In the dark, The sleepless nights after the birth of my son, I spent a terrifying amount of time looking at my phone. Too tired to read, too engrossed to even handle a podcast, I distracted myself with posts on TikToks, tweets, and Instagram. Social media promotes everything for babies, from ads for “decongestant” devices to tips on how to introduce your dog to babies. Most new parents online are flooded with content made for young children; At this point, it is creepy but insignificant. My digital footprint makes it especially easy for algorithms to push me onto the Mother’s Internet, as I’m forced to Google pregnancy questions (“can babies kick across the placenta”) ) and lurking on too many parenting forums. Joining Mommy Internet, for the most part, feels light. A step in the right direction, like taking a prenatal vitamin in earnest.
But something on my screen has consistently surprised and confused me during this first year of parenthood. During the quiet naps spent scrolling my feeds, I found myself overwhelmed by posts about sick, dying, or dying babies and children. When I watch recipes and how-to posts on TikTok, videos of mothers grieving over the untimely death of their children pop up, impossible to skip. The Explore My Instagram page often recommends accounts that focus on or commemorate babies with serious health challenges and birth defects. My husband has been looking at my phone and crying about kids I don’t know so many times that he (gently, rationally) suggested taking a break from social media.
Despite the visceral pain they cause, these videos keep popping up on my screens for one reason: because I watch them. Hurry up. I remember the names and conditions of these bewildered children, whether they were living with San Filippo syndrome or undergoing chemotherapy, whether they had just died of myocarditis or SIDs. I miss their siblings and favorite things. I check them out. If they’re dead, I’ll check on their parents. A snooping tourist to the land of sick children, I have absorbed the sick language of digitally mediated death, like “ssss has gotten her wings” and “birthday” fun in heaven” strangely popular! All social platforms, at their core, have a need to participate; I’m so committed, I’m scared.
I’m watching content about kids getting sick and dying like entertainment, like how someone might watch a horror movie? I think there is some overlap in my conduct here and the habits of die-hard crime fans who seek out gruesome information about real-life violence — including including child abduction — with that enthusiasm, they fueled an explosion of content about all things murder and gore. There is one theory that the prevalence of real crime among women, in particular, is tied to their fear of becoming a victim of crime. Watching it can provide a moment of euphoria, an opportunity to release pent-up worries. No doubt this has to do with my anxiety.
And the sick kids in my feed don’t bring me any relief. I feel obligated to mourn them when I know about them, but if I could push a button to hide all content related to sick or dead kids, I would. Only when it was served to me did I feel the pull to watch. The algorithms clearly sniffed my postpartum nerves. When I was eight months pregnant, the doctors told us that my son had a congenital kidney defect, a defect so severe that we had to prepare for surgery shortly after birth. Shortly before his due date, we learned that this initial diagnosis was false. His kidneys are fine. But learning this didn’t drain the endless source of fear that was building up in my gut. Nothing is possible. And watching these precious children suffer a fate we got rid of felt like wanting to turn the faucet on for a complete explosion and let that reservoir overflow.
Almost The account is run by the parent. In many cases, they have heavily documented their children on social media, and so acknowledging an illness or medical incident simply follows the logic of sharing everything in their lives. surname. In other cases, they appear to have created specific accounts to tell their sad stories. The urge to feel less alone during a dreary hour is painful, as is the desire to teach people the truth about situations that are often overlooked or ignored. Sharing the Dark Times can be a channel to connect with others who are experiencing similar conflicts. It’s not unusual behavior – there are so many terminally ill and hospice people talking about it on TikTok that there’s now a nickname for it,”DeathTok. And while the Internet is facilitating these conversations, it’s not like social networks invented public funerals, or even public mourning by taking pictures of a child. child has died. For example, in Victorian England, people dressed and posed dead children for photographs to record them, to show the world in which they exist.
