Mercury is retrograde in my Scorpio 3rd house, so you know what that means right? It means I’m trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing with my content.
I think about this a lot actually…
I should really be posting something instead of scrolling
Remember when I posted everyday in January? I should get back to that
What about my podcast that apparently I’ve abandoned after 100 episodes, What am I doing with that?
Nothing drains my creative life force more than witnessing an endless vaccuum of AI slop, trending song clips, and randos on the internet telling me what I “should” be doing to prove my existence.
This isn’t the way for me.
Maybe I’m not meant to create from a strategy or funnel right now. Not saying I won’t ever do those things, but when you’re in a content rut (i.e. getting the ick from the mere thought of creating something specifically to share online), I don’t know if a content calendar is enough to raise me from the parasocial dead.
I know I’m not alone in this. I connect with creative, intelligent, intentional women all the time and the existential question seems to be… how can I show up online in a way that feels right and real for me?
Avoiding the word “authentic” was intentional there. Because wtf does that even mean at this point?
Regurgitate, regurgitate, regurgitate. All the same shit.
I don’t want to feel like I have to show up in a certain way in order to be seen, heard, appreciated. I want to actually have fun creating. Imagine that.
That’s been lost. Viscerally.
Social media isn’t social, it’s conditional capitalism.
Everyone is an expert. Everyone is selling something. An avalanche of ads for a running shoe you mentioned once to a friend in confidence now taunts you in your feed.
Who really wants to play this game and feed this machine? I don’t.
I tend to rebel in these ways. Always have.
Trends at my small town high school in Georgia asked me to conform, I relished in endless opportunity to do something unexpected.
Black nails with my cheer uniform, military boots with a plaid skirt, choppy layers I cut in my hair much to my Mother’s disappointment.
Self-expression was my ticket to freedom in a world that felt so small.
Hartwell, GA. Population 4,400.
Defying expectations came through my style, my opinions, my voice, my way of dancing, my writing, my music, my art, my intuition. This saved my life.
Reflecting back, my room was my sanctuary. Where I allowed my mind to expand beyond my current circumstances and previous experiences that I would’ve rather not had.
My room felt infinitely larger than the town or family I grew up in. The freedom to allow myself to be however I wanted to be with zero pressure, expectations, or rules. I didn’t have to be “good” here. I didn’t have to be “perfect”. I didn’t have to abandon myself.
Playing “the game” on social media feels like self-abandonment.
I don’t believe people when they say they aren’t creative. Everyone is creative.
I do believe people repress their creative impulses. Their intuition.
That doesn’t mean it isn’t there.
The feeling of losing your spark is absolutely heartbreaking.
Daydreaming about the “good ol days”…. romanticizing seasons of life where I felt significantly more connected to my creativity. A version of me less burdened by life’s harsh realities and responsibilities.
Why can’t I just get back to that?
Because things aren’t like they used to be.
Mom and Maw Maw were still around. I was living in Brooklyn. Going out with friends was a given every week. The world seemed less complicated.
I don’t want to create from pressure, I don’t want to create to “solve a problem”, I don’t want to create to prove relevancy, and honestly… I don’t want to have an “audience” in mind when I’m creating.
People say create based on what your audience wants to see or hear.
I recoil.
If I create something it’s because something within the depths of my soul is aching to be expressed - regardless of a witness. Pure intent without the condition of an applause or validation.
The stamp of approval was already given.
Without realizing it, my world got small again. Time to go back to what my inner teen always knew.
“Creating content” is not the goal. No wonder I had resistance.
Whatever I create is first and foremost, for me.
And here we are again - a twinkle in my eye and a spark that promises excitement, inspiration, surprise, and experimentation.
Free yourself. Be yourself.
