There were a few years where it felt like I had my life figured out. I had a good job that I liked, a blooming grassroots initiative that was making actual change, and I felt like I had purpose. Then the pandemic hit. My grassroots initiative, called Sarnia Speaks, was built around in-person events. All the momentum we had built for four years suddenly became an afterthought as the world struggled to come to terms with it’s new normal.

For those who don’t know, Sarnia Speaks is a grassroots, non-profit movement in Sarnia, Ontario that aims to educate on today’s most important issues and instill empathy and understanding through storytelling. It was my baby, my joy, my purpose.

I remember Bill toying with the idea of moving before the great pandemic of 2020. But I’d always say, “no, I can’t. I have Sarnia Speaks.” When I woke up during those days, I felt like my life was worth living because I was making change and helping facilitate important conversations. I’d go to work during the day, then come home and build Sarnia Speaks. It didn’t feel like work. It felt necessary. It felt natural.

After the pandemic, and when things began to get back to older ways, I had shifted the Sarnia Speaks focus to sharing messages around self-love, mental health, and confidence on my personal social media account. And I guess you could say I did a pretty decent job at it. I was quickly growing my account and soon would surpass 100,000 followers on Instagram.

It was between then and now that I became completely lost in life. Evenings spent in the library theatre hosting dialogues about important topics turned into countless hours strategizing the next social media post, begging for paid partnerships, and fighting to be seen by the algorithm in a quickly evolving online landscape. Somewhere along the line, I think I lost sight of what truly was important.

In 2024, I took a four month social media break. Truthfully, I didn’t have intention to return. During those four months, I wrote, I dreamed, and I re-introduced Sarnia Speaks in a musical format. I remember this one specific evening when the visuals for the musical show I produced for Sarnia Speaks displayed on the marquee at the local theatre. I took a selfie with a friend, then went to my car and cried with pride. Purpose. There you are! A feeling I hadn’t felt in years.

Eventually I returned to social media in early December of that year and promised myself I wouldn’t get back to the point where an algorithm controlled my life again. But as I sit here now, almost two years to the day that I originally began my break, I feel like it’s time to take another. I feel exhausted. Constantly having my brain in creation mode trying to come up with the next viral hit is absolutely exhausting. I also sometimes struggle with the whole concept of an ‘influencer’ in general for a multitude of reasons.

I thought this was my new purpose. I mean, it all started trying to help people find self-love, or feel less alone with their mental health. But now it’s turned into grocery hauls, food taste tests, and other things that, while there’s nothing wrong with them, don’t fill my cup.

I recently went through a hypomanic episode (oh hey, bipolar girlie here!) where I became absolutely enamoured with crafting and art. Ah! I’ll be an artist, I thought for exactly a period of two weeks! I picked up my camera again, I made sculptures, jewellery, and even tried my hand at watercolour painting. When the thrill wore off and the hypomania died, I fell pretty low. I felt worthless. But that feeling during the episode reminded me of the times in my life when I felt that purpose. And as I sit here writing this now, I am determined to find it again.

This time, I don’t think it’s on social media. Sure, social media is a part of life. It’s unavoidable. But as each day passes, I am learning to trust my intuition that maybe it’s time to make social media the passenger after years of it sitting in the driver’s seat. Maybe, for the first time in a while, it’s time for me to be the driver.

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Today there is a tightness in my chest. Like a big elastic band is wrapped under my breasts, squeezing tighter and tighter, cutting off my air. Anxiety, my old friend, how we meet again.

Career.
Life.
Business.
Family.

All these thoughts about my future swirling in my head like a violent storm that won’t seem to let up. And this isn’t new. This storm has been brewing inside me for months now, and this week, I have finally found the eye.

I’ve spent the entirety of my professional career in the non-profit sector. In fact, I remember in college being attracted to the idea of working at a non-profit because I’d be helping people. But truth be told, after over ten years of grinding away as a marketing and comms girl in the non-profit world, I’m tired. I’ve lost my passion and my spark. There was a time I couldn’t imagine my life not in this world but now, I am desperate to get out.

