First I’ll be on this panel tonight talking about bi visibility and mental health. ELOP LGBT centre are organising this, who offer great support to LGBT folks in North and East London.

Second, thanks to Paisley Gilmour for including me in her great piece for Cosmo on ‘how straight people can be better to their bisexual friends‘. You can read the full interview I did with Paisley below…

How does coming out as bi, or being bi, affect friendships with cishet people?

Obviously it depends a lot on the cishet people concerned, but in a situation where most of your friends are cishet identified it can be hard indeed to be the one person who is bi, pan, or queer identified. It is often the case that people are ‘recloseted’ by their friends even after coming out to them as bi. If they’re not actively in a queer romantic/sexual relationship they’re assumed to be ‘really’ straight.

This relates to the common popular stereotypes of bi/pan sexuality being ‘just a phase’, ‘not real’, etc. And that relates to the cultural assumption that sexuality is binary: you’re either straight or you’re gay. Interestingly this is also very patriarchal: bi women tend to be assumed to be ‘really’ straight, and bi man as ‘really’ gay, as if everyone would default to being with a man given the chance! It also links to slut-shaming for women, as bi women are often assumed to be promiscuous.

It is stressful indeed to have to come out repeatedly to friends, to have to keep reminding them of your bi-ness, and to have it continually erased in this way. This might take the form, for example, of them assuming you are cishet even after being told otherwise, or of only expressing interest and enthusiasm about your dates who are the ‘opposite gender’.

This is all really important because we know that bi erasure, biphobia, and lack of support, takes a toll on bi people’s mental health, which tends to be worse than that of either straight or gay people. Also the rates of abusive relationships are higher for bi people because some partners will use their bi-ness against them, or act in controlling ways because they are threatened by it in a world which equates being bi with being untrustworthy betrayers.

Why are friendships so important for bi folks?

Given cultural biphobia and bi erasure, people may well have problems in their families and/or workplaces when they come out as bi. They may even not be able to be out in those contexts. This can be particularly the case where bi-ness intersects with other aspects of oppression. For example, it may feel unsafe for a bi person to come out to biphobic/homophobic parents, particularly if that might risk them losing their home, their community, and/or a carer if they are also disabled. Black women who are already highly sexualised in the workplace may fear the extra harassment they would receive if they were out there as bi.

For these reasons friendships can be vital. They should be one place where your bi-ness can be seen and mirrored by your close people, and a place where you can feel supported and like people are there for you. It can therefore be particularly painful if the people you have chosen to be close to – rather than being forced to be close to by birth or career – are unsupportive, ignorant, attacking, or bi-erasing.

Why can navigating friendships with cishet people as a bisexual/queer person be so hard?

It’s worth thinking a bit about what may be behind some cishet people struggling with bi/pan/queer friends.

First of all, remember that the majority of people experience some attraction to the ‘opposite gender’. According to a recent YouGov survey, the majority of young people are something other than ‘exclusively heterosexual’.

So it is probably the case that the person coming out as bi or queer in an otherwise cishet group prompts some degree of envy or discomfort in at least some of the others in the group. Some may be consciously hiding queerness from their friends, others may feel edgy or uncomfortable because it prompts them to question themselves in ways they haven’t done before. They may not want to look at what it brings up for them.

Some cishet friends – responding to stereotypes of bi-ness and promiscuity – will assume that somebody being bi means they will be attracted to them. There is often discomfort and distancing in friendships where there is the possibility of sexual attraction, compared to those where there is not, which is a real shame. And obviously being bi does not mean being attracted to everyone any more than being straight means being attracted to everyone of the ‘opposite gender’.

Finally, bi folks often find themselves questioning other norms around sex, gender and relationships, and more. This is partly because questioning one set of norms often leads to further questioning, and partly because of overlaps between bi community and trans, kink, polyamorous, and other communities. Again, friends may feel a sense of envy seeing these things opened up in a way that doesn’t feel possible for them. It may feel threatening to them, or it may create distance in a friendship where people are now on quite different life trajectories (e.g. towards marriage and nuclear family vs. towards an extended polycule of queers).

Bi, pan and queer folks can end up more educated around social justice issues more widely, due to common conversations in their communities, and this can also cause rifts with friends who are less keen to know about social injustice or examine their privileges.

How can we know when to educate, when to shrug off their comments, and even when to end a friendship?

