Let me set the scene: I’d just posted a photo to my Instagram, I’d edited it on 3 different apps, came up with a pretty average caption with an emoji or two thrown in, posted and then sat watching my Instagram ‘likes’ appear on my notifications every 5 minutes until I went to bed. Then it came to me: ‘Was this addiction?’ Dramatic? Yes. True? Maybe. Last year, I wrote a blog post about admitting to being a catfish online but has anything changed in terms of my relationship with social media? I’m not convinced so.
Although I believe my relationship with social media hasn’t changed, my outlook on life really has and I do not feel the same way I felt when I wrote that blog post. When Catfish Confessions came into my brain as a post idea, that brain was very black and white. Monochrome Maisie was sad and I looked to Instagram to validate reasons to be happy and to prove myself but instead it made my mind darker. Things now are very different, it’s kind of like the girl who wrote that post isn’t the same girl who is writing that now; my brain may not be full rainbow but it’s very much in colour, yet I feel like my relationship with social media is still not healthy. So I’ve decided it’s time to stop giving a shit and here’s why…
Jumper // New Look
Culottes // Zara * (Similar)
Photography // Olivia Bush
When I say social media, I don’t mean Twitter and Facebook. I’m not funny enough for Twitter and I’m not really that active on it apart from an occasional GIF or political retweet. I’m also not old enough to be sharing my whole life on Facebook apart from the occasional stalking, profile picture update and maybe, just maybe, I might upload a holiday pic or two. My likes on both Twitter and Facebook come from one close friend and my grandma, and although their likes and validation is important, they just don’t impact my life. But then there’s Instagram. A stupid, stupid photo sharing app, that ever since I first downloaded it back in the day, began to rule my life and is probably ruling everyone’s a little bit too much.
Up until recently my world seemed to revolve around the ‘gram; I would pre-plan Instagram images before I went somewhere, think of Instagram captions in the middle of the night that I’d need to write down on my phone (maybe months in advance of the post), I would boomerang every single bloody situation because if there’s anything better than a still image it’s a weird bouncy one, right? A minimum of 10 images narrowed down like X-Factor contestants and going through 7 editing apps would lead to the final post, and of course, with all that ground work, the likes mattered to me. Maybe even more than mattered, it was what I NEEDED. My mentality really was ‘if it’s not on Instagram, it didn’t happen.’ Although I’m in a much happier place mentally, I completely acknowledge that my relationship with an app is not okay.
I think it really hit me maybe because I am in such a great place and had me questioning why was I letting it rule me? Ultimately it’s some photos on a screen, with numbers that seem to have the power to make us feel like we aren’t good enough. Having depression has me wanting to appreciate life and who I really have, because when I am old and grey, my thousand followers and my few hundred likes on an outfit photo isn’t going to matter to me. It’s hard to be a blogger and not have Instagram make up such a big part of my life, but I’m a blogger because I love to write and as blogging is not my full time gig, I don’t have the time to post every single day and spend hours growing my Instagram following.
There are days still where numbers take over my thoughts and I can’t help but compare myself to other bloggers, but each day I’m learning to not give a shit a little bit more. Because honestly I do not want to be that broken girl who wrote about being a Catfish again.
Until next time,