007. WHERE DID SHE GO?
reflections on imposter syndrome, Instagram dramas, creative integrity and burnout
I feel like some days I have insomnia. I can’t sleep without feeling like I still have a portion of the day to myself. It’s my fault really. The transition between a full work day and sleeping has never panned itself out smoothly except in cases of exhaustion - I construct relived scenarios of the the day gone as soon as my head hits the pillow, I feel a jerk and then I’m awake again. The last few weeks have been trying and I’ve found myself dropping between one state or the other, between waking and sleeping, half-aware of the ruins of social media pressures and a corporate job that pays the rent. I remember opening various cupboards at my parents house as a child to find bedsheets in the hopes of constructing a fort. I wanted peace and I wanted solace from the confounds of being pulled in every direction. It sounds silly, but I wanted to feel what it would be like to ‘live alone’, function as an ‘adult’ if only for an hour. My mother would put a pile of sheets in front of the hot water cupboard every night so I wouldn’t have to use the ‘good sheets’. It’s an old memory but a fond one, I had comfort knowing that my parents supported not only my childish delusions but my anxious tendencies to black out the reality of living at home with my parents, as a bedtime ritual. I was angsty and I was stubborn. I still am, and I guess these feelings of self-consciousness begin to loosen and unravel when I put too much pressure on myself.
For those who follow me on Instagram, the last few weeks have been a slur of rants from my end - it’s like watching a kaleidoscope mutate, ushered into exhaustion and swept into a fight with the disease of imposter syndrome. When I can’t sleep, I try to read, but I find myself caught in the clasps of the death-scroll/ lying back on a couch in that ‘slob-mode’ I’ve come to embrace. I’m lying back but lying to myself. I just can’t help but compare myself to the likes of other content creators and in all honesty, my brain hurts. From the life updates on stories, reel posts with new and exciting outfits, try-on hauls, book hauls, book reviews, book reel selections - the list goes on. It’s like my eyes glaze over and I’m thrust into the dark web that is social connection. Is there a sense of feeling out of place? Hell yea. I always feel like I haven’t achieved enough or I’m not doing enough to remain ‘consistent’(we’ll come back to this thought a bit later). I have that feeling all the time and I can confidently say that I’ve felt like this since I was a teen. I became friends with two other girls in high school, Karleen and Jenna. We loved Saddle Club, horses and music videos and we’d always go over to Karleen’s house as she was the one that had the bigger house out of Jenna and I. But somehow, there were instances where she’d hang out with Jenna more and wouldn’t invite me - I felt alone and discarded, I didn’t think that I would find myself as a part of this club. I guess there’s always this general rule about a group of 3, there’s always one person that gets left out, and that person was me.
As I lie there scrolling away through the plethora of style videos, book hauls and book reviews, the hours roll on by and it seems only human nature for my Virgo-ian mind to jump to comparison with my own social profile. Have I posted enough? Did I post on the days where I got the most impressions? Is the Instagram algorithm algorithming? Ha. It’s funny how as humans we feel this need to accomodate the day voice of the self-conscious thinker over the desire to stop and just relax. It’s like I’m walking around aimlessly working, moving, cogs turning, refusing to sleep for fear of losing out on the early morning or late night silence.
I was 13 when I had my first bout of insomnia. I had just come back from Christmas Eve mass and mind you, these church services traditionally start at 9pm and run till midnight so it wasn’t doing any favors to my sleep routine but it was just something we always did as a family. For some reason, that year was where it all began. We arrived back home and everyone went to bed, but somehow I was still wired from being awake and using the service to people-watch all the cute boys who were equally dragged to church for the holidays; I had just had family time, and I wanted time to myself and the only way I could have it was by not sleeping and staying up late. I refused to sleep so I read, but the graphic novels I was reading just stimulated me more and I found myself making lists of all the graphic novels I wanted to start a collection. Fragments of Archies, Katy Keene and Josie and the Pussycats whirring in my head. In this transition from being to not-being, sleep felt like I was throwing down the gauntlet, calling it in, giving up. Ever since then, I’ve found myself staying up late and getting up super early just so I can exist within the borderland of no distractions, ‘Rachel’time, a state of play. When I look back on it now, I think I was more anxious to miss out on me-time. I wanted moments to myself / it was a sort of selfishness that started early and has trickled down to today.
There was an incident a few weeks ago where the rage erupted.
Let’s take a step back to 4 and a half years ago where my Bookstagram account on Instagram began. I knew I loved books, reading, anything literature. To be able to create a platform where I could share what I was reading and make friends in the book world sounded amazing, and so the posts commenced. Photos of book covers evolved into artistic photos of myself mimicking my love of ballet - my parents could never afford to give me ballet lessons so in a way, I felt like this was a way to merge the two. Black and white photos where shadow and form and book reviews would merge - that was when my page took off. Fast-forward and I’ve gone down a rabbit hole of making reels, writing reviews for publications, getting sent ARC (advanced reader copies) from all over the world - I mean, I’m still floored that this account that started off with pure joy when I hit 1000 followers has evolved and blossomed into an account where I’ve become friends with people all over the world. Sometimes I have instances where I retreat into this shell when people ask me about my favourite books and what I’m reading or doing with my account: “Are you getting paid yet?”/ “You should quit your job and do this full time” / “What does this account get you?”.