Perhaps this is a broader question to ask of all the relationships in our lives, in an ongoing way. One of the problems with normative models of friendships – and partner and family relationships – is that there isn’t often a sense that consent should be at the heart of it. In fact there’s often quite a strong sense of duty and obligation: that you should be in this relationship because you were in the past, and that it should remain the same over time.

Consent means checking in, in an ongoing way, about whether a relationship is nourishing everybody in it, and – if not – what it would take to be more nourishing, whether the relationship container may need to change, or even whether people might need to go their separate ways.

A definition of consent would be that everyone involved feels free-enough and safe-enough to express themselves, their feelings, their needs, and their boundaries, knowing that these will be respected.

In the case of coming out as bi – as with any new thing – it’s fine for friends to need a little adjustment time. But if you are still not feeling free-enough and safe-enough to express your bi-ness, and confident of having it respected, after a while, then there is an issue!

It also should not be on any marginalised person to educate those around them. It’s okay to provide a couple of links of good information and expect people to educate themselves a bit. Again those who refuse to do this are giving you some important information right there!

Of course it can be really hard to have conversations about this with your friends if there is a genuine fear that you may lose them. I would suggest slowly, when it feels okay to do so, asking friends one-to-one if they’d be up for a conversation about what the friendship needs to do in order to be free enough and safe enough for both of you to bring yourselves fully. If people aren’t up for that, or if those conversations go badly, then focusing time and energy on cultivating friendships where you feel more seen and secure, is a good idea. It’s fine for this process to take a while though, and to get some therapeutic support if you find that kind of communication and boundary-setting hard, as many of us do.

Are friendships with other queer people easier? Should we be gravitating towards them?

One tough thing for bi people – certainly in the past – has been the fact that many have had these experiences with straight friends and have then turned to the gay community for friendship and support. Sadly many lesbians and gay men have struggled just as much – if not more so – with bi folks as cishet people have. This is called double discrimination and can be really devestating for people who then feel they don’t belong anywhere.

The same kinds of issue around recloseting, casual biphobia, mental health struggles, and relationship abuse, have played out for bi people in gay communities as much as they have in straight ones. Still many older bi folks in relationships with gay or lesbian identified people do not feel able to be out as bi.

There’s a history in gay communities of bi people being seen as ‘muddying the water’ in the campaign for gay rights, or of having privileges that lesbian and gay people don’t have, or of being untrustworthy and likely to return to the straight community at some stage.

For these reasons, bi communities have been extremely important to many bi people, and it can still be great to tap into bi-specific events and spaces on or off-line. Check out Bi Pride, The Bisexual Index, Bi Community News, Bis of colour, BiCon, Biscuit, and more in the UK.

However, in younger gay and queer communities there is often far more openness to bi and pan folks than there has been in the past, so it may well be that – if you are younger – the turn towards queer community is a much more positive one, and that you will find many other people there who identify in similar ways to you.

It’s certainly very helpful indeed to have friendships with people who mirror your sexuality back to you accurately, who celebrate all your relationships, and who offer you support. However, it’s worth being aware that no community is perfect, and most have some implicit norms about how people are expected to be and behave.

You are ‘bi/pan/queer enough’ whether or not you fit the ways of being bi, pan or queer that you see around you in your community. You may well find it’s useful to join some groups – or find some friends – specific to your intersections, if you don’t feel well reflected in the wider bi/pan/queer community. For example there are great QTIPOC groups, events, and helplines in many places.

The points made earlier about consensual relating are important for everyone to take seriously, and not something you can just assume to be the case in communities where people seem to be more like you. It can be the case that people surprise you, and those who are most supportive and celebratory are not always those in your specific community. For example, people who have experienced other forms of difference and oppression in their lives can sometimes be great friends or allies, and those committed to consensual relating without sharing an identity with you, can be a better bet than those who are more similar, but are not aware around consent.

The post Bi visibility: how to be a good friend appeared first on Rewriting The Rules.

Why is loneliness is so prevalent in LGBTQ+ communities? 

One initial reason is that LGBTQ+ people are less likely that straight and cisgender people to have the kind of ‘built in’ relationships that come from the family you grew up in, school or college friends, or even current colleagues. Of course these days many do, but still many become estranged or distant from old family and friends who struggle with their gender and sexuality. Others just don’t feel really comfortable hanging out with people whose assumptions and conversations are always focused around a heteronormative life (e.g. fancying the ‘opposite sex’, hanging out with the ‘same sex’, a social life that is linked to stereotypes of masculinity or femininity in particular ways, marrying, having children, etc.) So LGBTQ+ people are more likely to have to forge friendships in later life, which is often more challenging.

