Maybe it’s because I’ve been rereading Daring Greatly by Brené Brown, but the above discomforting interaction led me to think a lot about vulnerability, connection, and loneliness. Let me explain.

I have two profiles on Facebook. One, which I’ve been using significantly less this year, is my personal page. When I sign onto it, I use it to engage with friends and family members, and to keep up with the lives of people I have met in the many places I have lived. The other is my professional page, which I use to manage my business’s Facebook account, connect with other professionals, and interact with “mental health professionals” Facebook groups.

Yesterday morning, I was on the latter page, and I saw that I had a friend request from someone I had connected with on one of the aforementioned groups. Since the page exists to perpetuate professional connections, I accepted the request. When I did, I noticed that there were 6 or 7 pending friend requests from people I didn’t know. Because it isn’t my personal page, I thought to myself, “sure, I’ll accept these. They’re probably people in my field who friended me because they interacted with me on the professional Facebook groups at some point.”

To my astonishment, less than 10 minutes later, I had this flirtatious, borderline-inappropriate message pop up on my screen. And three hours later, another of the men whose friend request I had accepted also messaged me, requesting a conversation: “can we chat plez? i like ur pic.”

 

Finding empathy for loneliness

My first feeling was annoyance. Most of the men I surround myself with are feminists, so it’s easy to forget that #notallmen are respectful and compassionate. (See what I did there?) It’s true, I still encounter unseemly fellows who catcall as I walk down the street (#yesallwomen), but it’s easy to lump those guys into the category of “society at large”. Something about being bothered while in the safety of my own home by two distinct men with first and last names, and fully fleshed out Facebook profiles made it feel a lot more invasive than “just another guy who’s being obnoxious and making me feel a bit unsafe.”

But then I had a different reaction: one that caught me by complete surprise:

“How lonely must these men be to resort to friending strange women on Facebook and attempting to engage them in conversation?”

I was overcome by Sadness and Empathy. I thought about the challenges of making real life connections in our contemporary, digital world. I would imagine, given the choice, that these men would prefer to feel closeness and connection in a real, authentic way.

I hearkened back to my Brene Brown roots, and thought about vulnerability, and how much easier it is to “chat up” a random woman on Facebook than it is to attempt to open yourself up to the possibility of rejection by considerately approaching a woman in real life. The former is a facsimile for connection: a desperate plea to be seen and validated without the risk of real, face to face, rejection. The latter is terrifying. It’s looking into a gladiatorial arena and thinking, “well, here we go, time to risk life and limb.”

I thought about the armor of the digital barrier, the mask of the brash, attacking words, the ease with which defensiveness jumps in to hide crushed feelings and shield against debilitating shame. And in hindsight, I recognize that these men’s responses were a symptom of the systems they inhabit.

What systems? Well, oppressive systems, to start. Systems that objectify women, systems that tell men that they have to abide by narrow gender strictures. Systems that pathologize women’s emotions, and systems that tell men the only emotion they’re permitted is anger. Systems that emphasize male dominance and punish male “weakness.”

But also systems that make connection difficult. Systems that have us trained to stare at our screens until we forget how to gaze into another person’s eyes. Systems that give us so many media with which to communicate, but that take away the skills we used to have that let us do so. Systems that tell me if I want to get together with you for coffee, I have to text you to ask permission to call you so that I can invite you to meet up.

How are we supposed to know how to connect in a world with these systems? I suppose by reaching out online, in a way that feels protected. By casting lines and hoping someone will bite.

Very lonely, indeed.