Half-Elf on Tech

Thoughts From a Professional Lesbian

Tag: community

  • On Behavior and Respect

    On Behavior and Respect

    I’ve had an interesting week with WordPress. It’s been bad enough that I have to preface this post with a note.

    I have no plans to quit WordPress at this time.

    Good Faith and History

    This morning, I woke up thinking about a statement I picked up from Wikipedia. Assume good faith. I like that. I try to do it. The concept is simple and direct. Don’t assume everyone’s evil, instead assume they do mean well, but sometimes they may have trouble expressing it properly.

    And while I do believe that most people don’t mean to be evil (there are exceptions…), I think that more people remain concerned about themselves over anything else. And this self-involved nature causes problems like happened recently, with choices certain companies made to self-promote in ways that other people found offensive and harmful.

    So when I think about ‘good faith’ I do it with a look back to the previous actions someone (an individual or a company) has taken. How have they behaved before? Have they constantly shown poor choices? Is this a first? What happened the last time I tried to talk to them about it? Did we have a discussion? Did I get 15 emails in a row, alternately being called names or being begged to give them another chance?

    That means I find it strange to watch people use the concept of ‘Good Faith’ to argue that they don’t look at people’s past actions to judge their current ones.

    I’d like to think that my consistency would be something people would use to judge my actions, but I’ve learned people whom I’d trusted don’t. And yes, that’s sad. It’s depressing to find out people would rather jump to outrage and pointing fingers and blaming me than taking into consideration 10 years of work.

    Respect and Doubt

    Respect is both given and earned. You give people respect for a position, under the assumption they deserve it, and people either live up to that respect and thus earn more, or they don’t. But when you have an unknown person, you start from assuming good faith based on the hope that they have legitimately earned the position.

    Obviously when you know someone, hung out and had dinner, your assumptions are based on more than that. And if someone has a public history you can turn to, you can use that to base your assumptions.

    That’s not what happened to me this week. Instead, I found out people actually assume bad faith, because perhaps my opinions are different than theirs, or because I saw something in a different way. It felt like “Assume good faith, but only if you’re on my side.” And that? That is sad.

    I imagine how different things would have been to say “Hey, y’all. Mika’s been really careful about using her power here for five years. Give her the benefit of the doubt.”

    Instead, people said I was seeing things that weren’t there. I was playing a victim. It was all in my head. There’s a word for that: gaslighting. God help you if you call them out on it.

    Damage and Care

    It’s in a week like this where I totally understand why so many people have been quitting WordPress. People have worked hard to do good for a community, without any expectations of compensation, but they find out their opinions are dismissed and their word discarded or minimized. They feel disrespected, and it’s worse when they feel made fun of by the community they’re trying to help.

    Some of them have chosen to walk away from WordPress, and I fully support that choice. To do anything less would be like telling someone that the beatings will stop once morale improves. It would be cruel and unkind to dismiss their feelings, and it would mean I’m not listening to them and have no empathy for them.

    Also I’d have to be blind not to see it, because it happens to me all the time. This week? People I thought I knew assumed the worst in me. They didn’t give me the benefit of the doubt and, when I asked what I’d done to deserve that, they said I’d done nothing. They said they were just being fair and hearing all sides.

    In other words all the work I’d done, being consistent and fair, acting carefully and listening to everyone was pointless. In the end, they were just going to dismiss all of that and jump on the bandwagon with everyone else.

    And it was more than one person I’ve know for about a decade who did it.

    For a while I wondered “Did I really mess up here?” And then I asked myself if I’m told I did nothing to be not-trusted, but I was going to be anyway, was there a possible positive outcome here?

    Empathy and Power

    It really boils down to empathy. If someone says “Hey, this hurt me.” and your reply is “Yeah, I don’t see that” then you’re dismissing what they said. And it’s not just because I get treated badly that I have empathy, it’s because my parents, my family taught me to have empathy and care about the strangers as much as I cared about myself. We don’t live in isolation, we live in a community.

    You can see why I call myself a Socialist, right? I care not just about the people I know, but the people I don’t know. I think about the impact my choices have beyond me, and given the amount of power I wield, that has a lot more weight than you might think.

