Do not perceive me (mostly)

Over the last few weeks, I’ve downloaded (and then deleted) the TikTok iOS app at least 10-15 times. I never make an account, so I’m not logged in, but I’ll scroll for a while before realizing what I’m doing and deleting it again – until the next day, or the day after that.

I said to a friend recently that when I find myself scrolling any kind of social media platform, it feels like I’ve reached a hand all the way down my throat and into my stomach, grabbed my recently-swallowed ADHD medication, and pulled it out of my body. It feels like taking all the work I’ve done to repair my brain (and body) from the insanity of phone addiction and modern life and thrown it in the trash. My attention span shrinks. My appetite for mindfulness in everyday moments begins to dissipate.

I’m fully aware of what’s happening, but I’m being gentle with myself at the moment. It’s the end of my third week at a brand new job after spending 6 years at my previous employer. The work is fantastic and the people are delightful, but a new job is a new job. Finding my place – both professionally and socially – takes a lot of mental effort.

I suspect that the mindless dopamine hits of TikTok are giving my brain a false sense of rest, like flopping on the couch to unwind with trashy reality TV (yep, also been doing that a bit too). It’s high calorie, low nutrient activity, which feels reaaaally good in the moment (and sometimes you need it!) but can do actual damage if you allow it to become a regular habit.

Does the fact that I’m aware of what’s happening make it a little bit better? I hope so. The fact that my inner monologue hisses “this is not who I am, nor who I want to be” when I’m scrolling is a reminder that this is a temporary crutch while I adjust to a new routine. Two steps forward, one step back.

The part that does concern me is the occasional moment where I get the urge to make an account and start posting. I see daily vlogs and DIML content, and I think “hell, I’d kinda love to see what my life looks like through this lens”. Then I remember that nothing is stopping me from making videos for myself – they don’t actually need to be posted anywhere.

But ah… the dopamine from posting! I remember it well. My body remembers it. I think it’s okay to admit that I miss it a little bit.

It’s normal to reminisce about doing stuff that may not have been altogether good for us when we were doing it.

Instagram is still the platform I invested the most time and energy into, and I suppose there’s still a part of my brain that wants to share some photos, sling memes back and forth between homies, and stay more up to date with friends, family, and acquaintances. Parts of social media are genuinely good – I’ve never denied that. But the way my life changed for the better since leaving Instagram? I can’t go back. I won’t.

So what do I do about this recent TikTok problem?

Admitting that I didn’t leave Instagram because I’m smarter or more evolved than anyone else is really important. I quit because I took a long enough break to see significant physical, mental, and emotional benefits, and couldn’t (in good conscience) deprive myself of those benefits ever again.

I quit Instagram in October last year, and I still occasionally get FOMO. I don’t question my decision – like I said, the benefits of leaving significantly outweighed the downsides – but I’m curious to know why the urge to post short form/visual content has returned at the beginning of this new chapter.

For now, I’m going to assume that it’s a kind of regression. That the extra stress of settling into a new job is making my brain seek out quick dopamine fixes, and that my subconscious remembers how to get them with the least possible effort: by scrolling, posting stuff, then engaging with the people that respond.

While I’m being gentle with myself, I’m still fighting it. Today I downloaded TikTok and scrolled for a few minutes before shaking my head, deleting it again, then going to stand outside in the cold and just… breathing, I guess. And listening to birds.

(Sidebar about local birds and wildlife: Last year we saw no wattlebirds. None. This year it feels like every fucking red wattlebird in Australia has taken up residence on our property. It’s all we hear, in every direction, from dawn until dusk. As soon as the sun sets, they go quiet – then we start to hear flying foxes, which also weren’t around at all last year. In the last few weeks we’ve also had a microbat and a sugar glider find their way into the house, thankfully not on the same night. Both were safely relocated outside.)

This random, fleeting urge to post short form video/visual content also made me start to question what I’m doing here, with this personal (but public) blog.

Some days it’s the practice of writing that brings me back, because I’m bad at writing, I want to get better, and the best way to get better at something is to do it over and over. Mostly, though, this blog acts as a journal, since I’m terrible at maintaining anything handwritten.

Why keep it public, though? Why push it to email? (I still cringe every time I do it, because I assume no one wants it, but then I remember y’all can just unsubscribe if you want.) I tell myself there are people that care – the people who were interested in my life when I posted on Facebook or Instagram, who might actually want to know how things are going and what I’m doing, the same way I’m interested in their lives and would love to get these kinds of emails from them.

As much as I try and examine why I post here, I still haven’t really figured it out. I feel like the urge to share ourselves online is normal, but simultaneously strange and inexplicable. Is it our way of feeling seen in a world where we live more isolated lives than our ancestors? Is it an attempt at permanence in a terrifyingly impermanent universe?

I’ve written before about how I don’t envy people in the public eye, despite younger me desperately wanting to be famous. If anything, having to live out one’s life on the internet – always at the mercy of millions of faceless, commenting strangers – feels like a kind of personal hell. I feel something closer to pity for those who rely on sharing their lives online for income, and even more pity for kids who get used as content without their consent.

One of the main things that stops me from creating that TikTok account and posting is the irrational fear of going viral. The chances of that actually happening are so fucking minuscule that even typing that makes me laugh, but the fear is still there.

I love my life, and I love the people I get to share it with, especially in person. I love that I can be truly selective about what I make public, and that I don’t have thousands of faceless followers demanding to know where I got my shoes from, arguing with me about the most mundane shit, or criticizing how I live out my days.

So maybe that’s my answer: the random urge to start posting to social media again is best countered by remembering the immense joy of being (mostly) unperceived. And by going outside and taking photos of wet leaves and listening to red wattlebirds.

I told you this post would be long, stupid, and pointless!

k love you bye

I don’t know why people are so keen to put the details of their private life in public; they forget that invisibility is a superpower.

–Banksy