Many LGBTQ+ people who live outside of big cities are lonely because of the difficulty finding other LGBTQ+ people in their lives and locations. Within big cities, and other places where there are higher numbers of LGBTQ+ people, loneliness can still be an issue because the visible LGBTQ+ community revolves around specific kinds of socialising which don’t work for everyone, and aren’t always compatible with meeting like-minded people or forging deeper relationships: like pubs, clubs and parties, or meeting people on sex/dating apps. These can be tricky if you’re not a drinker; if noise, mobility or staying up late are difficult for you; or if you’re not looking for erotic/romantic connections. 

It’s also worth remembering that loneliness is not just a matter of being alone. Many in LGBTQ+ communities are lonely because they’re able to find people for sexual connections but not for friendship or companionship, or because they have people to socialise with, but not close friends. For some, they have straight friends and colleagues, but it is the lack of LGBTQ+ people which is the issue. For others, they have found a partner, but don’t have friendship or support outside of that person – which can put pressure on one relationship to meet too many different needs.

What toll can this, and having no queer friends, have on your mental health? 

Huge. Loneliness has been linked to worse mental and physical health in study after study. Social support and close relationships are some of the biggest buffers against both physical health problems and mental health struggles.

Why is having queer friends as well as straight friends so important? 

Queer friends are important because – as mentioned – a lot of friendship socialising, and one-to-one bonding, still tends to revolve around doing stereotypically masculine/feminine things which exclude many queer people (e.g. hen and stag dos, certain sports or drinking, spas and shopping). Also conversation is often around dating, relationships, and meeting certain points in an assumed life trajectory (marriage, kids, etc.) which don’t apply to all queer people. It takes a toll to always be the person who is not fitting, who has to choose to point out that this doesn’t apply to them, or to go along with it even though it doesn’t feel comfortable or relevant.

Another important thing for mental health is being accurately mirrored by the people around you – particularly the close people. Queer people often find that straight and cisgender friends don’t do this as well as queer ones – although, of course, some do. For example it’s important to feel that friends accurately read in your gender, get your relationships and how they work, and see beyond stereotypes of queerness. It’s vital that they’re not always asking ignorant, intrusive questions, making jokes, or using inaccurate language.

In a culture which assumes heterosexuality and cisgender-ness unless a person ‘comes out’ as otherwise, queer friendships can enable queer people to breathe easier and have a sense of just being themselves. However, of course, being inaccurately mirrored, or having assumptions made, can also happen in queer spaces or with queer friends. For example, many bi people still experience gay friends re-closeting them or pressuring them to ‘pick a side’. Most queer people of colour experience racism, ignorance, and fetishisation from white queer friends. And trans people certainly do not find all queer people friendly at the moment.

And how can you take care of yourself in this situation?

Sadly our culture doesn’t place enough value on friendship. Even in queer communities the expectation is generally that our relationship focus will be on finding a partner and/or having sexual connections. However, as we see from the sadly high levels of abusive relationships in queer community, partnership is not always a great model for combating loneliness, and can even contribute to it, especially if people fear losing their community in a break-up, or if they don’t have other close relationships to turn to when things get hard. Similarly sexual connections alone don’t provide the support and intimacy we generally need. So I’d strongly recommend intentionally cultivating some close friendships and a support network of people around you, even over-and-above finding romantic or sexual connections.

Some good pointers for doing this include finding spaces where people who are likely to share your values and interests hang out. Meet-up groups or online communities can be great for this, as can meeting the friends of existing friends if you have some already. Then approaching people one-to-one if you feel a sense of connection in these places is a good way to go: consensually checking out whether they fancy meeting up or chatting online one-to-one.

It’s a great idea to build friendships slowly so you can really get a sense of whether it’s a good fit, casting your net wide and meet many people before focusing on a few where you feel mutuality, kindness, and connection. Then it’s about ensuring that you put the time and energy into cultivating those close relationships.

Justin Hancock and I did a podcast about making and developing friendships. Our zine Make Your Own Relationship User Guide helps you think through these things for yourself. My book Rewriting the Rules also has pointers for how we might value friendship love as much as other kinds.

The post Queer loneliness and friendship appeared first on Rewriting The Rules.

According to the BBC, the letter states the following:

“There are many reasons why people get married. For most couples, there is an instinctive understanding that the stability of a marriage provides the best context for the flourishing of their relationship and for bringing up their children.”

“Society recognises marriage as an important institution for these same reasons: to enhance stability in society and to respect and support parents in the crucial task of having children and bringing them up as well as possible.”