    Oh yes, I have an insane amount of power, and it scares the hell out of me. I could destroy a company with a click. I could insta-ban people for wrongs. I could close plugins for every single security and guideline mistake. I could publicize exactly what specific people did to get permanently banned. Worse, I could spread fear and doubt in the entirety of WordPress, just by closing a plugin.

    I don’t. I handle the majority of that quietly, on the books but privately, because I assume good faith in everyone, even people who make massive mistakes. And because I consider the negative impact to the community in general before I take an action.

    How much trust do I erode in WordPress as a whole with what I do or say? How much damage do I cause? How many people do I hurt? How many people will this person hurt if I permit them to carry on as they have been? Will their uncensured actions damage the reputation of WordPress? Will the community forgive a mistake?

    That’s what I think about, every single day, before I approve, reject, close, or open any plugin.

    Alone and Together

    If you look at some of the people who’ve left the WordPress Community recently, you’ll see a trend. They feel alone. They feel like they’ve been tasked with ever increasing, insurmountable, chores, and they have no support or backup.

    I feel that way too. It took months to be taken seriously about a problem, to the point that serious action was taken. Months, in which I questioned myself. Was I seeing something that wasn’t there? Was my value so little that I’m not worth taking the time to address this problem?

    To put it in perspective for you, someone told me that my father’s death was my fault for banning them for abusive behavior.

    When you look at it, you’d wonder how I could ever doubt myself. Well, that’s what happens when people don’t step up and ask how they can help. And certainly I could have been more vocal about it, but at the same time, it illustrates the invisibility problem in our community. People are hurt all the time, and no one is looking out for them.

    Should I have to scream that someone is hurting me for it to be seen? There’s no oversight in all things, but there’s also no clear way to ask for help. How much worse would this have been if I didn’t have support from people in the community, people in places who could (and did) help me?

    What about everyone else?

    Unending and Critical

    Now look back at Slacks and Blogs and Twitter. You know which ones I mean. Read what people are saying and assuming, and ask yourself “Is this making a welcoming environment?”

    Far too many of us have used our critiques as excuses, without caring for the damage they cause. Dismissing people’s pain. Not offering honest and sincere apologies. We hide behind the veneer of “I’m just passionate” or “I’m being critical.” And instead of discussing the idea, we sling ‘understandings’ like accusations, and we cut at people for disagreeing. We assume the worst and treat people shamefully.

    And worst of all? Our comrades allow this to happen in their backyards. They won’t remove a homophobic ‘joke’ comment because clearly it’s not meant sincerely. They will allow someone to be called a powerless puppet. They give space for hateful comments that barely even have a veneer of merit.

    We’ve stopped encouraging meaningful discourse and regressed into screaming across the aisle that the other person is wrong. We believe our way is the only valid way, and we will tear people down, all the while claiming we’re doing it for the greater good.

    And yet people can look at all that and not see the pitchforks and tiki torches.

    Comments are Disabled

    There’s a reason I disabled comments and mute and block people on twitter with ruthless abandon. It’s not that I don’t want to hear different voices, it’s that it’s stressful to be attacked all the time. It makes a person physically ill. Certainly it’s made me that on more than one occasion.

    I don’t leave comments open, I don’t engage with certain community news sources, I left many Slack groups and I don’t offer comments when asked very often. You see, I can either do good work for the community, do my best and keep things safe, secure, and as fair as a human can, or I can wade through toxicity.

    I decided to do good work.

    I would like to think that a decade of it would allow any perceived missteps of mine to be taken with a grain of salt and a sip of trust. I will still believe in the inherent goodness of people, and their ability to make colossal mistakes. I will still accept an appology when sincerely given.

    But I will not forget and I may not forgive.

    Then again, forgiveness should never be the point of your apology.

  • Being Aware about Safe Spaces and Self Care

    Being Aware about Safe Spaces and Self Care

    One of the things people complain about is that I will walk away from a conversation that’s going nowhere. This extends to my worklife, and of course my WordPress work. Related to this, I will also choose to not engage with argumentative demands like “Why did you do X?” on places like Twitter and Facebook.

