Not Your Average Gal

Copywriter. Content Creator. Constant Sassypants.

Archives for November 2021

I’m Here to Validate Your Social Media Break

By

Collectively, we've all considered it.

We've all wondered what it would be like to just peace out and go back to the days when our every move wasn't posted in some form on the internet.

Some people we know have even—gasp—done it!

Social media specifically feels so…smoke and mirrors.

You know those yearly holiday cards we get? The ones where everything comes across as hunky dory?

The thing is, our holiday cards, similar to social media, aren't meant to reveal every skeleton in our collective closet.

It's a chance for us to celebrate the small joys with some cheerful smiles. It feels like a brief moment of happiness. I legit look forward to getting cards each and every year.

Especially because they are special. Holiday cards only come once a year.

But, social media is all day. Every day. In yo' face.

While social media for me was a fun space for storytelling, ones that I enjoyed making people laugh with my sometimes entertaining shenanigans. It has, over time, become somewhat heavy. A reflection of the current state of the world, no doubt.

Over the last year, I found myself posting less and less anyway. Feeling a deep need for more privacy and personal space from the seemingly fake social media rat race of it all.

I naively thought that the deliberate misinformation that was occurring on these online channels was actively being checked. Reigned in. Independent investigations acknowledged.

Then, the Facebook whistleblower gave her testimony on Capitol Hill.

And that was it for me.

I knew I needed to step back and take into account how much time I wanted and needed to spend on social media.

The hard truth is, my entire business is based on referrals. There is something magical about that too. Knowing that my work is recommended enough that former clients hand out my name to friends and family is a wonderful feeling.

There is also something demanding about that too. People know me and recommend me often based on what I've written about that has been shared on social media.

Ah, the catch 22 the Zuck knows all too well.

What happened around the time of the Facebook whistleblower hearing earlier this fall was a perfect storm of sorts in my own life anyway.

Life got in my face asking me what the hell I wanted knowing going back to normal wasn't an option, we're now in the new normal. Buckle up. It was the back to basics session that my heart and mind desperately needed.

I quietly left posting on Facebook and Instagram all together.

I put up an away message on both channels in case anyone needed me for business-related projects.

I deleted the apps off my phone.

I checked in on both sporadically via my computer and sometimes, if I'm honest, on my browser on my phone.

But ultimately, the doomscrolling stopped.

My hive mind was quiet for the very first time in years.

I rested while the world carried on.

Without me.

And it was perfectly okay.

There were FOMO times (described below), but legitimately ask yourself: if the people involved in your life are only seeing and interacting with what you post online and not with you outside of that, are those considered close connections? Are those people who will have your back? Are those people who know everything that is going on in your life?

Sometimes the answer is yes! Sometimes it's…debatable.

And it's okay if it's tough to swallow that reality pill.

It's also totally okay to have close online connections with people who aren't in your day-to-day, pick-up-the-phone life. Gosh, I've made some amazing, life changing connections through social networking.

Some have turned into offline friends too!

Some were friends from years past that our only connection now is through social media. Those are wonderful too!

But if you fear going offline because no one will know what's going on in your world, that's a time to take stock of the relationships you have with people who love you.

And for the record, people do love you.

The Plan Going Forward:

In order to maintain some semblance of control over my narrative, you'll be finding more of my entertaining stories on my email list.

You can sign up here.

I'll still be on social media, but in a much more intentional way. My business dictates a presence there and while I'd like to work my way away from that—as others have proved you can—I'll need a bit more time to see how the next few months play out.

That's the full, honest truth.

It would be great to yank that band-aid off, but since so much of my business IS storytelling, (and I sure do love storytelling), most of it often happens on social channels. So, I need to dip my toes back in slowly before deciding if I want water wings to jump back in or to lay permanently on the beach.

The beach sounds good now, doesn't it?

I always maintained that social media was a positive thing in my life as I used it for sharing life anecdotes or entertaining shenanigans, and connecting with other amazing human beings. But if the pandemic showed me anything, it was how nasty people can be when they are hurting.

And the world is hurting right now.

The doomscrolling turned into me doubting the good in the world and that's not a place I like to set up shop in for long.

