For the Highly Sensitive, Empathic Ones on Social Media

Ugh... My finger hovers over the "Post" button. I've rewritten the caption multiple times. I've zoomed in on my own face, and decided I look tired, then decided I don't care. Damn, maybe I do care? I press the button anyway. Like clockwork, a knot of tension pulses in my gut.

It's uncomfortable to be here. Plain and simple.

I'm too damn sensitive for this stuff.

My body lives in a twisted-up, contorted contradiction every time I engage with social media. An endless game of peek-a-boo.

My instinct is to hide, to protect, to curl in. And breathing right alongside that instinct is its opposite: the pull to come out, be seen, expand, play, delight, and share my musings with all of you in social media-landia.

So sometimes I give in to the first one. I hibernate in my cozy den. Sometimes for days, weeks, months. No posting, no sharing, no commenting, not witnessed in any shape or form. And it feels like the deepest exhale of relief. Free from others' eyes. Free from the matrix. Awake in my real, off-screen life.

And then eventually something in me twinkles and tingles awake. The sweet melting of Spring. It tugs at me, gentle and insistent, until I climb up out of the den and blink into the light of one platform or another. Is it comparison doing the pushing? The endless flurry of "shoulds" I pile on myself? Or is it something truer underneath all of that? The simple animal wanting to emerge from a long winter, stretch, and be met by the world?

So I do it. I emerge, I shine, I share, I ride the first hot wave of courage. And then when the adrenaline cools, or I get a few too many harsh comments, or my musings aren't seeming too interesting to others, I tuck my tail and back myself down into the dark again.

Every time, I land in this same living, breathing contradiction…

I want to be seen.But I want to hide.I want to share.But I don't want to be judged.I want to use my voice, speak my thoughts, say the true thing.But I'm terrified of doing it wrong, being wrong, being shamed.I don't give a damn if people think I'm doing it wrong.But sometimes I completely and totally do.

Some days social media feels like a gift. A digital soapbox. A chance to use our voice and connect that no generation before us has ever had. My ancestors would have been killed or burned at the stake for some of the things I've said here.

Other days social media disgusts me. The slithery marketing tactics. The me, me, me narcissism of our time. Fear culture, rage culture, the manufacturing of enemies because outrage is what the machine feeds on.

And then there are the young parts of me, doing their little song and dance across the feed.

"See me, love me, like me, follow me, choose me, and then I'll finally know I'm worthy and lovable."

And a breath later:

"Don't look at me. Go away. I don't want your attention, your envy, your ugly comments. I'll block you. I'll hide. I just want to curl in and feel safe for all eternity."

So here it is, said straight to the thing itself:

Social media, I appreciate you, and I don't like you at all.

Thank you for the clients, the connections, the friendships, and the love you've brought me over the years. And you're gross. You feed on my fear and my rage and my sensitive wiring, on the little chemical jolt I get from comparison, from someone else's big boobs and sexy muscles.

You're amazing.And you're a vampire.You're using me.And, truth be told, I'm using you.

You commodify my attention. You reward the posts where I sell my face, my sex, my anger, my edge. And I let you, because I come here for my daily hit of love, connection, the little ping of influence, and the plastic promise of more.

I guess this is our fate, you and me.

This love-hate.