Someday, I’m going to be able to tell my grandchildren that I was using Facebook when it was still exclusive to college students.
That girl who sat next to you on the first day of classes—can we say study buddy or future BFF? Friend her! That cute guy across the classroom? Friend him! (It’s not weird! After all, we’re in the same class and I only friended him so I could ask about assignments...aaaand hoped he might see that I’m cute and fun, too!) Smart guy or gal in the class? Friend ‘em! They might prove helpful later. Funny guy or gal in class? Friend ‘em! I could use daily humor to break up the monotony of my long, studious days.
Facebook was great in the beginning, because it was limited to college students. It was a fantastic way to connect with people in your classes; to share assignment information; to commiserate on deadlines and all-nighters; to get plugged into social collegiate activities. I remember Facebook feeling “cool” back then because—not only was it was exclusive—there was absolutely zero drama. It was just a bunch of twenty-somethings finding virtual companionship as they stumbled through four-plus years of sleepless, caffeine-fueled nights, cramming more information into their already full-to-bursting brains.
But alas, all good things must come to an end, and in September 2006, anyone aged 13 and up with a valid email address could create a Facebook page.
Don’t ask me why—I couldn’t tell you even if you did—but I vividly remember getting online that day to see this significant change in Facebook’s policies. This was great for Facebook because it was growth; an indicator of its immense success as a forerunner of social media (and let’s face it, if Facebook hadn’t done it, somebody else would have). But the second I realized anyone—family and old friends—could join, Facebook’s mystique began to fade.
It killed Facebook’s professional atmosphere and began feeling like an overcrowded party with every person you’ve ever met in your entire life. That girl who spread rumors about you in high school sent you a friend request; you could either ignore it, risking her posting passive-aggressive statuses like, “Once a b*tch, always a b*tch” that someone would later screenshot and send to you, or you could accept her request just to keep from causing a petty, unnecessary conflict. Getting friend requests from cute guys in your classes was exciting because it meant he’d noticed you, but it became creepy when guys you said, “Excuse me,” to in the grocery store started sending you friend requests. Having parents, aunts, uncles and grandparents call you up over some gossip they heard about you is endurable, but now you’re getting angry messages with screenshots of a facetious remark or photo you shared. Or, you have relatives firing back with passive-aggressive statuses that are just vague enough so that when you ask them about it, they can slyly say, “Oh, it wasn’t about you.” Meanwhile, they’re getting self-satisfaction out of the fact that it was about you and that you saw it. You’re getting into heated discourses with the weird kid in high school you had absolutely nothing in common with even back then; neither of you care about the other’s opinions or feelings, you’re just battling it out with no other purpose in mind but to out “Gotcha!” the other.
We’re all guilty of one or all of these. Facebook has enabled us to become both the bully and the victim of misinterpretations. Like most of you, I’m a nice person. I try to do what’s right, both morally and legally. But I once had a serious wake-up call with just how unhealthy Facebook had become. I posted a status a few years ago—a political status posted while I was angry—that I came to regret. Not because I was necessarily wrong in how I felt, but looking back, it was inflammatory and resulted in a bombardment of angry comments that I wasn’t expecting. This infuriated me further because two of the people who attacked me over it had FOR YEARS made posts insulting to my faith. They were unrelentingly critical of people with my political leanings, and not once had I invaded their personal pages to tell them why I thought they were wrong. But here they were, attacking me on my own page. Another guy posted a “Gotcha!” comment on my post before promptly unfriending me for my opinion. I’ll never forget what I thought when I saw he’d actually unfriended me: “Who was that guy?”
And that was when I knew Facebook—for me—had gotten out of hand.
It had gotten to the point where I dreaded getting on Facebook because all it did was make me angry. I’d friended/accepted friend requests from people I’d gone to daycare with—elementary, middle and high school with. I had friended friends of friends, people I knew only because one of my real friends had mentioned their name in a conversation once. I realized I had two choices: Leave Facebook, or create an online environment that would allow me to flourish while keeping me accountable for my words.
So, I cleaned house.