I’m breathing the biggest sigh as I type this. Like anyone, I have dreams and goals and sometimes these questions weigh heavily on one hand but appeal to the procrastinator in me in the other. I voiced some of these dreams to close friends and that’s where I felt a little bit of rage a few weeks ago. A girl I knew who I had met in person once through Instagram, decided to start a book club and started featuring books heavily on her socials - this would have been incredible in the sense that I love that literature has continued to peak and provide exposure to titles that we would otherwise not be exposed to/ encouraging more people to read etc, however in my mind I felt so confused that a beauty influencer would suddenly jump ship to a world I felt so close to. Feelings of self doubt, suspicion, anxiety, anger and betrayal arose. I found it so hard to move past what had just happened it was like the inclinations of my youth came back to haunt me. The very secrets I had told Jenna alone would be passed onto Karleen and I would have had these shoved in my face a couple of days later after finding out that a shopping trip between the two had occurred and I wasn’t invited. This very betrayal reached peak. In my mind, I was facing a state of confusion that someone I was friends with had just chosen to encroach on a community I felt was family when she already had her own. Was I being selfish or incredibly protective, or was I just being petty? I don’t know, but it broke me.
Imagine creating a piece of artwork and having that creativity stolen and molded into a replica - chewed up and spat out as something so ‘the same’ that you end up confused and speechless. Lo and behold, another incident occurred just a week ago with a UGC creator that had tagged me in her reel. I went to watch it and was so lost for words. This creator had basically replicated the same text and the same font and the layout to create a reel for her page for another brand. I was floored. My creative integrity was on the table and I was furious. I commented on the reel stating just that and was met with a comment from her stating she was ‘inspired’ by mine but she tagged me to give me credit. She dm’d me as well to reiterate her feelings but I had to simply repeat what I said - simply being inspired wasn’t the same as replicating someone else’s work. Another follower of hers told me to ‘lighten up’ - who knew that two words could be so hurtful.
This begs the question, in the name of art, where does one draw the line between being inspired and plagiarizing someone else’s work? We’ve seen this play out in the fashion industry with small brands having their designs manufactured without consent on the mass end - designs produced in bulk without credit to the artist, ongoing legal battles with naming conventions and even brand identities are called into question. Is being a creator in this economy leading to the pressures of churning out bite-sized pieces of content to appease the masses? In this desperate hope of gaining more likes, comments and followers, will we ever reach a point where the genuineness of others and relationships formed will be genuine in return?
We’re trapped.
In this state of burnout where these digestible forms of social media content are churned out like mass produced products on a factory line. Subconsciously working and producing. As artists, we seem to find ourselves torn between pleasing others and staying true to our work. I’ve always been so protective of my work, the creative process and ideas - I guess it stemmed from being a part of group projects in school only to have the credit shared amongst peers even though I had spent countless hours in the library and in my parents garage stringing together a science presentation with handdrawn illustrations because everyone else had extra-curricular activities on. I brought my A-game to the table and just wished that everyone else was going to as well and I feel like that’s the same feeling I have today; attack of the Virgo-ian mind again right? It’s this thought that to exist is to maintain some sort of presence online, if not all is forgotten. If I don’t post, someone else will swoop in and my work will cease to exist. I will cease to exist.
So where does this leave us?
In a 2023 article by Rebecca Solnit for The Washington Post, Solnit details her views about climate change but alludes to the works of William Wordsworth when she states:
‘Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers,’” she quotes.
“What would it mean to recover those powers, to be rich in time instead of stuff?… “For so many of us, being busy with work has leached away our capacity to pursue true riches. What if we were to prioritize reclaiming our time—to fret less about getting and spending—and instead ‘spend’ this precious resource on creative pursuits, on adventure and learning, on building stronger societies and being better citizens, on caring for the people (and other species and places) we love, on taking care of ourselves?”
Burnout is real and our inability to divorce ourselves from material consumption, has enabled it to thrive in the everyday. It’s funny how as humans we see hard work and stability rewarded - we find ourselves mimicking this same analogy in our lives from family to work to our mental health and society has instilled this sort of rule where those that are seen as having their shit together is peak. The holy grail. Who doesn’t want to reap the benefits of their hard work? I want to do and offer up my best but am I forever reaching in this journey of no return? Everyday has become both tiring and overwhelming. We’re going through a restructure at the moment at work, so I imagine a fair bit of this anxiety is contributing to this, however that in combination with the pressures of Bookstagram upkeep has me pulled in all directions/ pulled away somewhat ironically from even reaching for a book to read. Will there be final state where my drive and my ambition to reach a state of happiness be pure and all encompassing? I don’t know, all I can do is wing it and try not to put so much pressure on myself. Be spontaneous. Not stick to the social media schedule. Fuck the algorithm. This is the pitch at least.
As a fellow Virgo, FT corporate work girlie, aspiring bookstagrammer and over-thinker / over-worker, this essay is extremely relatable. (Also…. The pain of school group projects! I feel you.) Take care and good luck with the work restructure. 🖤
Life tends to be full of so many wonderful moments and then, boom, existencial crisis, imposture syndrome, and over-thinking hit all at once and we start questioning our sanity, comparing, thinking others aren’t doubting themselves either. We all fall short. But also, there is so much to be grateful for, to love, to aspire towards. It’s good to feel it out, maybe take a hot shower and a nap, some good food, and know it’s alll going to be ok. 🌷 bless