Having a Bad Day? Tell Me About It.

A couple months ago, a friend posted a Facebook status that instantly stood apart from all the engagement photos, BuzzFeed quizzes, and selfies flooding my feed. She said:

The Internet keeps telling me that everyone else's life is perfect and mine is horrible. If you're reading this, tell me something bad that's going on in your life, big or small. Let's prove that we're all human.

Okay, I thought. I'll play. I added my comment, a medium-sized problem that had been weighing on me, and waited. Before too long, my comment had dozens of likes, "I feel you!" and "Hang in there!" replies, and was buried in the thread amongst countless other experiences affecting my friend's extended network. It wasn't, as I'd first thought, overly negative—it was cathartic.

Fast forward to a few days ago, when another friend launched tell-it-like-it-is site I Lost My Job in San Francisco. As anyone who lives in the area knows, San Francisco's job scene can be pretty volatile. Startups go under or get acquired; projects get pulled; products pivot; funding dries up. Of course, these things happen everywhere and many people have sordid tales of being let go—even some of the most influential people in business. But mid-bubble San Francisco feels especially topsy turvy. I think my friend Laura put it best:

Job loss happens to a lot of people all over the world, but the sheer volume and rate at which people go through jobs here is absolutely astounding. In a place where people pride themselves on how busy they are, and how many hours they work in a week, it's very odd to be the one saying "I'm collecting unemployment, feeling terrible about my life and just watched 6 hours of Netflix."

Amen to that.

Much has been written about the negative effects of social media on self-esteem and happiness. The online world is all about curation: after all, at least 11% of #nofilter Instagram photos most certainly do have filters, #wokeuplikethis is a total hoax, and catfishing is a real phenomenon. It's easy (and to some extent, unavoidable) to project a certain reality at the expense of other aspects of your life. And it's okay to do that, but there are some experiences best shared. Doing so doesn't just help you get something off your chest—it helps others realize they're not alone.

Because on the flip side of all that faux-positivity, that's one of the best parts of the Internet. There are communities for every sort of perspective or experience. Since the days of AOL chatrooms, people have been gathering to discuss those aspects of life we all face, from the wonderful to the mundane to the challenging. These communities, whether coming in the form of LiveJournal forums (remember those?), Twitter feeds, or Tumblr posts, help us relate to one another on a human level that belies the digital interface through which we engage.

At least in my own network, I'm noticing more openness on social media. My friend Chin recently wrote a wonderful piece about her quarter-life crisis: she got dumped and laid off just before her 27th birthday, and what resulted was a depressive fog and a swirl of existential questions. I was inspired by her candor, and I wanted to tell my story: a lay-off triggered my own depression, and I still struggle to keep it at bay. But when I sat down to write, I couldn't do it. I froze. I was too intimidated to be so publicly vulnerable.

I'm still not there yet, but this post is the first step in that direction. After my dad passed away, the people who helped me most were those who'd also faced loss. Sharing those experiences made me feel less alone. I'd like to think that we can all be digital support systems, that we can all help each other feel like they're part of the community called life.

So:

My challenge to you, and to myself, is to be open about your experiences—all of them, the good and the bad. Don't hide emotion behind snark or memes. And share your stories: you never know who might read it and think, "I'm glad you understand."