    This is often considered to be cowardly, an admission of wrongdoing, avoidance, or proof I’m not “up” for the job. Sometimes people jump into the special snowflake argument (that is: I am one) or that I’m too sensitive and need a safe space.

    Okay, let me explain why I don’t defend myself, or even generally reply to people who demand explanations.

    Social Media is Unsafe

    I like social media. I like reading thoughts and replying, expressing my own short form feelings, and so on.

    But by its open nature, social media is incredibly dangerous. Anyone can talk to anyone, and if we’ve learned anything from recent days, there are a lot of naive people out there who fall prey to any con man who walks up and tells them it’s not their fault their life sucks.

    It also lends itself to a mob. And mobs are the most dangerous sorts of people. They’ve fallen in truck with a group and they believe everything they’re told. Worse. They are regularly aggressive when they face adversity, and they take justice upon themselves. This means, should you ever happen to upset one of them, you will end up with a mob on your doorstep. Or your DMs.

    A Place For Everything

    Recently, a plugin developer made what should have been an innocuous question. Why was a post moderated. This is the sort of question I get a lot, and in general I press mute and ignore it, because if you want to ask me a question about plugins, there’s an email address you already have. Press reply. And if you want to ask about forums stuff, there’s a channel on Slack.

    The problem here was in the hours leading up to this, he’d also spoken with people about another plugin. This plugin happens to be contentious for many reasons, including overmoderation of bad reviews. Someone decided that one and one meant four, and I was the fault of the reviews being removed.

    I think that if you have questions about a team, you logically ask the team. Or the team management. When you ask someone whom you presume to be the point person on Twitter, you run a risk of a public misfire. You also run a risk of signaling to the mob who their new target is. Which is what accidentally happened that day.

    Angry People are Stressful

    If you’ve ever tried to reason with someone who’s angry, you’ve probably reached a point where you thought it was better to bash your head in than try to explain facts. When you get a mob, it’s even worse. The people start out super angry, they refuse to accept any viewpoint but their own, and they make you angry too. This begins a vicious cycle where you overreact, they get angrier, you get angrier, and bad decisions are made.

    It goes without saying, I’m not exempt from this. I make bad decisions when under anger and stress, same as pretty much everyone. While I strive not to, this is nearly impossible, and that is when I will disengage. Because I can tell I’m not going to be reasonable, and that would be harmful.

    But what changes when you’re the end stop of a team? When you’re the rep and you have no choice but to make the decisions and the hard calls and continue to try? Well, you draw a line about where you will have those conversations. And you draw a line about with whom. Like saying “I won’t do this over Twitter.”

    Say No, Even When You Feel Bad

    The main reason I won’t have a conversation about why decisions are made on Twitter is that there is no accountability for actions.

    Anyone can make an anonymous account and troll people, telling them off for perceived slights. But to take your regular, daily use account and step up to ask a question, in the official location for those discussions, takes courage. More important, it takes a quality of human that will accept responsibility for their actions.

    Most of the time. The odds are at least higher that people will be willing to discuss when they come into a discussion room. Obviously not always, and unlike Twitter I can’t mute or block people who are incapable of accepting ‘no’ as a valid answer.

    Because you see, the main reason I don’t want to have the conversation on Twitter is that I worry you’re going to out yourself. That you will embarrass yourself when I say that leaving a review on the moderators in a plugin review is not appropriate. Or if I explain “You made multiple accounts to leave 5 star reviews on your own plugins.” Or worse, when I have to point out that “You called the moderators Nazi c***s.”

    None of those are made up.

    Emotional Labour

    There’s one more thing.

    When someone walks up to me and demands I explain myself to them, they place a burden on me. Literally they ask me to defend my actions. While the word “explain” is in there, it’s not what they mean. What they mean is for me to justify my actions and choices.

    Usually when I attempt to explain the situation, or if I suggest the one they’re comparing to isn’t the same at all, I get called defensive. Or I’m trying to hide the point.  And I’m expected to do it with a smile. If I call someone out on their inability to reason, I’m a bitch and making excuses. If I’m polite and respectful, I’m hiding something.

    Simply put, if I can’t have a civil, reasonable, conversation with them about it, I’m not going to waste my time. No matter what, they’ve made up their minds going in.