So I've curated my feed. Deleted the drama. Followed hashtags that bring me joy. And quieted the noise, albeit probably temporarily.

I'm carving out specific times each week to be on the socials and certain times my phone is down and away from those feisty fingers ready to see what your kids dressed up as for Halloween because OMG THEY ARE THE CUTEST!

How To Limit You Social Media Intake:

If you want to start on the path to living a life more in the present and less about sharing what you've had for lunch, welcome!

So many people feel similarly to you. I've been off social media previously, so take these steps from someone who has been there, done that.

  1. If you're someone who posts, start by seeing how often you have the urge to post. Sit with that for a hot second before tip-tapping away on your phone or keyboard. Very often, for me, it was something funny to share, but it took me out of the present and veered the focus car away from a task I was in the middle of. Once you see how often your brain thinks to share, you'll see how much you're missing in real life. From there, limit what you're sharing to the very best or planned content.
  2. If you're someone who stalks. Wait, there's a better way to say that… If you're someone who doesn't post much but lurks, delete the apps from your phone. No, really. (It doesn't delete your content, just the apps themselves.) Think of this like taking away a pacifier from your kid. You're gonna go looking for it a lot in the beginning, but soon after, you realize you don't need it as much. Plus, if you're like me and need to be on the channels for your biz, limit your time initially to having to log in from a computer.
  3. If you're really taking a hard core break like I have, utilize the away message that FB and Instagram allows for business pages. This is what mine said:
    Hey! I’m taking a social media break. If this is work-related or you’re looking for a fun-loving copywriter who knows way too much about the British monarchy, shoot me an email. caroline@notyouraveragegal.com. The world feels heavy right now — know that we’ll get through this too. Be sure to take care of your kind hearts, my loves. 💛
  4. If you need a social channel for the connection to groups (these are the main reasons I still have a FB account), use the news feed eradicator for Chrome, the time limit option on your phones to limit the amount of time you're consuming or use the Freedom app that I love so much.
  5. If you've found yourself doomscrolling again, offer yourself some grace. These applications are literally designed to be addictive. It's totally okay to reverse course once you can feel yourself being sucked back in and try a different route. Maybe those time limits were too short? Maybe you find you like Instagram better? Maybe you want to have a beer with Zuckerberg and ask, “WTF are you thinking?”

What You May Feel After Limiting your Time on Social Media:

Relief.
I don't need to be everywhere, know everything, see all.the.things and consume each picture and post to still be involved in people's lives.

Happiness.
I can curate my real life feed with things like: art, cooking, reading and watching a damn show without scrolling social media.

FOMO.
I've definitely had to tell people I don't know what they're talking about because I didn't see their post. Guess what? It's totally cool. I got filled in and we moved on.

Boredom.
I'm not quite sure what to do with my hands when I'm tasked with filling the time I'd normally be scrolling, with…real life things. The funny thing is, I figured it out pretty quickly by meditating or reading. My resting heart rate also decreased 10 points in just one month of being off and focusing on…me.

Forgiveness.
I've had to promise myself that I wouldn't be mad about seeing how much time I've spent of my life on social media. Once you start seeing it after being off it, it can be upsetting. It's okay!

What To Do Next:

Sign up for my sassy newsletter to get the goodies on what's going down on my side of the Pacific.

Take inventory of what you're consuming. Does it make you feel good? Does it toss you down the rabbit hole of envy, anger or sadness?

Know that with or without limiting your social media, you will be okay.

For me, it boiled down to where I wanted to spend my time and how my body felt about that.

Limiting my social media showed me I made the right choice.

Your “right choice” may be very different.

P.S. To those of you who noticed my absence and reached out to me, thank you. While it seemed I quietly left the social media party like any good Irish goodbye does, it was more-so an intentional signing off on my part. I didn’t feel the need to put up a post about what was going on. Still don't, in fact. That may have felt abrupt based on some of the concerned messages I got. Let me tell you, for a middle child whose parents have forgotten her birthday, you reaching out to say you missed me meant a lot. I see you. I hear you. I love you for saying that I mean something in your life. Thank you. Now, go carry on with your day before I get all emotional typing this out alone on my kitchen island.