This law would “gradually and inevitably transform society’s understanding of the purpose of marriage.”

“There would be no recognition of the complementarity of male and female or that marriage is intended for the procreation and education of children.”

Catholics have a “duty to do all we can to ensure that the true meaning of marriage is not lost for future generations”.

The government response to this letter was: “The government has made clear its commitment to equality. We believe people should have the option of civil marriage, irrespective of sexual orientation.”

Responding directly to the Archbishops’ letter risks giving it more credibility than it deserves. Often simply presenting a counter-argument suggests that there is some merit to the original argument, which clearly – in this case – there isn’t. Hopefully by now people are familiar with the wealth of research finding that ‘same-sex’ couples are just as good parents as ‘opposite-sex’ ones, and that there is no evidence that their relationships are any less ‘stable’. If not then the reviews of the research produced by the American Psychological Association on same-sex parenting and same-sex marriage should prove helpful. Hopefully also the principle of equal rights to people of all sexual identities is embraced by the vast majority of people, as reflected in the government statement.

Here, then, I want to move the discussion in a slightly different direction. First I’ll present a brief argument that flexibility in the laws and rules around relationships might be something to embrace, rather than resist, and secondly I’ll suggest some further questions around the kinds of relationships which might be included in such a flexible approach.

Embracing the transformation of ‘society’s understanding of the purpose of marriage’

In these discussions reference is often made to tradition. Archbishop Peter Smith, one of the authors of the letter, frequently justifies his position with the argument that the current form of marriage has been present since ‘time immemorial’.

However, looking to history we can see that marriage has changed markedly both in terms of who has access to it, and what it is for. The current form of ‘opposite-sex’ marriage can be regarded as a relatively recent invention, as argued by historian Stephanie Coontz in her history of marriage. Marital laws’ assumptions about the age, kinship relationship, and race of partners; the number of partners a person can marry; and the rights of partners to own property and to bring legal actions against one another have all changed over time, and there is no reason to regard the gender of those involved as any more intrinsic than those aspects. The historical Christian ceremony uniting people of the ‘same-sex’ is also interesting to reflect upon in this context.

Many scholars have argued that the nature of intimate relationships and the family have changed radically, again, in the past fifty years or so. It seems telling that the Catholic Church have chosen to focus on ‘same-sex’ relationships rather than other shifts such as: rates of separation and divorce, cohabiting before – or instead of – marriage, the increase in numbers of people living alone, shifts in gender roles in relationships, or rates of infidelity and increases in forms of open non-monogamy. Perhaps these should all be reasons to regard such relationships as in a constant state of process, rather than as something static, and to embrace regular reflections on whether the policy and practices surrounding them needs to shift accordingly.

Further potential transformations

Of course there is a wider debate to be had over whether the state should have a role in intimate relationships at all. However, if we proceed on the basis that it currently does have a role, for example in determining who is supported in adopting, or bringing up, children, and who is recognised as a legitimate partner in the case of medical emergencies or in relation to shared money and property ownership, then such rights and responsibilities clearly need to be extended beyond the married ‘opposite-sex’ couple, and any two-tier system (such as marriage and civil partnerships) is problematic since it still gives the message that some relationships are more legitimate than others. This is clearly linked to heterosexism and prejudice towards lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans and queer people.

Whilst religious organisations remain free to celebrate specific events in a person’s life in the ways that they wish to (which differs from group to group), any civil recognition needs to be available to all. One example of the ridiculousness of the current situation is in the case of married couples who have to go through annulment and civil partnership if one person changes gender such that they become a ‘same-sex’ couple.

Another important point, regarding equality, is made by The Bisexual Index. Talk of ‘gay marriage’ in many media reports of these debates is problematic because, of course, many of those in ‘same-sex’ relationships are bisexual rather than gay. Furthermore, at the same time as extending marriage to ‘same-sex’ relationships, it is important to extend civil partnerships to ‘opposite-sex’ relationships such that all people would have access to either of these (there being political reasons, relating to the gendered baggage of marriage for example, why some would prefer a different form of relationship recognition). The Bisexual Index concludes that “the way the law is currently written does not mention sexuality, but instead the genders of the people. Why can’t the people campaigning for equality understand that the way to amend the law isn’t to talk about ‘gay vs. straight’ but instead to address the genders – remove the genders from the law and it’s not just gay and straight men and women who’ll have equal love, but all of us.” Making the gender of those involved irrelevant to the right to marriage/civil partnership would also end the need for the unwieldy ‘same-sex’, ‘opposite-sex’ terminology which doesn’t represent all experiences of gender either.