    Now, I will note that after some time doing this, you can tell who is going to be a stubborn jackass and who is not after about two passes. I can tell, on Twitter, from their previous tweets. That’s why I’m quick to mute and block. It’s not to silence them, it’s to sufficiently ignore them and not spend energy on someone who begins a conversation from a place of disrespect.

    None Of This Changed Your Opinions of Me

    If you’re reading this, you’re probably a regular who knows you’re getting an opinionated, open minded, person who looks as intently at herself as she does everything else. In order to be truly honest, I have to be honest about myself, who and what I am, and what I say. 

    The other person who’s reading this probably came from a link someone gave you, following a discussion about my flaws. Let’s be honest, I’m a big fat target for those posts on Twitter, Facebook, and other various blog sites around the planet.

    You both probably got here and thought “Yep, she’s exactly what I thought.”

    Funny how that works.

    I’ll leave you with this relevant article about why YouTube stars are heading for burnout:

    Lees began to feel a knock-on effect on his health. “Human brains really aren’t designed to be interacting with hundreds of people every day,” he says. “When you’ve got thousands of people giving you direct feedback on your work, you really get the sense that something in your mind just snaps. We just aren’t built to handle empathy and sympathy on that scale.” Lees developed a thyroid problem, and began to experience more frequent and persistent stretches of depression. “What started out as being the most fun job imaginable quickly slid into something that felt deeply bleak and lonely,” he says.

    The Guardian 


  • You Are Not Your Code

    You Are Not Your Code

    This is not exactly what I said at WordCamp US 2016, but it is a great deal of it.

    I started my slides for WordCamp US so many times, I probably have enough content for a week of blog posts. The weight of what I was going to say there sat on my shoulders like I’m Atlas. Trying to dredge up the pain from the rejection and harassment I’ve felt over the years, all in order to write, reminds me of the carrion birds, ripping apart Prometheus, while he heals only to be torn anew each day, all for presenting humanity with the gift of fire.

    Perception: We Are What We Code

    Too often, when we think about our contributions to WordPress, we think of them in the literal terms. I have written code. I have fixed CSS. I have beta tested. I have created a plugin, a theme, a blog, a store, a book, a career. We make the fatal mistake of boiling down what we are to one thing. The contribution. The code.

    Reality: We Are What We Create

    We forget something crucial, that these creations are just that, creations! We have invented something out of nothing, purely with the power of our minds! We’re artists and dreamers and believers and builders. Anyone who’s studied art, music, journalism, knows that there’s a strange dissociation that we have to build in our hearts. The separation between what we create and who we are and what the reviews will be.

    We Can’t See the Forest For the Trees

    Artists are, often, seen as temperamental. Capricious creatures who fall to the whim of our desires and passions. People who obsess over one thing to the exclusion of others. Who trash hotels when frustrated. Who lash out. Who take the rejection of a bad review so closely, so personally, they cannot separate themselves from their art.

    If you saw my talk at WordCamp Europe earlier in 2016, or read my post about it, that sounds familiar. We, we contributors to open source, are exactly the same. Which is why it is hard, so so hard, to separate our hearts from our heads. We wanted to bring fire to earth. We wanted to share our joy. We wanted to do the right thing and change 26% of the Internet for the better. Give or take.

    Instead, we’re told our code sucks. If we don’t offer free help for our work, we’re called greedy and vain. Being driven to fix one part of WordPress is wasting our time, no one uses it. Creating new features? We should fix what’s broken, even if we don’t know how. We are pulled by a million masters, our users, and we can never do enough.

    And what about when our contributions are less visible? What about the people who spend hours making sure this WordCamp flowed smoothly? The ones who ensure funding? The one who fixed the inline documentation for core? The people in the support forums who help people for free? The people who review your themes and plugins and try and keep things fair for all. Oh, oh yes. I know that one.

    The problem here is that we all do things for good. Everyone you see at a WordCamp, everyone who is a speaker, a volunteer, a contributor, is doing this for good reasons. Maybe not entirely altruistic, we’re not all socialists and software communists like me, but I promise you, every single one of us who steps up and does things for the greater good of WordPress is doing so with the best intentions. We care.