There was also a time where Instagram was where I’d hoped I could grow a career. Actually, for a few years I managed to do it. I was making a good amount of money in brand partnerships compared to other creators at the time, but got caught up in the world of overconsumption. I was spending more than I was making and, well, had to make changes quick. I’ve tried and tried with all of my might to revive what feels like a dead Instagram career, but I’m constantly losing followers and brand partnerships have pretty much completely dried up. Burnout resulted, and now, I just don’t experience the joy Instagram once brought me.

Plus, the social media landscape is rapidly evolving. Follower counts rarely matter anymore as algorithms have taken over to serve us content that best suits us. But truth be told, I’m tired of fighting algorithms, and I don’t have the energy to try and grow a new platform in hopes I can solicit paid partnerships elsewhere.

I’m just tired. All around. And my mental health is reflective of that. I crave a change. A new chapter.

I don’t see this part talked about enough. The messy middle. Where you’re not necessarily at the beginning, but you haven’t quite arrived yet, either. Where things feel grey and cloudy, but this yearning for something exists - you just don’t know what that is yet. I feel like no matter how much research or preparation I do, I just need to dive in and try. Try on different hats until one actually fits.

I hate that our world has made us believe that this in between period is flaky or erratic. If anything, I feel like it should be celebrated. Maybe I put some of this on my own shoulders, too. As someone who has been trying on different hats for a few years now, I always fear that people are rolling their eyes at me. “Oh here she goes again, another side hustle that’s bound to fail.” But as I sit here, I realized something: who cares? Honestly. Who cares what other people think? It’s my life. And at the end of the day, I am accountable to me, and only me. And what works for me is what I need to focus on, not the invisible noise coming from an invisible crowd.

Each hat I try and take off isn’t a failure. It’s a lesson learned. It’s market research. And I feel like the ones who dare to try and fail in public, are the ones who find success.

I spent most of the day researching what my next move could be.

Sure, sink my teeth more into my studio/event space, The Veranda, that’s a given. But that will take time. At the end of the day, I do need some form of a career to pay my bills. But this time around, I’m not necessarily chasing big bucks. I’m chasing freedom, mental wellness, and ownership over my time.

The truth is, I don’t know what that looks like yet. I’ve had some preliminary thoughts about potential careers I could tip toe into, but nothing concrete. However, I do know this: for the first time in years, I feel excited. After over a decade grinding away for someone else, the prospect of grinding for myself gives me butterflies in all the right ways.

I saw an article on Substack from a creator named Necole Kane. She says, “…you can’t have one foot in your old life and one foot in your new life and expect change. You have to fully commit to the new life.”

I think it’s time to commit.

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I started sharing my journey with mental illness years ago online and it felt like an outlet, perhaps even a way to cope. I think I was just yearning to be understood by someone at times when I couldn’t seem to understand all the big feelings I was having.

As I once again find myself navigating yet another crash out, I have debated whether or not to share it publicly for the first time. I ask myself questions like, “Will it impact my business?” or “Will people judge me?” I even wonder if people are just tired of hearing me “whine” when the world is, quite literally, on fire.

Fear. Lots of it. But… fuck it.

I think my desire to share my ongoing mental health struggles comes down to this: it helps me process the emotions and feel less alone. And, perhaps most importantly, it helps others and shows them it’s ok to be open and honest about what they’re going through, too.

I’ve been a mental health advocate for 10 years now and have been sharing my own personal journey online for eight. But as my platform grew over the years and Reddit forums gossiped, I began to feel ashamed of my ongoing battle with my brain.

“Who will want to work with me?”

“Will they think I’m trustworthy?”

It’s clear to me that while we’ve come a long way in the last decade to destigmatize mental illness, boy do we still have a long way to go. And every time I have one of these crash outs, I feel like I’m the same girl, back in 2018, taking medication and sharing her journey for the first time with the world. Scared. Alone.

This is mental illness. It’s not convenient or pretty. It’s tears. Isolation. Unbearable invisible weight. Grief. Sadness. Overwhelm. But no matter how difficult or isolating it gets, I’ll keep sharing. It’s in my blood. Storytelling is in my DNA.

