How Ceasing to Share Funny Tales about My Daughter Helped Rebuild Trust: A Transformative Experience for Both of Us | Insights for Parents and Parenting

In 2010, amidst Mark Zuckerberg’s declaration that privacy was no longer important, I became a parent. Despite my intentions to protect my daughter’s privacy, being thousands of miles away from my own family made social media a vital lifeline to share her growth with our extended loved ones. I happily posted funny and heartwarming conversations between us, embracing the role of a “sharent” – a parent who shares information about their child online. I never thought it would cause any harm.

However, while writing a book about digital afterlives, I started pondering the influence that others have on our online identities from the very beginning. This led to a feeling of unease, prompting me to have a conversation with my nine-year-old daughter. As I casually mentioned a news story about a teenager who sued her parents for violating her right to privacy by posting hundreds of photos on Facebook, my daughter’s immediate response was, “You’re not posting about me, are you?” This reaction confirmed my concerns and why I wanted to talk in the first place.

With forced nonchalance, I shared the story with her and she matter-of-factly expressed her discomfort with my funny conversations on Facebook. These were the dialogues that had garnered praise, requests for more, and had even been compiled into a book that she had laughed at. Suppressing my urge to defend myself, I listened as she recounted instances where her trust had been betrayed, her boundaries violated, and her personal moments shared without her knowledge.

I was taken aback. Had she never told me before? I began realizing that her protest behaviors, which were indirect expressions of emotional discomfort, were evident in the quotes I had previously posted for everyone to see. They were right there, pointing to her uneasiness with my actions. It was clear that she knew, and at best, she learned that my interests took precedence over hers, or at worst, she felt manipulated. When I asked her why she hadn’t confronted me earlier, she wearily shrugged and said, “I didn’t think you would stop.”

Realizing the impact of my actions, I apologized and asked her what she wanted me to do. It was a gut-wrenching moment when she asked me to remove everything about her from social media. I was devastated because I hadn’t kept a physical baby book, instead relying on the curated online repository of precious memories through photos and conversations. Yet, I respected her wishes. I deleted all the posts, and before doing so, I converted them into physical books for safekeeping. As the packages arrived, I saw the exponential growth of my posts throughout the years, becoming hefty volumes that symbolized the enormity of my oversharing.

Stopping the act of sharenting brought about self-awareness. Whenever I felt the urge to share, I delved deeper to understand the underlying motives. Sometimes, it was a result of mindlessly following the “pics-or-it-didn’t-happen” culture, influenced by the digital landscape, peers, and habit. However, I also discovered that some sharing impulses stemmed from my own emotional states of boredom, loneliness, disconnection, or the need for validation – emotions that had nothing to do with my daughter.

When people ask about my experience, I describe it as waking up from a state of unconsciousness. I stopped being on autopilot in my relationship with my daughter, and as I became more truthful, transparent, and fully present in each moment with her, her trust in me grew. Although the virtual social environment still holds value for me and my far-reaching family, I now log on for private family time through platforms like Zoom, where we engage in activities like solving crossword puzzles together. While I wish my daughter would join more often, I understand that it’s up to her to decide her level of participation in this private virtual space and the wider social media landscape.