbors in real life.
But then, as blogging became more popular, I found my filtering became stronger. My words and topics were guarded. So much so that I created a secret blog. I had forgotten about that. I read some of those entries this morning and man. they were full of darkness.
fear.
anger.
There was also a lot of hyperfocus on my weight (yeah, I almost spit out my coffee when I read an entry that was worried about my weight gain to 123 pounds. hahahahaha WOW. just... wow.)
Looking back at myself and my private journal entries, it's really a shocker that my marriage lasted until 2012 because man oh man.. the signs were there as early as 2008. ok, earlier than that.. but I'm not here to split hairs. I can say that I fully and completely wanted my pregnancy of Daniel, and my heart ached for friends that were unable to conceive at the time. I was indescribably in LOVE with Rhena and the fact that I was her mom. But I wasn't happy. and I hid that side of myself from others.
Did Heather do that? did she hide her real self from her audiences? or worse.. did she make herself vulnerable to any and all that passed by? Or was that better? was she authentic regardless of the audience?
I don't know. I also don't know the space one must be in to feel that suicide is the best option.... and that's just so sad. not sad that I don't know that place. For that I am thankful to not know that plight.
it's still sad to me though. There's no denying that she was influential and a huge contributor to the online community in the early days. She opened doors and shared examples and for better or worse inspired others to write/share/connect. Like I said.. I've "met" a lot of great people online since those early 2000's and I will forever be thankful for the varying levels of support, kinship and connection that I received.
This also makes me think of how social media has literally exploded in the last 15+ years. Words and concepts like 'Mental health' and 'authentic' and 'connecting' are part of our everyday vocabulary... but are they truly part of our everyday practice? Reality shows are scripted. "Content" is curated, edited, and published on schedules. Is the constant barrage of messages and images of perfection so loud that we can no longer hear ourselves or loved ones when they are passively (or even ACTIVELY) seeking help?
I fully recognize that there's nothing I could have done to change Heather's decided path... but it makes me pause enough to remember that everyone has a secret journal. some might be written, some unspoken. some just show up in quiet tears in the bathroom or in sleepless nights or in addictions. I hope if and when the time comes that I can help a person feel better or good or seen or accepted beyond the version of themselves that they choose to share with me.
And to the November Newbies and Hännikins and Erin B and Erin Cooks and Kerri Anne and Laura and M-Baby and JohnBoy and Julie and Cathi and Mary and all the others in between? Thanks for accepting and loving me regardless of what version I shared. Never underestimate the value of the kindness you shared when I couldn't be kind to myself (and I had to stop impersonating Randy Jackson.)
xxoo
