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I am a child abuser.  I am a sociopath.  I should be sterilized.  I should have my children taken away.  I hate women.  I hate lesbians.  I embrace 1950s gender norms.  I am delusional.  

According to the commenters. 

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At first, I was excited to have my article published.  I was proud of what I had written.  I wanted to share something beautiful.  I was hoping it had touched people; maybe shared a different perspective.  

And I admit now that I’m spoiled.  Those of you who read my blog generally know our family.  You’ve been incredibly supportive and understanding.  Even when you were unsure, you came to me with curiosity and concern instead of judgment.  Our family has been so protected by a your support and love.  

So, while I anticipated some controversy in the comments section, I wasn’t prepared for the hatred. 

On Thursday night, there were about 20 comments.  Many were supportive.  One or two were not, but others were speaking up, and I felt pretty good about the whole thing.  

On Friday morning, there were 75.  Someone had posted a link to an article about de-transitioning that I had read and debunked three years ago.  People were getting a little more fired up.  I had a long talk with my husband.  I was still feeling good about the post.  We are confident in our decisions.  We’ve done a ton of research and consulted medical professionals.  We were not going to get upset about the opinions of random strangers on the internet.  

Friday morning was full of distractions, so I couldn’t obsess.  When I checked again on Friday afternoon, we were up to 200 comments.  My sister weighed in and her support and love brought me to tears.  An old friend also piped in with beautiful, supportive words.  But the supportive comments were becoming the minority.  Maybe that’s not true.  I didn’t actually count.  But that’s certainly how it felt.  

Saturday morning, there were 350 comments.  361.  372.  The count was ticking even as I tried to read them.  I needed to stop.  

We went out to breakfast.  We went to the store.  All the while, I was trying to enjoy my husband and my children, but I was distracted.  Was there anything I could have said differently?  How could I explain more clearly?  My writing obviously didn’t convey enough of our story. 

By Saturday afternoon, I had stopped reading the comments, but my husband hadn’t.  He was becoming angrier and more defensive.  At one point, he tried to comment in our defense.  As you might imagine, everything he said was met with a new criticism.  A few comment lines on an online article could never contain the depth of our love and concern for our child.  And all words can be manipulated and misconstrued.  

During the hours of my Facebook hiatus, I received an email from the magazine.  

Hi Amy, we aren’t sure if you have been following the comments on your post, but just to let you know we have been banning the aggressive and hateful ones (so those people will not be able to keep writing in) and have updated the text with our support at the top. We are fine to take down the whole thing, if you want, it’s entirely up to you. If not, we will keep monitoring the comments. We are so sorry for any hurt this might have caused you and/or your family. 

I was grateful that they were at least monitoring the situation.  They did, in fact, remove the most hateful comments.  But there were plenty of rude, dismissive, and critical comments that didn’t quite reach the level of ‘hateful’ or ‘aggressive.’  

I reminded myself that I had put something good into the world.  That is my responsibility… to share the truth and beauty in our story.  I stand by that.  I shared something true and beautiful.  I cannot control how people respond.  That is not my responsibility. I gave them permission to keep the piece posted. 

I began repeating the mantra that was the namesake for this blog.  Inhale grace.  Exhale your gift.  Inhale grace. Exhale your gift. 

I believe that God has given me gifts.  The gift of compassion.  The gift of storytelling.  The gift of parenting.  The gift of teaching.  

But I am only able to use those gifts with the help of God’s grace.  When I inhale grace, I am breathing in the strength and the power to share my gifts with the world.  And on the exhale?  I will write.  I will love and I will teach and I will parent and I will share our story.  I will live this life and tell the truth and when I get too tired to keep going, I will inhale again.  

Breathe in grace.  Breathe in strength. 

500.  542.  605.  650.  

I’m ashamed of how I let it upset me that evening.  I really thought I was stronger than this.  I thought I would be immune to the ignorant opinions of strangers.  I was wrong.  I hadn’t shared with Lee all of what was happening online; I wanted to protect him.  But I found myself reaching to him for reassurance.  I filled him in a little.  I made light of it.  “They’re calling me a child abuser.”  He rolled his eyes and laughed.  “Yeah.  I’m SO abused,” he retorted as he bumped me with his shoulder and held up his bag of Cheetos.  

Deep down, I know I don’t owe anyone an explanation, especially not a bunch of opinionated strangers on the internet.  And there’s still a part of me that hopes, if they knew the WHOLE story, maybe they would change their minds.  Maybe they would try harder to understand.  Maybe they would be less judgmental and dismissive and hateful. 

That’s probably delusional optimism.  

But is it? 

Is it really?

Because when people we actually DO know in real life have questions or concerns or disagree with our choices, they don’t attack. 

In real life, I’ve never felt the same vitriol and hatred that emanates from an anonymous online source. 

In real life, I’ve had people question our choices and engage in thoughtful conversations. 

In real life, I’ve had family and friends express concern and listen in love. 

In real life, I’ve had people ask inappropriate questions and then apologize when I gently refuse to answer. 

In real life, I’ve had people present me with research studies and I’ve shared with them my own research and we’ve had hard conversations.  

In real life, we’ve known families who left the church when they disagreed with our choices and our church’s supportive stance. 

In real life, we’ve had therapists push us and we’ve had doctors question us and we’ve had a slew of professionals working with us to explore the options.  

In real life, I’ve never been viciously attacked for my choice to support my son.  

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So, delusional or not, I choose to maintain my optimism.  Our stories are powerful.  But our lives are even more so.  I will keep telling our story.  And I will keep living a life full of integrity and truth and love, in hopes that the anonymous online hatred will be replaced with real life curiosity, concern, compassion, and grace.  Inhale.  Exhale.