So here’s my story, today…

I crashed out. It has been a slow burn over the last few months with the weight of life piling on challenge after challenge, and finally, I broke. In a meeting room alone at work I tearfully called my doctor. Luckily, I was able to get in right away.

After repeating the same story I’ve told him many times over the years, I could see compassion in his eyes. It comforted me. I told him how life felt unmanageable. How I cry at the drop of a hat. How even spending time with my friends feels overwhelming. How I’ve been isolating and avoiding as much as possible. With each sentence out of my mouth, it felt like a weight was being lifted off my chest. I had finally confronted what I had been trying to avoid for months, because the fear of having to ‘deal with it’ was too much to bear.

When all was said and done, we collaboratively decided to increase my medication to see if that would provide relief. And tonight, I took my first increased dose. I had an honest conversation with my husband about things, and we have a plan to monitor how I’m doing over the next few weeks.

While things in the moment feel ok, there are these little inklings of guilt and fear that occasionally slap me in the face. Guilt about missing work and feeling like a ‘burden’ on my friends and family. Fear that the medication won’t work or will make things worse. But if today taught me anything, it’s that sharing is healing. The relief I felt in the doctor’s office as I shared my struggles, and even the relief I feel writing this entry has felt like, in a way, I’m taking one step closer to being ok again.

And there’s science that backs this up. According to the Mental Health Commission of Canada, “Storytelling can be a powerful tool for changing thinking and reducing stigma by humanizing illnesses and issues, creating a path for those who may want to share their stories, demonstrating an openness for others to do the same, and creating culture change, one person at a time.”

And really, at the end of the day, that’s why I share my personal struggles with the Internet.

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My mind raced faster than it had in, well, a while, and my gut was making it very clear to me; go home. So I did. I packed up and drove 40 minutes home feeling defeated. However, as I reflect a few days later, I am happy I listened to my gut. As a beginner solo SUV camper, I think it’s important to listen to your senses and take things slowly, step by step. So I’m looking at my attempt not so much as a failure but as a good first step.

Despite my camping trip ending prematurely, I wanted to share a bit about my setup because I had a few DMs asking. Since Instagram only allows for so much text space, it made more sense to draft a post on good old Substack.

First things first, I did make a few investments to make the SUV as cozy as possible. 

🛏️ An air mattress specifically fitted for an SUV. I’ve also seen people use foam pads and camping mats, but I thought air might be my best bet for the comfiest sleep for me. This folds in half and has multiple air chambers to customize the size. The one I got also has inflatable pillows and risers and an air pump that plugs into your vehicle and inflates and deflates. It was a steal of a deal and so far, it’s been great for my needs.

⛺️ An SUV tent. I had a vision of waking up and seeing nature. That’s why I love the idea of an SUV tent that not only allows for ventilation, more space, and privacy, but it helps prevent bugs and brings nature into the SUV! There are SUV tents that are larger and act more as a conventional tent that I may invest in in the future, but for now, this one works.

🪟 Mesh window covers help give more privacy while allowing ventilation and help keep bugs out of the vehicle. When you’re looking to buy, check if they work for the size of your vehicle and whether they are meant for front or back windows. Front coverings have special holes for your side mirrors.

🚗 I purchased a foldable front window shade specifically for my Nissan Kicks, which unfortunately didn’t work in Bill’s Murano. So I can’t speak to this specific shade but I did see more universal ones at the dollar store (whether they work though is beyond me!) The primary reason for me getting this was privacy, but it will also help shade the car and help keep it cooler.

In the future, I do have my eye on a few things that would help when I camp in general, whether it be solo or with Bill.

🧊 A cooler. I am currently using a mid-size Coleman cooler I got a few years ago to keep my food and drinks cold, but I plan to upgrade to something that is a bit more heavy-duty, like a Yeti, or actually refrigerates, like a Koolatron.

📦 More storage. Amazon has a bunch of inexpensive, nifty little car storage contraptions like nets, bags, boxes and more. I invested in a few for my first go, but I plan on adding more to help organize my vehicle a bit more for future trips.

I’ll admit this is probably a very basic setup that could use some help to find some efficiencies. If you’ve ever camped in your SUV, feel free to comment below or DM me any tips or suggestions you may have.