    And they don’t see that.

    “Reputation is what other people know about you. Honor is what you know about yourself.”
    — Aral Vorkosigan in A Civil Campaign, by Lois McMaster Bujold

    One of the points I wanted to address in my talk was that there are a LOT of days when you know you’ve done the right thing, and your reputation tanks. While a lot of people here like me, appreciate my work, and respect me, I’m not so naive as to think that’s universal. I know very well that there are people who watched my talk, who read this blog, who dislike me for, say, closing their plugin or deleting their reviews. Or worse, not deleting a review.

    The Cost of The Greater Good

    I want to say the good of the many outweighs the good of the one, or the few. And there are days where you’re the one. You’re the 20% minority. These days, as my father taught me, will outweigh the ones where you are praised, thanked, lauded, and cherished. It’s the dark part of human nature. You will, you WILL do things for the best intentions, and you will NOT be appreciated for it.

    What you do when these things happen? Well you have choices, like I mentioned this summer. And there are downsides to each one. Otto, who’s somewhere around here, spends time talking me down from correcting people. I have a strong urge to “Well, Actually…” the people who insist I have evil in my heart and I’m power hungry. Other people listen to me vent a little. And sometimes I subtweet.

    But this is the part that hurts. You can’t win. It’s impossible. People won’t believe you if you defend yourself. They won’t accept your explanations, they’ll see them as excuses. Silence will be seen as proof they were right. Fighting back? A show of weakness or a cover up. There is, literally, no way to win it. Ever.

    Outsmart, Outplay, Outlast

    Outsmarting them can be a pyretic win. Outplaying? You can try but I wouldn’t. But what if you keep going. Then the win is not a win but sort of an eventuality. Awesome, I know.

    You can’t teach a pig to sing. It frustrates you and annoys the pig. That’s a Southernism from my inlaws. There are some people you just can’t reach, no matter what you do. That’s where the remark of “I’m sorry you feel that way.” comes from. When I say that, I’m not giving up, I’m accepting futility.

    And yet. You know that saying? The one about serenity and accepting what we cannot change? I hate it. I don’t believe there’s a single thing we cannot change, just perhaps not as quickly as we’d like. Accepting futility means I accept that there is no way I can, right now, explain myself well enough to change a mind. Yet.

    It’s not about being smarter than someone else, it’s about being smarter than yourself

    If you can convince yourself not to be stupid, you will protect yourself from just about everything. Outsmarting yourself is hard, though. You want to believe that you’re right. You have to remember that there is always someone smarter than you, somewhere. And no one is stupider than past you. That’s why we leave ourselves notes in documentation. To make sure future you remembers. Not being stupid means not picking fights. It means recognizing when you’re wrong.

    The secret behind outplaying is you’re outplaying your own tendencies and habits. You know yourself. You know when you snap off a reply you shouldn’t, or when your humor is more biting than it should be. You have to play yourself and not do those things. Fool yourself and you’re the fool, but play to your strengths and you can keep yourself humble while preventing your inclination to be stupid.

    If you outlive everyone, then you get to write the history. That takes a lot, A LOT of patience. More than most of us have. And it requires being able to tell someone you’re sorry you can’t help them, or you’re sorry they feel that way, and you walk away. And you wait. And wait. And wait. The being quiet part is the hardest, because people like to fill silence, especially you. But you must wait to survive.

    Survival is not about the Fittest

    I could tell you how I survive. I could tell you to subtweet, to blog, to scream, to ride your bicycle until your lungs feel inadequate and your legs are on fire and your blood pounds so much, your Apple Watch wonders if you’re having a heart attack. I could tell you to talk to someone, a loved one or a professional, and maybe to try meditation. The Breathe app? Pretty nifty.

    Remember how I said everyone at a WordCamp wants to make WordPress better? And remember how I said you’re not code? I lied a little. You ARE code in that you, me, everybody is WordPress. And while I cannot tell you the right answer for you and how YOU can survive the storm and the hate that you will face, I can tell you that you are not alone. That you are one of us. And that WE are here too.

