I’ve been dying to do this entry for a while now. Introducing Shajar-al-Durr, who: was a Muslim sultan that ruled in her own name; stopped the Seventh Crusade dead in its tracks; captured one of the most powerful monarchs in the world; and ransomed him back to his own freakin’ country.
Earlier today, I served as the “young woman’s voice” in a panel of local experts at a Girl Scouts speaking event. One question for the panel was something to the effect of, "Should parents read their daughter’s texts or monitor her online activity for bad language and inappropriate content?"
I was surprised when the first panelist answered the question as if it were about cyberbullying. The adult audience nodded sagely as she spoke about the importance of protecting children online.
I reached for the microphone next. I said, “As far as reading your child’s texts or logging into their social media profiles, I would say 99.9% of the time, do not do that.”
Looks of total shock answered me. I actually saw heads jerk back in surprise. Even some of my fellow panelists blinked.
Everyone stared as I explained that going behind a child’s back in such a way severs the bond of trust with the parent. When I said, “This is the most effective way to ensure that your child never tells you anything,” it was like I’d delivered a revelation.
It’s easy to talk about the disconnect between the old and the young, but I don’t think I’d ever been so slapped in the face by the reality of it. It was clear that for most of the parents I spoke to, the idea of such actions as a violation had never occurred to them at all.
It alarms me how quickly adults forget that children are people.
Apparently people are rediscovering this post somehow and I think that’s pretty cool! Having experienced similar violations of trust in my youth, this is an important issue to me, so I want to add my personal story:
Around age 13, I tried to express to my mother that I thought I might have clinical depression, and she snapped at me “not to joke about things like that.” I stopped telling my mother when I felt depressed.
Around age 15, I caught my mother reading my diary. She confessed that any time she saw me write in my diary, she would sneak into my room and read it, because I only wrote when I was upset. I stopped keeping a diary.
Around age 18, I had an emotional breakdown while on vacation because I didn’t want to go to college. I ended up seeing a therapist for - surprise surprise - depression.
Around age 21, I spoke on this panel with my mother in the audience, and afterwards I mentioned the diary incident to her with respect to this particular Q&A. Her eyes welled up, and she said, “You know I read those because I was worried you were depressed and going to hurt yourself, right?”
TL;DR: When you invade your child’s privacy, you communicate three things:
- You do not respect their rights as an individual.
- You do not trust them to navigate problems or seek help on their own.
- You probably haven’t been listening to them.
Information about almost every issue that you think you have to snoop for can probably be obtained by communicating with and listening to your child.
Part of me is really excited to see that the original post got 200 notes because holy crap 200 notes, and part of me is really saddened that something so negative has resonated with so many people.
"I tried to express to my mother that I thought I might have clinical depression, and she snapped at me "
“’You know I read those because I was worried you were depressed and going to hurt yourself, right?’”
I found these quotes particularly interesting. OP’s mother refused to listen when she tried to talk about her depression, but snooped through her things to see if she was depressed.
It’s amazing to me that parents need to be told something that I GUARANTEE they experienced themselves. This is something that predates text messaging. You search your child’s room for drugs, and they will find a better hiding place for anything they may be worried about you finding - even if it’s as innocuous as candy. You try to snoop on their phone conversations with their boyfriend, and they will 1) Find a different way to communicate with him, and 2) Never communicate with YOU about their boyfriend.
My parents doing this shit to me didn’t make me stop doing it and didn’t make me respect them any more. All it did was make me better at sneaking around.
When I was moved to a new town for high school, I told my mom I wasn’t doing well at my new school and asked if I could commute an hour to my old one. She told me I would get used to it.
Months later I told her it was getting worse. I was being bullied. I had no friends. She told me to stop wallowing in self-pity.
For four years, things just kept getting worse. I begged to be home-schooled and she told me she wasn’t going to “let me be a quitter” and that I wasn’t trying hard enough. I started carving things into my wrists with a pen. I cried constantly, I never smiled. If I was asked about my day or how school was I told her it was hell. She made fun of my “Daria phase”.
My house was haunted. When something began calling my name, and opening and closing doors, I told her I was terrified of our home. She called me a liar and claimed if I was involved in church it would stop. I stopped sleeping. I stayed up all night praying not to see or hear anything. Years later I would find out my sister was doing the same thing on the other side of the wall, only we were both too freaked out to compare notes.
My Junior year, the entire boy’s track team begins systematically humiliating me at practice for a sport I joined to “try harder” for my mother. I start burning myself with a lighter. I begin closing my eyes and running red lights, hoping to be hit and killed. I have lost count of the number of times I somehow miraculously didn’t die or kill any innocent drivers.
When I leave for college I become severely depressed. The Manic-Depressive symptoms that had been developing fully manifested. I tell my mother I am mentally ill. I say that I am not well. She tells me I’m a hypochondriac who spends too much time on the internet. She tells me my time in high school “built character”.
Long story short, I pull myself out of a bad situation after years of work, therapy, and a move three states away.
Guess who loves talking about how much she never knew and wishes she could have known to do something differently?
And yeah, she read our journals. She never admitted to reading mine to me, but I know she did. If she’d actually listened to us, she would have had to admit she fucked up. She would have actually had to be a supportive Mom. She would have had to acknowledge us as independent human beings.
Children have a right to privacy. They have a right to secret diaries and un monitored Facebook accounts and private text messages. They need to experience things uninhibited in order to learn about the world. Invasion and intervention should be reserved for only the most dire circumstances.