Also, go check out my latest Reel on Instagram to actually see the setup in action.

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Most recently, it happened when I was going to pick up dinner on Saturday evening. As I crawled into the passenger side of my parents’ Ford Edge, I could feel the shortness of breath and nausea start to set in and began worrying that I’d quickly wind up in that aforementioned state of panic. As we got to the restaurant, I got out of the vehicle and took a deep breath of the cool air that surrounded me. I was able to make it through. That night, as the panic set in again, I went for a walk outside thinking maybe I was onto something from earlier. I was, and I slept like a baby.

But this piece isn’t about how to manage panic attacks as it may seem. This piece is about why the panic attacks are happening in the first place.

There’s this episode of Sex and the City where Carrie keeps waking up in the middle of the night in a panic but can’t seem to identify the culprit. After some internal searching, she realizes that she was so used to be in a problematic relationship that when she was in a healthy one, her body couldn’t comprehend it and resorted to distress, almost like muscle memory.

I couldn’t help but think of this reference as I try to navigate my own unknown feelings of anxiety. Ever since I stepped away from being an influencer, life has been pretty good. I am once again working on causes and initiatives that mean a lot to me. I’m doing better at my day job. I’m pursuing more education and have some pretty exciting freelance opportunities coming up that I’m thankful for. I’m sleeping better. I’m spending more time with family. Life is good. So why the fuck is my brain trying to ruin it for me?

Maybe I’m experiencing a Carrie Bradshaw. Maybe, like muscle memory, I was so used to being in a state of distress from the constant pressure of social media that now that my body can actually relax, it doesn’t know how to process it. It really makes me wonder just how bad things were for me before I made the decision to step away from influencing. Maybe it was worse than I thought and these remaining panic attacks are simply an echo from the past reminding me of how far I’ve actually come.

Nevertheless, I will persist…

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In fact, I’ve felt so calm and clear throughout the last week that I’ve barely felt called to write anything. It’s been smooth sailing, easy going, a piece of cake. I’ll take it. Because for years this is what I’ve been craving; begging for even. Clarity in life. A calling to a next step. Purpose.

She’s back, baby.

If you read my last instalment, you’ll know I made the decision to actively pursue writing, starting by taking some journalism courses at the University of Toronto. They officially start in two weeks, and I couldn’t be more excited to get into it.

I’ve also been focused on my part-time day job where I’m now entering a busy few months before the holidays arrive.

Additionally, I am resurrecting a grassroots initiative I founded in 2016, Sarnia Speaks, and am planning an event for World Mental Health Day that’s been a dream in my head since inception.

And finally, I am in the early stages of planning to start a business. I am going to remain tight lipped for now, but once things become more concrete I’ll spill the beans.

The days where I feel pangs of sadness about leaving my influencing career behind are gone. Now, when I reflect back on those days, I feel a sense of relief that they are over. Thankful, yes, always, but happy that the toxicity has slowly seeped it’s way out of my life.

Jealousy replaced with happiness.
Worry replaced with hope.
Anger replaced with excitement.
Frustration replaced with calm.

Who am I?

Will this end?

In Clarity, John Mayer celebrates his calmness but worries if and when it will end. Fitting, isn’t it? Because normally I’d end my writing with a caveat that I know there will always be rough days out there and I’m just thankful for the good days when I have them, but today I’m leaving with hope, happiness, and gratitude. That’s where I want to stay, and for the first time in a long time, it feels like it’s possible. Maybe, after all, I have found some diamonds.

The first thing I did this morning was high tail it to my Mac to perform a quick Google search to find the content in question. Within a second, there it was, detailed in an old Huffington Post article from 2016. Here’s a little excerpt:

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Julia Child released her first cookbook at age 49.

Vera Wang failed to make the Olympic figure skating team, didn’t get the Editor-in-Chief position at Vogue, and designed her first dress at age 40.

Stan Lee didn’t release his first big comic book until he was 38.

Alan Rickman gave up his graphic design career to pursue acting at age 42.

Samuel L. Jackson didn’t get his first movie role until he was 41.