Have You Tried a Hard Restart? A Lesson in Grace.

By

I knelt alongside the shards of broken glass now strewn across my kitchen floor when it happened.

That tight wad of stress, knotted in my stomach, suddenly became undone. My brain, clenched in fight-or-flight, finally released its tight grip.

My body said softly to me, “Enough.”

It gently nudged me while I was on my knees, cleaning up this broken jar I accidentally knocked off the kitchen counter.

Enough with this high-alert, survival mode.

You're done.

I cried for a solid 10 minutes that night months ago.

Alone.

In my kitchen.

Sweeping up shards.

Picking up larger pieces of glass.

Putting them in an old Amazon box.

Sweeping again.

Washing the floor.

Then vacuuming.

Picking up every last piece of this metaphor for what keeping it together for nearly 2 years actually looks like.

It was only the second time in the last 20 months that I had cried about the pandemic.

The first of which was alone in my office, 4,500 miles away in Michigan, after my husband came home to tell me he had intubated a patient he didn’t think would live and holding back tears himself, said he didn't want to be the last face she ever saw.

From then on out, I buckled down in survival mode. Bracing myself for the rest of what was to come.

From patients passing away to infants testing positive to those yelling at my husband and the entire department, telling them they are liars and the virus was some giant conspiracy. Screaming in the very place they came to looking for help that uses the very same science they are decrying is a hoax.

You know, also toss in moving across an ocean, buying our first home, a divisive election, a deadly insurrection, sick family members, somehow science now being divisive, trying to avoid getting exposed to the virus yourself with how much your husband is seeing it and then, make new friends when you can’t gather, why dontchya?

Each experience told, I digested.
Sometimes I wrote about it.
Sometimes I vented about it.
But mostly, I carried on.

For 20 months, I've used the tools in my coping toolbox to move forward as much as I could during a global pandemic.

I've run more miles training for my two 10K races this year, with another race coming up, than I ever did training for all my half-marathons. I've read more books in the last two years than the previous 4 years before that. I cook endless new recipes. I talk to my therapist at least every 6 weeks. I Zoom with my girlfriends nearly every Sunday to laugh and cry together. I buckled down, focused on my business more and joined a business monitorship. Updated my website, services and introduced new ones. I kept going.

Kept swimming.

Graciously, it has worked. I was sad for some moments or weeks, but forging along nonetheless. Grateful for this new chapter 4,500 miles away in our gorgeous new hometown. Happy to be healthy, and yet, simultaneously bummed that each morning has begun to feel like Groundhog's Day. The isolation of an island and a new home has felt heavier and heavier with each new surge.

And then last month, after an upsetting event that in the end turned out to be okay, my body alerted me to stop during an annoying, but surely non-life threatening moment.

During the throes of this unsettling situation, I accidentally knocked off a jar on the kitchen counter while trying to move too quickly from task to task.

That's when it happened.

All alone and amongst the backdrop of broken glass now sprawled out on my kitchen floor…I yelled, “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck!”

I stared in momentary silence.

Then cried.

I quietly cried alone in my kitchen, as broken as the glass at my feet.

In the days and weeks that followed, I felt like this hormonal shell of a human being just weeping at anything remotely touching. I actively tried to hold back the tears even in the most mundane of moments. My husband was sad about how sad I suddenly was. I couldn't control the emotions the way I had for the past 20 months.

I felt like my body was working against me, like it had given up on me.

But the proverbial pandemic cork had popped. 20 months of hard-fought, high-alert survival mode had come to an end.

My body wasn't giving up—it was trying to keep me together by telling me to freakin' stop.

Enough, Caroline.

We weren't built for this. None of us were.

Enough.

“Have you tried a hard restart?”

Much like IT tells you after you’ve exhausted all other options to get your operating system up and running. I knew I needed a hard restart.

Having known the effort it takes to claw your way out of the well of depression, I knew I needed to get back to basics to prevent it. I didn't want to stare at the edge of what could become a spiral; I knew I needed to offer myself grace, kindness.

I wanted to take care of me.

(Heck it only took close to 40 years for me to figure that out.)

The basics meant this:

Take care of my needs vs. my wants.
Body first. Above all else.