    As a team we are stronger. We can rely on each other. We can lean on each other. We can take our shared love of sports, or food, or a same birthday, and find connections with each other.

    What I Don’t Know…

    The one thing I cannot tell you is why people hate. I don’t understand it myself. I suspect I never will. But what I can tell you is that we are better together. The way to make it past the hate is together. I am strong, mentally, because I turn to my community, sometimes quietly and sometimes loudly, and ask for help. There’s no shame in that.

  • WordCamp LGBT Tribe is Code

    WordCamp LGBT Tribe is Code

    Last Friday we had the first ever LGBT+allies party at a WordCamp. It wasn’t really the first time we all got together, but it was the first time we stated to the world that this was what we were doing.

    How did it go?

    We sold out our 150 tickets. We ran out of shirts. We had an open bar and music and food (real food) and pins and stickers and a million little things. It was loud and a great many more people than I thought would show up did show up. Matt was there too.

    Tracy and I kvelled about it. We never expected that. We thought maybe a dozen, or fifty at most, would show up. We thought it would be mostly the queers, filtering in and out. We thought it would be more of a flow.

    What we got was a packed house. We had around 200 people who came in, queer and straight, to be there for each other and to support and hug and be there. What we got was a moment where our two tribes were there. Our nerdy WordPress people and our fabulously gay people, together, combined to remind everyone that the best part of us is the us.

    Community is what makes WordPress so amazing. I spoke about that on Friday as well, that individually we are not our products, our code, but together we are 27% of the Internet. Individually, we are not just gay, straight, queer, trans, or ace. Together, we are the LGBT+ tribe. Together we are the queers of WordPress. We are a huge slice of WordPress and we are not alone.

    I like to joke that WordPress makes queries for a reason, that WordPress is queer. And it really is. The last four years WordPress has gone from quietly supportive into publicly proud.

    Thank you, everyone, who sponsored and came to the party last week. You stood up and reminded us that we are not alone. And as much as 2016 sucked, we have each other’s backs.

    I don’t know how, but we will have to figure out how to do this next year at Nashville, because this was too amazing to do it as a one-off.

  • The Perception of Approachability

    The Perception of Approachability

    I’m speaking at WordCamp US. Someone I don’t know pinged me and said they were happy to see I was speaking, and they’d be there from their country. I haven’t the foggiest idea who they were or why they were telling me this.

    A few years ago, at my first WordCamp San Francisco, someone followed me for a few city blocks. Or at least he tried to. I was going out and he followed me out of the area. I paused, we chatted a moment and as I tried to leave, he kept talking. This pattern repeated until I finally said “I need to go. Good bye.” He kept talking. I spotted a female WordCamper I knew and she immediately came up and told me my wife was on her phone and was mine broken? Not at all. We lied. But I went with it, checked, looked shocked that it didn’t light up, and said it must be dead. I took her phone and proceeded to start a fake conversation that my wife had locked herself out of the car, 3000 miles away.

    In 2015, I was at a WordCamp where someone was very much crowing up in my personal space to talk. I quickly stepped back and when he leaned in, held up my hand and asked for personal space. At another WordCamp later that year, a similar thing happened to a friend of mine. I saw she was agitated and wanted the conversation to end, so I walked up and smiled and said I’d been looking for her. I knew the man, I thanked him, apologized for interrupting, wished him a good day, and he nodded and walked off.

    These are pretty normal events in my life.

    It’s a common, regular occurrence for people like me.

    I talk to hundreds of strangers a day in my work. I email at least 30 people a day with notes about their code. I converse with customers, co-workers, and a lot of random people. I don’t know many of them. We are not friends, these random people and I. We are not besties. We are not people I hang out with on their couch and play rude games. But the perception is, since we’ve had some conversations, we’re somehow closer than normal.

    And yet all four of those people, all men by the way, seemed to assume a level of connection that I did not. They all immediately felt I was ‘one of them’ and monopolized my time, not taking the social cues of ‘no’ until it was stated, and even then I had to be forceful.

    Flip the tables.

