The Comment Section is Toxic as hell
By: Kera Sanchez, Get Griefy Editor-in-Chief
Let me start here: this isn’t a political post. This Is About Grief, Not Politics (Please Read That Twice)
So, comment section warriors, go ahead and kindly rest your thumbs.
We all know the recent public assassination of Charlie Kirk has been… well, a circus. Everyone’s got an opinion about his politics, his character, his existence. But I’m not here for that. I’m here because the way people are dissecting the grief of his widow, Erika, is exactly why this magazine exists.
Scrolling through coverage of her, I couldn’t help but notice the avalanche of commentary. And let me tell you—it wasn’t sympathy. It was fashion police meets grief judge meets internet troll with a keyboard and no filter.
Here’s a sampling (brace yourself):
“White to a funeral…of her husband…interesting choice.”
“Aren’t grieving widows supposed to wear black?”
“The theatrics.”
“She seems like she’s acting.”
“Really performative for a funeral. Kinda gross honestly.”
“I would not be out making an appearance if my husband passed!”
“Drama queen.”
“Why are her nails freshly done?”
“Full glam? Really?”
“No one needs to see this.” (in response to a photo with the casket)
My immediate reaction: what the actual f*ck is wrong with people? Some thoughts are inside thoughts. This is what we in the education biz call a “red choice”—no pun intended.
Here’s the thing—grief is already an out-of-body, upside-down, what-day-is-it kind of experience. And seeing these kinds of comments? It forces anyone grieving (publicly or privately) to second-guess themselves. Am I doing this right? Am I supposed to look sadder? Should I have worn something different? Should I have stayed home?
And let me be real—I’ve done things in grief that the peanut gallery would have a field day with.
When I left my newborn daughter in the NICU after her traumatic birth, one of the first things I did—besides sob through the entire drive home—was get my nails done. Why? Because I needed a distraction. I wanted to feel human. I wanted one tiny ounce of control in a world that had just spun off its axis. Self-care, anyone?
Then two days later, I got hit with a double whammy when my mom unexpectedly died. I went into planner mode, FROM THE NICU. Within hours I was organizing her celebrationSSSSSS of life(Yes, plural): one, a beach-themed luau, and another at her high school, complete with cheerleaders, choir, marching band, and a beach ball release.
At one of those celebrations, I literally danced with her ashes. Yep, there’s video proof.
We also sold “merch” for my mom. Shirts that students wore at the first Home Football game without her, as she was the unofficial welcome committee to every home football game, taking tickets at the gate for years.
I have also since started a grief movement and magazine out of my pain, a way to honor our bond and help other grievers, channeling my pain into purpose.
Now, imagine if all of that had been blasted online for public consumption. Cue the snarky stranger commentary:
“Lilly Pulitzer to a funeral? That’s tacky.”
“Wow, disrespectful.”
“Looks like she’s having too much fun.”
“Two memorial services? The band? Really? This is overkill.”
“What kind of mother goes to get her nails done and leaves her daughter in the NICU?”
“Who sells merch for their dead loved one? Weird.”
“Ew. She started a business and monetized her death?”
Sound familiar?
Here’s the bigger point: when people dump judgments onto public grief, it doesn’t just sting the person in the spotlight (and let’s be real, Erika probably isn’t scrolling the comments). It hurts everyone else who’s grieving quietly in the shadows.
Your co-worker who lost their spouse last year and is wondering if they’re doing grief “wrong.”
Your friend who lost a parent and feels the crushing weight of getting it right.
Your neighbor who lost a child but still insists on finding moments of joy in their new, unbearable reality.
That’s who reads these comments. That’s who gets bruised all over again.
So, can we stop “shoulding” on people in grief? Can we, just for once, play nice in the sandbox? (and no more, “but they started it”)
This isn’t about silencing political beliefs. By all means shout them from the rooftops. This is about remembering there’s a human being at the center of all this—and that grief looks different for every single one of us.
Live by the golden rule. Scratch that. New rule: don’t be an asshole.
