Tuesday, August 2, 2016


My Washington Post article is up to 531 comments. While I have spared myself the wrath of the great majority, one glance at them tells me that I am:

- Ugly
- Ungrateful
- The worst type of product of my generation
- Headed for divorce
- A feminazi
- Typical Berkeley (yes, that's it for sure)
- A lesbian (like that's an insult?)

I've bounced back and forth as to how to handle this. I've been angry. I've been meditative. I've wanted to crawl under the covers and shake. But more than anything, I just feel brutalized.

I can take criticism. Sort of. But this ... this is something entirely different. Someone tweeted that they feel sorry for my son for having me as a mother. That is entirely too fucking far.

I've got some words for you, trolls: crawl out of your mother's basement and show your own fucking face. Write your own shit and get it published in a major outlet. Then have the nerve to come to me and tell me who I am.



That's what I thought.

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