I Deleted the Post
A story about public misrespresentation, old wounds, and what actually matters.
I say what I mean, and I mean what I say. That goes for what I post on social media too.
If I post something, I mean it. I don’t usually delete things. That’s not who I am. Sure, I’ve gone back and edited a post before if I needed to correct something or own a mistake. I’ll absolutely do that because I have no problem owning my shit.
But deleting a post? That goes against everything in me. And I did it anyway.
Not because of what I said— but because of what strangers decided it meant. More specifically, because of what complete fucking strangers decided it said about me as a mother.
Here’s what happened:
My daughter got a “promposal” from her boyfriend. He made her a poster, got her a stuffed animal, his mom took a picture, sent it to me, and I posted it because it was cute. It was sweet. My daughter was smiling a real, genuine, happy smile, and I wanted to share that.
I also made a joke, because I am, in fact, a person with a sense of humor and I’m hilarious. I said I didn’t get permission to post it but I’m used to the “ughhh mom”s and joked that I was just killing it at this whole momming-a-teenage-daughter thing. (See? Hilarious.)
Apparently, because there is no sarcasm font and because people online are allergic to nuance, that got turned into:
I blatantly disrespected my daughter’s boundaries and posted something she specifically asked me not to post.
Except she didn’t ask me not to post anything. That part was made up entirely.
Then there was the sign.
Yes, it said, “I might punch a wall if you don’t say yes.”
And yes, if you didn’t have context, I understand why that would make you pause. Before I had the context, I paused too.
Then I asked questions.
Then I got context from my daughter.
Then it made sense.
And in case you didn’t know…that’s how normal people move through the world when something could mean more than one thing.
The stuffed monkey she’s holding is the same one mentioned in the story about Punch—the viral monkey.
(I’m not explaining it but here’s a link— super cute story.)
So the sign was a play on words.
Punch. The monkey. Not punch like domestic violence. Not a threat.
A joke built around the monkey.
I have no problem with genuine concern.
A friend privately messaged me to say the wording could absolutely be taken the wrong way. That was fine. She wasn’t rude. She wasn’t condescending. She wasn’t creating a whole story about me or my child from one photo. She simply pointed out what someone might see, and I appreciated that. I explained the context, and that was that.
That is concern. That is normal. That is human.
Then there was Threads. Holy shit.
What I thought was one self-righteous comment turned out to be a pile-on.
And it spread. Fast. Imagine going viral for something that others decided about you which is everything you are against. Love that for me!
Suddenly strangers were doing what strangers on the internet love to do
most: building a whole moral narrative out of incomplete information and presenting it as fact.
According to them, I was publicly disrespecting my daughter by posting something she didn’t want posted. I was promoting domestic violence. I was ignoring obvious red flags. I was a clueless mother. I was naive. I was unsafe. I was the kind of woman who would miss the signs… and there was more.
That part is what made me feel sick. Not because I can’t handle disagreement and definitely not because I need everyone to like me. But because people were publicly turning me into the exact kind of mother I am not.
That is what hit. I am not blind to red flags. I am not naive to toxic behavior. I am not some mother smiling through warning signs because the promposal was cute and came with flowers and a stuffed animal.
I already fought like hell to get my daughter out of a toxic relationship once before.
I know what it looks like when a girl is losing herself and calling it love. I know what it feels like to be the mother standing there saying the hard thing over and over while your daughter thinks you are the enemy. I know what it cost me to hold that line anyway. That was, without question, one of the hardest seasons of motherhood I have lived through so far.
(I wrote about that here.)
So for strangers to take one photo, invent facts, and publicly flatten me into some clueless, abuse-enabling parent? Yeah. That one got under my skin.
Actually, no. It got deeper than that.
It hit old wounds. Because I know what it feels like to be misunderstood. I know what it feels like to have people decide who you are without actually knowing you. I know what it feels like to question yourself as a mother even when you are carrying more than most people can see.
So yes, I deleted the post. And I hated doing it because it felt like defeat. It felt like swallowing my words. It felt like old versions of me coming back up— the ones who stayed quiet when people got me wrong because correcting them felt too heavy.
But healing wounds are funny like that.
They’re healing…And they still hurt.
And maybe that’s why this got to me the way it did. Not because strangers know me— they don’t. But because I do. And because my daughters do.
So that’s what really matters.
What matters is that after all the fighting and all the fear and all the exhausting months of trying to get my oldest daughter to see what I saw, she came back to herself. The fog lifted. The light came back. And when I asked her later if she still wished I had shut up the way she wanted me to back then, she told me no.
What matters is that my youngest daughter— who doesn’t always express feelings easily— said to me, “when I’m crying and you talk to me, that’s how I know you care.”
So no, maybe strangers on the internet don’t know my truth. Whatever.
But my girls do. They know I have their backs. They know I will protect them. They know that if something is wrong, I will not look away. They know that if they are hurting, I come closer— I stay. They know I mean what I say.
And if you really know me, you know that too.
So think what you want, I guess. People always will. But opinions are not facts and strangers making me into a story that fits their outrage does not make their version true.
I know who I am. More importantly, my daughters know who I am. And that means a hell of a lot more to me than any viral pile-on ever
Brittany, this one makes me SO SAD!
I don't have children of my own, but I was worked as a family nanny for the first four years of my adult life (same family) and I loved their three children like they were my own. I can't image what it feels like to post something that makes you beam as a parent and as a woman seeing her daughter being treated special. I get the pride and joy in that moment. And then the stupid ass internet decides it's gonna rain on your parade and stomp you.
I also love how you talk about not wanting to delete what you say. Because your words are your power. But sometimes when the mob comes to our door, and they don't understand the whole story you have to cave to them. And how dirty that feels.
Thank you for sharing this!!! <3 <3 <3
It's really too bad that people had that reaction. I mean, to me, it's obvious from the picture that they both look happy. And, even not having the background on the monkey, I would have just assumed he was trying to be funny. It certainly does feel like defeat that you felt compelled to remove the post. I imagine I would have likely done the same. Trying to communicate online can be challenging because it's difficult to determine tone and intent from written words alone. Well, I hope they have fun at the prom. :)