A month or two ago, you posted an Instagram story about how groups can become alienating and commodified. You described in a framework of a pack of wolves. I thought it was fascinating you would describe it in the terms you use in your studies, because my thoughts around this topic took the form of my cartographic education.

For me, political and interpersonal ideologies form a kind of nation-state. There are definite borders between sides, and I’ve decided, in this political moment, it is incumbent to respect the line. As a cartographer, I don’t create borders. I just name them.

My dad is an extremist Catholic. He believes there are very rigid rules that people are to play insociety, and he is unable to acknowledge anyone who deviates from those norms. And I am very much a problem for my father.

He and I were Facebook friends up until January of last year.

For some reason I thought it was very important that he have that kind of insight into my life. We very rarely had direct conversation together,and the only way I could communicate major happenings in my life was to post about them on Facebook. That would give him topics of discuss for those few times a month we would speak. It felt like the only way I can remain relevant to him.

It wasn’t until my wedding and his unilaterally and secretly uprooting the family to Denver, spilling his lie to me on the day of my layoff, that I realized that granting him that access really wasn’t serving me in any way. In reality, it was doing just the opposite. My posts commenting on social happenings and trying to coordinate people to contact their representatives on issues that affected me in my community only seem to validate his worst stereotypes of hysterical, sensitive gay and millennial snowflakes. His ideas of what it meant to be a man are way too rigid for me to comply with in any way shape or form. I’m a walking heresy.

When I realized that, I also realized there were only two options to maintain any semblance of a positive relationship with him. The first was to change how I acted online: curbing any political organizing; not speaking out on injustices to my community; not showing affection to women I have no intention of sleeping with; not showing affection for men I wish I could be sleeping with. The second was to draw a borderline between these nation-states of ideologies that existed between us — between his Trumpism and my political human decency. I decided to heavily curate what was visible to him, blocking him on all internet presences, so we could only have a relationship over phone calls, private texts, and in person.

At root in any parent-child relationship is the desire for continued access to our lives. When I put the onus on him to figure out what we have to talk about when we speak instead of my feeding him topics (topics that always came from an area of my personal vulnerability), it ultimately gave me power.

If he wants validation that I’m a gay millenial snowflake, he now has to bring up the topic.

And he will never do that.

I only have about 60 Facebook friends now (and only 20 in my “All in the Family” group where I share my journal entries with my most trusted), and I have about 20 Instagram friends.

For me, curating the audience allows me to say my truth in any moment online without having to do any labor or waste any time defending it.

I’ve found it brings me a confidence and an untouchability in my lived experience. I feel as though my weaknesses are stored in one place, guarded by every person whom I’ve ever trusted throughout my entire life. Whereas, before, the internet just felt like another battleground I had to monitor and be ready to act in at any moment.

For your situation, I’m not sure there will ever be an argument you can give your mom that will solve her insecurity of having a daughter with mental illness. It shouldn’t be your responsibility to do so, either. I think it’s fair for you, though, that if she can’t handle what she reads online, maybe she shouldn’t have access to it. And you can just curate what she does see, always keeping it within the boundaries of what is comfortable for her and her insecurities around her children.

That way you don’t always have to explain yourself and self- police your writing. You can more easily live in your truth.

Because, Liz, your writing, your truth, is amazing 🤗