I’m a big fan of the upsides of living in a digital world, but I freely admit it’s also hard. We’re all doing something no humans have ever done before. We’re navigating uncharted territory with no clear roadmap or destination.
“[T]he human brain, it turns out, reacts similarly to the ding of a text message … as it would to the growl of a bear behind us in the woods: as a threat, demanding a constant state of alertness,” says naturalist and ecophilosopher Lyanda Lynn Haupt in Rooted: Life at the Crossroads of Science, Nature, and Spirit.
Digital connectedness makes our world more complex than before.
No other group of humans has had to process so many stories, voices, and perspectives coming at us through multiple channels around the clock onto a device we hold in our hand and carry with us everywhere we go. No one before us had to think about how to manage a never-ending stream of digital stimuli.
We’re still learning how to engage with a multitude of narratives in digital spaces. We’re figuring out how to define our own identity and values without the centering (or alienating) influence of a handful of dominant stories.
It’s complicated, to say the least.
Because digital grace is a rarity in our world, when we consciously practice it, we may find ourselves navigating even more conversations and connections. People are drawn to those who make them feel comfortable, worthy, and safe. But adding ever more connections and interactions can take its toll on even the most gracious, welcoming person. We aren’t merely meant to deliver grace, we are meant to enjoy it as well.
In some cases, granting grace to ourselves will look like the opposite of granting grace to others. Whereas grace welcomes others into conversations and invites them to participate, we practice grace to ourselves by withdrawing from spaces where we feel unsafe and attacked, or when we simply don’t have the emotional bandwidth to engage.
The ability to gauge our feelings and temper our physiological responses to ideas, personalities, and various forms of content is one tremendous advantage of engaging in digital spaces. We don’t always have time or feel secure enough to evaluate our feelings or reactions when dealing with someone face-to-face. Online interactions, on the other hand, allow us to take all the time we need to reflect on how we’re feeling and decide whether we want to engage.
We have a “right to turn off the comments when they become too toxic,” says journalist Nesrine Malik in We Need New Stories: The Myths that Subvert Freedom. Parent and activist Farrah Alexander concurs. In Raising the Resistance: A Mother’s Guide to Practical Activism she says, “You don’t owe anyone a debate. You are free to express whatever opinion you’d like, and there is not a punishment that you must reply thoughtfully to every mansplaining goof demanding a debate. Just turn off notifications and walk away.”
When we don’t have the capacity to conduct healthy conversations and relationships in digital spaces, we need to honor our fatigue and frustration. We need to give ourselves time and space to recharge, to identify and set boundaries that allow us to engage in healthy online discourse, and to re-enter digital spaces with grace toward all (ourselves included).
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Excerpt from Digital Grace: Pouring Benevolence into an Outraged World.
ALSO FROM LAUREN M. HUG: Digital Kindness: Being Human in a Hyper-Connected World.
"We don't owe anyone a debate" is a great observation. I think there is a nuance here that people DO want an exchange of opinions and ideas, but want to be able to disengage if the back and forth becomes burdensome or the long knives come out.....