    Have I ever felt this way about women? Actually yes. I’ve had women at WordCamps do the exact same thing. 2014 someone kept asking me question after question about being a Woman in WordPress, until I politely turned to another woman and pointed out she too wanted to talk to me. In every case with women, however, they get it when I try to redirect the conversation to ‘I need to leave’ or ‘this conversation should end now’ and they get it without rancor or offense.

    This happens outside WordPress too. It’s actually a great deal worse outside WordPress. But in many cases, people attribute a greater level of friendship to an online social connection than I seem to.

    Of course there are exceptions. Most of my greatest friends came from random internet connections. People who, literally, changed my life with a job recommendation, held me while I sobbed over a death, had a girly sleepover where we giggled until 1am when we totally shouldn’t have since we had to be up at 6am for volunteering, offered me a couch, schwarma, or even just a gentle “Hey, I’m here for you. Are you okay?” They too came from this online place.

    So what’s the difference?

    We’re more approachable online, certainly. We let our barriers down and we engage more because it’s (mostly) safer. We can talk about how we feel, we can sob, and no one sees us. We’re freer. And with this freedom and honesty comes a ‘connection’ that sometimes transforms into true and honest friendship, and sometimes doesn’t.

    But when we move the online relationship into a physical one, we worry. We worry if the person is who they presented themselves to be and we worry if we’re going to get hurt. Many women worry if we’re going to be physically hurt. And we can’t tell. We often have no way to figure this out until it’s too late.

    I don’t have a solution to this problem, but I can tell you this. When I meet new people, even at a WordCamp, and when strangers reach out and tell me they’re excited to meet me, I receive that with a little trepidation and caution. I text my wife to tell her where I am, who I’m with, and if I’m worried. This is unlikely to change any time soon, and has nothing to do with the US political climate. What it has to do with is the understanding of what exactly makes up our connection.

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  • What They Don’t Tell You

    What They Don’t Tell You

    I wear a lot of hats in the Open Source World. I help teams. I represent and direct others. I herd the cats of software. I allow my name to be known. People talk about how we’re doing a good job, working hard, working together trying to make things better. They talk to you about the wonderful feeling of success that comes with releasing a product. They tell you about the joy, the friendships, and the community.

    Well. Here’s what they don’t tell you.

    They don’t tell you about the bad days.

    They don’t tell you about the week you will spend being blamed and slandered and lied about in blog posts and on Social Media because people know half of thing.

    They don’t tell you about the fact that you can’t speak up and defend your actions because it’ll make things worse.

    They don’t tell you about the subtle misogyny that makes you wonder if it’s there at all.

    They don’t tell you about the gut churning nausea you’ll feel about turning on your email and watching wave upon wave of hate-mails come in.

    They don’t tell you about the dick pics and come ons.

    They don’t tell you that even when you can explain yourself to your friends, you’ll have to make sure they know not to speak up on your behalf because it won’t help.

    They don’t tell you that you can make it worse by being outspoken.

    They don’t tell you that crying will make people feel they’re right.

    They don’t tell you that people won’t even consider that their words cut you to your very bone.

    They don’t tell you that even if a great many people respect you, it doesn’t make you feel any better.

    They don’t tell you that someone will say ‘it’s all in your head.’

    They don’t tell you that you will have to wait it out.

    They don’t tell you that you will have to suffer.

    They don’t tell you that the phrase “Just joking!” doesn’t ease the wounds.

    They don’t tell you that even with all the support in the world, there are days you will feel absolutely, 100%, alone in your community.

    All those good and wonderful things? They’re true. And I wouldn’t change the past if I could. Contributing to open source has enriched my life in many ways. It’s taught me more about myself that I could have imagined. It’s taught me how much I can stand and take though. It’s taught me that sometimes, somedays I will stand with my name and my work being spoken ill of, with my actions being second guessed and criticized, and I will have no succor or recourse.

    I will have to stand there and take it and wait and say nothing and do nothing except the best I can do.

    What’s the point of this? There isn’t one. This post isn’t a cry for help or a request for my friends to come to my defense. It’s a reminder for all of us that these things happen, and there will be days we feel worthless. Where we feel beaten down and angry and that we want to cry or do something and we just can’t because we know in our hearts it will make things worse.

    But maybe the point is this.

    I feel that way too. Everyone does.

    So you’re not alone at all.

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