I may want to stay up watching TikToks, but my body needs legitimate rest. I may want to skip breakfast because the thought of making it overwhelms me, but I need and deserve nourishment. I may want to hit snooze and avoid my day, but my body needs the first early morning hours to take care of myself (meditate, eat, stretch, listen to affirmations, etc.).

Back to basics.

From there, I found resilient relief in other areas of my life.

I don't need to respond to every text.
I don't need to check my email first thing in the morning.
I don't need to be on social media right now.
I don't need to be productive to be worthy.

(That last one is tough. But, I'm working on it.)

The irony is, the less pressure I put on myself to be productive, the more I accomplished. I've been able to focus better on the things that matter to me.

Creativity.
My business.
Friends and family.
Travel.

So often I've worried that my tough times were a burden to others. I'm happily the safe space people use or lean on. But this time, I needed them. This time, I needed to be confident that the way I was taking care of myself wouldn't affect relationships. I needed to trust my own damn needs. I needed time. I needed some space. I needed to not be a rock for others when that's exactly what I was looking for from them. I need to trust and lean into that support system I have. I needed to trust and lean into knowing what I needed for myself.

Which was something different for me.

Knowing that my response, lack of response, lack of checking in or setting a boundary to take care of myself temporarily may not be what loved ones were looking for from me.

And I had to be okay with that, even if they weren't.

Radical self-love isn't a linear journey, pals.

It's exhausting, in fact.

The type of internal work that needs to be done isn't as simple as checking off the To-Do's on your list. It's the deep work. The unlearning work. The type of work your ancestors would be proud of for stopping the cycle of generational trauma in its tracks.

It’s also the kind of work that we can't brag about. We don't get to seek validation for it like we do with sharing or posting the perfect day or scene or family or couple or whatever. As much as I've talked about the benefits of therapy and taking care of my mental health, more than most really, it's not exactly light conversations.

It's not the kind of chit-chat or banter that occurs over brunch. (As much as I believe it can be and connect so much more with people who are vulnerable.) It can be heavy stuff in a world that already feels so heavy.

It's the slog rebuttal to the chirpy, “This is fine. Everything is fine.”

It's the hidden work. The heavy work. The undoing. The kind of work where you ask why you think the way you do because evolving as humans means unlearning the shit we've believed.

Why you believe you're unworthy.
Why you seek external validation for your productivity.
Why your mind races a million miles a minute.
Why you can't seem to be proud of yourself.
Why you forgive others so gracefully, but rarely do it for yourself.
Why it took a shattered jar on your kitchen floor one evening for you to listen to your body telling you it couldn't carry on like this any more.

A Time for Grace.

Something categorically changed in me for the better during this quiet time of these past months.

I allowed myself to take a hot second and acknowledge what a wreck this year has been. To really feel it. (That doesn't mean it wasn't a great year in some aspects too. They can coexist.)

This isn't the hardship Olympics either!

I'm exhausted with people comparing how bad they may have it compared to someone else.

This isn't a time to remind someone that you're going through something too. Anyone with an ounce of compassion knows that already based on the current state of the world.

You don't need a reason more legitimate than someone else's to be exhausted. This pandemic is a collective trauma for all of us. Whether others are willing to acknowledge that or not, well, that isn't my responsibility.

For healthcare workers and their families, it has been a mental battle to stay afloat and not just drift out into an endless sea of apathy.

Gosh, it all feels so heavy.

Everyone is in the thick of it.

The person who cut you off. The person who snapped at you. The person who ghosted you. The person who snickered at your misfortune. The person who blocked or deleted you.

It's not up to me to figure out.

But guess what? It's not up to you either.

Past Blog: Courageous work is full of critics.⁠

When I trust that people are doing the best they can, that frees up a lot of headspace and energy for kinder pursuits.

When I know that stepping back sometimes means peacing-out, I don't take it personally.

When I sincerely hope a person is doing well regardless if they've been nasty to me behind my back; when I offer them grace, it allows me to give it to myself too.

For everything. For the lack of energy. For the way I would have done things differently. For taking a hot minute to myself and getting back to basics.

Everything.

A hard restart.

A time for grace.

Even if it's for you.

Especially if it’s for you.