I went from 600+ friends to 80. I got rid of people I’d never actually been friends with in real life. I got rid of people I found too closed-minded and unapologetically provoking; this applied to both people with beliefs similar to mine, and people with beliefs in opposition of mine. I got rid of people who offered nothing of substance but passive-aggressive drama. I even got rid of people I actually liked simply because I hadn’t seen or spoken to them in real life for years. As a result, Facebook became a place of positivity and growth for me. I didn’t just keep Facebook friends who thought like me so I could keep myself in a safe, little bubble. No. The majority of people (there are a few exceptions) I kept as friends met the criteria below:
1: They are kind.
2: I can learn something from them.
3: We have good conversations often.
4: We are close and they have a knowledge of the real me, or at least, they did at one time.
Facebook is free for everyone, but your personal page is your right and everyone else’s privilege.
Let me rephrase this so it’s understood from both perspectives: It’s not your right to be “friended” by someone on Facebook; it’s a privilege extended to you by that person, allowing you a window into their life. I don’t care if it’s a stranger on the street (though I do hope you aren’t friending strangers...) or a relative; if they are not kind, if they are not contributing anything of substance to your life, if they abuse the privilege of being your friend on Facebook, UNFRIEND THEM. Some people will handle this better than others, but there’s something rather taboo about unfriending someone. That’s because we live in a selfish, entitled society and most people believe just because they exist, you should tolerate them. While everyone has a right to exist, you DO NOT have to tolerate them, especially when they’re abusing the privilege of being allowed a peek into your life.
WHAT DOES AN ABUSED PRIVILEGE LOOK LIKE?
I’m glad you asked. Someone who abuses the privilege of being your Facebook friend is someone who polices your posts, scolding you (whether outright or out of a self-righteous attempt to correct you). It’s someone who sends you screenshots of your own genuinely innocent posts, asking you to explain them. It’s someone who often—or even just sometimes—posts passive-aggressive statuses about you, knowing you’ll see it. It’s someone who uses your posts as fodder for gossip or to wreak havoc in your friendships or relationships. These types of people unequivocally DO NOT DESERVE access to your life through Facebook, and you do not deserve the emotional turmoil they inflict on you. Unfriend them. I know I sound ruthless (and if you ask anyone who knows me, they’ll tell you I’m anything but), but I think it’s because—paradoxically—I stopped taking Facebook so personally. I don’t take offense when someone unfriends me (whether I agree with the reasons they do it or not) because that’s their right. After my massive Facebook purge, you better believe I had a few people confront me face to face (or in private messages I didn’t see because private messages are hidden from me due to my privacy settings). I told them the truth: “I was miserable on Facebook and decided to make it a little more private. No offense. Sorry.” What could they do? Send me another request and force my finger to hit the “Accept” button?
I’ve also had to explain to abusers of the privilege of being my Facebook friend why they were unfriended:
“Because you caused problems in my other relationships.”
“Because you want to passive-aggressively insult me or correct me without talking to me about what it is that upset you.”
“Because it’s causing too many problems between us.”
Unfriending someone doesn’t have to be permanent; having the privilege of being someone’s Facebook friend can be earned back—as long as you prove you can be a real friend in real life. Because being Facebook friends doesn’t have to be permanent, either.
The complete loss or deterioration of friendships used to be normal. It used to be a sign of growing up. Facebook—though it’s not necessarily a bad thing in the right hands—has altered this fact of life. It’s great to see how old friends are doing, and being able to keep in touch with relatives across the country every single day, but in order for Facebook not to become a burden, we still must have boundaries. Unfriending someone—when done for the right reasons—isn’t about disrespecting the other person; it’s about having respect for yourself. It’s about demanding respect from someone who gives you none, and when they repeatedly encroach on your emotional, physical or mental wellbeing, there needs to be consequences.
Your page is your right and no one else’s, the same as your life. And anyone who makes you feel guilty for standing up for yourself shouldn’t be allowed on your page, anyway. If there’s only one thing you walk away with after reading this article, I hope it’s that.