Moving on from this we might want to explore, more broadly, the kinds of relationships which should be possible to recognise in these ways. For example, in order to be co-parents, or committed co-habitees, people do not necessarily need to be in a sexual, or a romantic, relationship. Close friendships and asexual and aromantic relationships challenge these assumptions. Similarly, it is possible for more than two people to co-parent, to co-habit in a committed way and/or to be romantically and/or sexually involved so we should certainly consider extending relationship recognition beyond the ‘couple’.

Given that intimate relationships, and the social norms surrounding them, are in process rather than static, it is important, and necessary, that policy and practice relating to them is also flexible and fluid, rather than rigid and restrictive.

The post ‘Same-sex’ marriage appeared first on Rewriting The Rules.

This simple gesture invites us to ask some profound questions. Why is it that days are set aside to celebrate one particular kind of love, but not others? Along with Valentine’s day we tend to recognise anniversaries of romantic commitments in a way that we don’t with other forms of relationship, with precious jewels and metals associated with reaching certain five and ten year points together.

Do such celebrations reflect (and reproduce) a kind of hierarchy of love that is present in our culture? And how might such hierarchies be problematic, both for those who are excluded from them and for those who are included?

The problems of exclusions are often more obvious than those of inclusion. I remember February 14th, as a teenager, when the day only served to exacerbate the pain of unrequited love. Certain songs on the radio still take me back to the cards that I furtively asked a friend to pass on to the object of my affections, only to receive nothing in return. Along with sentimental pop songs and the teen romance books that I wish I’d never discovered, Valentine’s day was part of a tuition into the vital importance of finding ‘The One’ and the sense of failure and self-doubt that accompanied not being able to do so.

The stigma around singledom only increases with age, such that many of those without partners are faced with a month or so of painful reminders of their not-quite-normal status as they pass gift shops, florists, and adverts for this year’s Valentine movie.

Single people are not the only exclusions. Valentine’s day usefully reminds us that the kind of romantic love that is assumed is heterosexual. The majority of cards depict images of heterosexual couples, or male and female animals, soft toys, and the like, in the same way that anniversary cards are almost entirely designed to be from a wife/girlfriend to a husband/boyfriend or vice versa. Sitting with a ‘same sex’ partner in a restaurant on Valentine’s night also feels different. Whilst most are now welcoming, there is a certain edge to the experience which isn’t there at other times. There may well be a similar feeling for others whose relationships aren’t considered quite as acceptable: mixed-race couples, couples where one or both doesn’t meet the ideals of conventional attractiveness, those with an age-gap, or people who want to celebrate with multiple partners on a night where every table is set out for two.

Romantic love is intrinsically linked to sexual love, and popular Valentine’s gifts include both the soppy (flowers, chocolates, and soft toys) and the sexy (underwear, sex toys, and erotic games). For this reason other exclusions may include those who are assumed not to be sexual (by virtue of being too young, too old, or disabled, for example), and those who are assumed to be sexual but in fact are not. The person who is asexual and romantic, or the couple whose relationship started sexual but is no longer so, may feel painfully aware of assumptions and expectations around Valentine’s night.

Turning to those who are included in Valentine’s day, there are difficulties here as well – although they may not be so obvious.

As I mentioned at the start, like anniversaries, Valentine’s day highlights the way we tend to prioritise romantic relationships over all other types. When my sister sends cards to her friends this is the assumption that she is challenging: why should this one person (a partner) be deemed more important than the others she is close to: people who, in some cases, have been in her life for years?

When we value romantic love so much more highly than friendship there are dangers that we will become isolated in a partnership. There is a sense of privacy around the couple whereby we aren’t meant to share what is going on with anyone outside of it. As well as exacerbating the sense of exclusion of our single friends, this can be damaging for those in the couple as they come to rely upon each other for everything, and feel unable to get outside support when they are struggling in the relationship.

Valentine’s day can add to the pressure for those who are going through the kinds of tough periods that all intimate relationships have from time to time. There are expectations and assumptions about how we must feel on Valentine’s day, and the kinds of declarations that we must want to make to each other, which may well not fit where we are currently at. Two common responses to such pressure are to assume that the relationship must be wrong and to bolt from it, or to focus on presenting an outside image which fits whilst denying (to others and to oneself) that we are struggling, until it has reached a critical point.

