My name is in the Ashley Madison database

Brief social experiment highlights perils of sharing any personal info online

I’m in Ashley Madison’s database. As a journalist who’s written about marriage and social media, I signed up after reading a magazine article about it to see if I could write a story myself. And frankly, I was intrigued. Really? Eight million folks had signed up to have affairs with neighbours? What brought about that level of marital unhappiness — and secrecy?

My inbox instantly flooded with vulgar responses. And then I chickened out. I never messaged anybody and simply logged off. Yet when I read of the leak, I broke into a sweat, not because I’d been on the site, but because of the tidal wave of judgment that was about to hit.

Over my morning cup of coffee, I shared with my conscientious husband that years ago I’d logged in and could be named. He laughed. With that sound, my fear lessened, because it was sort of funny. He knows who I am; but others don’t.

As a writer, I’ve created quite the digital trail for myself. Over the years, I’ve expressed ideas I wish I hadn’t while attempting to push artistic boundaries and thoughts I’ve since grown out of. An idea that may have seemed fresh 20 years ago no longer dies with an obscure journal that goes out of print: it’s still there, ever present. Only now it’s not an idea that’s developed over pages, but one that can be revived in a sound bite that can lead you right in front of the social media firing squad.

I don’t want my kids locked in time by a digital trail I created that was half wrong. They have a right to evolve and a right to privacy

But what’s worse for me, a mother, is that in light of the Ashley Madison leak, what I regret most isn’t what I’ve written about me, but what I’ve written about my kids. Simple things such as emails to teachers, school records, texts I sent to friends or even notes taken by doctors. Because this most recent data leak isn’t about exposing cheaters, in my mind; it’s about the digital trail we’ve all created that could be exposed at any moment, one that can be hugely misinterpreted.

When our kids were younger than 5 years old, our fears defined who they were. But now, at ages 10, 8 and 6, we get to see what remarkable beings they’re becoming. Our eldest writes skits, our middle can get a cavity filled without Novocaine and our youngest has a better eye than Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.

In hindsight, I was wrong about a lot of things. As they developed, their narrow interests morphed into passions; their tantrums turned into determination; their overwhelming attention to detail signalled a visual intelligence. And I don’t want my kids locked in time by a digital trail I created that was half wrong. They have a right to evolve, and they have a right to their privacy. As a mother, it pains me to think I may have compromised both.

As they hit the tween years, they will discover social media is their marketing tool. I hope they understand the online persona they create is not who they are. Some of their marketing campaigns will not work; some will miserably, embarrassingly fail. What price will they pay for taking risks we once dismissed as youthful indiscretions?

On social media we’re free to judge others by their worst moment, and nobody deserves that. Is one poorly thought-out tweet worth ruining a life or career over? We believe in a fair trial. But, obviously, the Internet does not provide for that.

Imagine what the Ashley Madison leak may do to some people. What of others in my situation? And what about our kids when they make a mistake online? Or not even make a mistake, but do something misguided? All kids do, but now there’s proof forever.

We teach our children to stand up to bullies, to always be kind, because words are way more powerful — and permanent — than we may know.