I guess I’m back.
I have a love-hate relationship with Instagram.
I first downloaded the app in 2010. I only personally knew two other users, both of whom are photographers. Back then, Instagram wasn’t about relationships or people. It was solely an outlet to share art. Photography. I loved it. It challenged me to see the world a little differently — to appreciate the small details that may have otherwise gone unnoticed. It invited me to capture these and provided me with a platform on which to share them.
For years, that’s all it was about. And it was good. Then somewhere down the line, Instagram became, to me, a giant virtual suburban neighborhood of keeping up with the Joneses. It turned into a space filled with everything I don’t value: wasted time in the form of perfection, competition and egocentrism.
Instead of experiencing an inspiring online art gallery, I became annoyed, frustrated and jealous. My reality of living in a shitty 600-square-foot apartment with a high-energy toddler and a husband who worked holidays, evenings and weekends couldn’t compete with the hundreds of women whose squares were filled with exotic family vacations and well-behaved children who slept through the night in Pottery Barn-styled bedrooms.
What I saw on Instagram was so far from my own reality. I got
tired of comparing my brokenness to everyone else’s perfection. Seeing that I
was, and still am, in a season of chaos juggling Dawson, marriage, graduate
school and a new city, I decided my attention and emotional energy needed to be
spent on something other than peering into other people’s pseudo lives.
So I left.
For
nine months, I was free from the addiction to these boxes that once held so
much power over me. It was liberating to live my life free from worrying of
whether or not something I was experiencing was Instagram worthy. I felt
physically and emotionally lighter. Instead of sharing, I spent that time
self-reflecting. Growing. Like a butterfly emerging, I became an entirely
different person not just because I left Instagram but because I gave myself
space to take care of my soul in the form of therapy, relationships and books.
Then
one day I took a gorgeous picture of Dawson. Speaking of butterflies, he was
pointing one out to me on our front porch. We admired its beauty together, and
I realized that it had been far too long since I captured a moment like that
with my camera. I had let the aforementioned ugly parts of Instagram get in the
way of my love for photography and sharing. For the first time, I missed
Instagram.
I spent
a few weeks contemplating how to proceed. I truly loved my social media-free
life, but I also didn’t want to deny myself the joy of photography, sharing and
engaging in the community I have here.
So
using caution and intentionality, I’m back. This time, I’m taking
responsibility for my usage of this app, and if I find myself in the same dark
place that I was in before, I hope I have the self-respect to step out again.
Admittedly,
I still don’t have this space figured out. Most days, I still couldn’t care
less to see that someone has gone for a run or ate a black bean burger for
lunch — I simply don’t have the time or energy. I still wrestle with my love of
photography and my desire to capture and share snippets of life while
simultaneously not wanting to come across as though I have it all together. Because
I don’t. My life is anything but perfect. I battle anxiety. Most days, my
threenager drives me nuts, and I lose my patience with him more often that I
care to admit. I won’t be graduating with honors, my house is never neat and I
cringe thinking about how often we eat frozen meals these days. I am a hot mess,
and frankly I’m not the best at relating to those who aren’t.
I understand that the concept of putting our best foot forward
is much older than Instagram. And I get it — many of us want to tidy up our
homes before company arrives similarly to how we want our Instagram feeds to
look perfect. But while sharing my family’s tender moments, I refuse to sacrifice
authenticity and vulnerability, and I hope that’s your experience of me here.
Thanks
for sticking around. I’m glad to be back. I think.
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