I am uneducated. I only got my bachelor’s degree, and in French studies, no less. I have a ton of faults, one of them being I sometimes state my opinions as facts, and another being I get frustrated when I’m not good at something right away.

I also am dealing with how to love my body after two little babies wrecked it on their way into this world.

I take things for granted, I’m impatient, I don’t know everything. These things make me human.

So one day, despite my myriad of faults, I decided to go to the internet to weigh in on a topic that was close to home. I wrote a blog post for this very blog that was about gender and identity. I said I think sex and gender should correlate. I said I think parents should provide structure and security to their small children so they can later decide things for themselves when they are mentally mature enough to make these decisions. I said I thought that would make the children the happiest. I tried my very best to be true to myself without offending anyone.

The post was published.

Within one hour I received a barrage of negative feedback — paragraphs and paragraphs about how I am an idiot and have no place commenting on something I know nothing about and should keep my opinions to myself. I tried to ignore the little envelope notification on the top left of my phone, but despite my insecurities and dread, I opened the emails, over and over, and the words just poured into my brain, leaving me feeling worthless.

“Am I wrong to say what I think?” I thought. “Is there no one out there who thinks the same way I do?” “Am I what they say I am?” “Is there a place for me here?”

No, according to one comment. I live in the Northeast now, where no one will agree with me.

I guess that makes me a minority.

My blog post was taken down.

So I spent my day thinking.

Why was I so upset? Had this ever happened to me before? What was it about this experience that had left me so raw and vulnerable on the inside? I realized what the answer was: The internet was a bully, and he had bit me.

It’s everywhere — and Facebook is the worst place of all. People are at each other’s throats because they don’t agree. Vicious, ferocious remarks and scathing accusations, all in the name of defending an opinion.

Well, I have a question. When did it become okay to do this? Who taught us that if we don’t agree with someone, we get to shove their face in the mud? Is this what we teach our kids? That if there is someone at recess who is different from them, it’s OK to tell them to shut up and go away?

There are two screens separating all of us: your screen and my screen. And because we don’t have to look into each other’s eyes and watch the shock and the tears and the anger well up there as we slap one another repeatedly with unkind words, we think what we’re doing is OK.

It’s not.

I’m a human being sitting here behind this screen. And I’m awesome. I’m hilarious — just ask my daughters. I make dinner for the people I love. I take care of my friend Teresa who lives in the nursing home down the street. I teach the teenage girls in my church and cry with them when they tell me their friend was stabbed, their electricity is turned off, they want to give up. I feel obligated to be reasonable and to listen and to learn and seek for truth wherever I can find it. I take my time to think about these issues that are important to me and my family and friends. I am a human being, and this alone qualifies me to my opinion. 

And what I have to remind myself is that you’re not a comment. You’re a human being. And even if we don’t have one thing in common, I hope that if there is a day we end up next to each other, pushing our kids in the swings at the park, I could strike up a conversation with you. And that we would both leave feeling enriched because of a simple interaction with another worthwhile human being.