Knocking romantic love off its perch as the most important relationship could decrease the pressure upon it. It could also enable some fresh air to circulate as we are able to spend time separately and to talk about things in the relationship with other people in our lives. This kind of re-evaluation can also expand our understanding of what might be included in romantic love, in friendship, and in the blurry space in between (the friends-with-benefits arrangement, the romantic relationship which has developed into friendship over time, the friendship that has all the intimacy, passion and challenge of a romantic relationship).

I suggest that, rather than ignoring Valentine’s day and trying to get past it, or celebrating it in the conventional way, we might consider doing something different: Send a card to a friend. Watch an unromantic comedy. Celebrate celibacy. Spend the evening alone doing things you enjoy that your partner does not. Take time to recognise all the important relationships in your life. Think about how you might expand love for a partner out to include a friend, a stranger, even an enemy.

The post Doing Valentine’s Day Differently appeared first on Rewriting The Rules.

For the first event we were very lucky to have Sue Jamison-Powell from the University of Lincoln talking to us about her work on social networking. Sue has particularly studied the experience of ‘defriending’, or being ‘defriended’ on social networking sites such as facebook. She points out that, in real life friendships, there is the possibility of allowing friendships to drift into acquaintance-ships. On many social networking sites, however, it is only possible to have people as a ‘friend’ or not. This makes online friendships something more like romantic relationships, which we tend to view in an either/or way: Either we are in a relationship or we are not. For this reason Sue suggests that the experience of being ‘defriended’, or ‘defriending’ someone, may have more in common with losing a lover.

Defriending is certainly a very common experience. Sue found that only 16% of the people she studied had not experienced being on one end or the other of a defriending. When she studied those who had been defriended by somebody else, she found that the vast majority of them had not done anything about the situation when they found out about it. Research on romantic relationships suggests that an important part of the break-up process is some kind of communication between people acknowledging that there is a need for change. Clearly this doesn’t happen in online defriending. Rather people are generally surprised to find themselves defriended, and don’t feel that initiating a conversation about it is something that they want to, or are able to, do. Levels of distress following a defriending clearly weren’t usually as high as after most romantic relationship break-ups. However, they were not non-existent either.

When she looked at the reasons people gave for defriending others, Sue found that it was sometimes done due to different expectations of the friendship (e.g. one person thinking it was pointless because they weren’t close in ‘real-life’). Other times people found it difficult to bring together different groups of friends on a social networking site and defriended those whose comments were likely to be disapproved of by other friends or family (‘I didn’t want me mam reading about my debauchery’). Some people valued their privacy and didn’t want their posts read by certain friends (for example, work colleagues). Others found themselves irritated by some friends’ online styles (spamming them with quizzes, for example).

Sue’s talk sparked a lively discussion amongst the Psychology in the Pub attendees about the potentials and pitfalls of social networking sites. It became clear that people used them in very different ways, and that they meant different things to different people as well. For example, some were friends mostly with people who they knew well and used the sites to arrange meeting up. Others used social networking more to keep up with people at a distance, and/or to connect with new people. Some had more than one social networking persona for different aspects of their lives (e.g. work, social, family, sex) whilst others brought these together in one place.

Like Sue, it is important that people studying sites like twitter and facebook maintain an awareness of the multiplicity of experiences that people can have of them. Rather than trying to determine whether social networking is a good thing or a bad thing, perhaps it is more useful to explore the potentials that they can open up and the possibilities that they can close down. For example, the limiting either/or approach to (de)friending has changed now that it is possible on facebook just to hide friend requests. However, this may still discourage any kind of open communication between people and leave them feeling rejected with no idea why.

Social networking can be both a wonderful way for shy people to try out relationships in a safe context and for those who are geographically isolated to connect with like-minded people. It can also encourage fairly superficial connections and a sense of alienation when a post is not commented upon, for example. Seeing the varied experiences of our facebook friends can remind us that everyone suffers and give us opportunities to offer, and to receive, compassion. Alternatively, we might be confronted with purely shiny happy postings which leave us worrying there is something wrong with us, or with an overwhelming sense of hardship and impotence when many of our friends are struggling. When we socially network we can feel pressured to present one, coherent side of ourselves which will gain the most approval (‘like’), or we can creatively enjoy the precarious experience of revealing the complexity and multiplicity of our daily existence.

In conclusion, as facebook would have it: it’s complicated.

Find out more:

You can read Sue Jamison-Powell’s presentation here

Find out more about Psychology in the Pub here

I will continue to blog here about the Psychology in the Pub events. Watch this space…

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