Morgan Freeman landed his first MAJOR movie role at age 52.

These are all people older than me who found success later in life. Isn’t it strange that my mind would help me find this list again given the transitional state I currently am in? Here’s what’s kind of funny and kind of incredible about this: yesterday, I enrolled in a course at the University of Toronto. I’ll get to that in a second, but first, let’s recap…

If you’ve been reading my previous posts, you’ll know that I am navigating a next step in my life. I spent the last six years working to find success as an influencer, and I did, somewhat. But with my mental health struggling severely and after coming to the realization that I wasn’t enjoying it anymore, I made the decision to step away. Three weeks later, I’ve been mulling over my options of what my next chapter in life will look like.

I’ve been feeling lost. Sad. Alone. Content creation was my life for six years; it became who I was and consumed my life 24/7. In that, I realized I forgot about things I enjoyed that made me happy. Like photography. Reading. Writing. Hobbies long left at the back of a shelf to gather dust while I chased Internet fame. I became my content and inevitably a shell of who I was as a person outside of it.

Since leaving the influencer life somewhat behind, I’ve been reading - a lot. I’ve also been writing - hiya, Substack sub! I’ve started taking photos again, and spending more time with my family and husband. I’ve also been allowing myself to rest and get off my phone, something I don’t think I’ve properly done in years. But in all this much needed self-care I’ve been lost, as I mentioned, feeling like at the age of 37, I should get my behind in gear and figure out my next step. Money isn’t unlimited after all, and I currently only work a part-time corporate job. I tried writing down a list of things I am good at or knowledgeable in but nothing seemed to click.

See I’ve also been dealing with some grief over my decision to move forward from influencing. Because for the longest time, I truly enjoyed doing it. I love brainstorming fun ideas, editing my videos, and seeing people enjoy them. I love interviewing people and sharing stories that will resonate with my audience.

I was sitting on the couch yesterday basking in my misery when Bill made the suggestion that maybe I consider going back to school. So, I grabbed my phone and researched courses that were offered at the local college. Again, nothing clicked. But then I got thinking. What do you love to do? Write. I always have. As a child I often wrote stories, some of which my mom still has. I used to love writing essays in high school, and I had a brief stint as a newsroom reporter when I was 18. Not to mention, I studied broadcast journalism my first year of post-secondary education.

The plan after that first year of school was to transfer to another college and pursue journalism but due to an error from the originating school, I got waitlisted for the journalism program. I decided to go into television broadcasting thinking it would be similar, but was grossly disappointed. That, in addition to a mental health crisis, is why I ended up leaving that program and moving back home. I ended up taking a business administration program with a specialization in marketing at my local college because, as my dad would say, business runs everything. I thought it was a solid, practical decision which would in some way, still allow me to write. After receiving a three-year advanced diploma and post-graduate certificate in public relations, I entered the workforce, my dream of being a journalist long forgotten. Then, I started creating content in 2018 and the rest is history.

As I was looking at programs from different schools, curiosity led me to the website of a college about an hour away from where I currently live. I nervously typed ‘journalism’ in the search field, enter, and within seconds, there it was. A two-year journalism program, in-person, only one hour away from home. Then, I saw it. Waitlisted. Damn. Kind of poetic, isn’t it? This time, I wasn’t ready to give up.

A Google search led me to the University of Toronto’s website where I found a multimedia journalism certificate program through the School of Continuing Education. Sure, it’s not a degree. It’s not even a college diploma. But it is something. It could build on all the education and experience I have had and give me something formal so I could finally pursue the one dream I’ve had since I was little: writing. Then, I felt the click.

Storytelling.
Writing.
Making a difference.
Helping people.
Creating.

All the things I love to do as a freelance writer and journalist. Not a typical career path. Not a safe one, either. But it fits. It gives me the click. It makes sense. The ideas started swirling in my mind.

I could travel the world and report on important world events.
I could write for some of the world’s largest newspapers.
I could share stories of interesting people doing interesting things.
I can make a difference.
I could write my own book, dammit!

What about a podcast? Or re-launching my grassroots storytelling initiative, Sarnia Speaks? Perhaps mini documentaries on YouTube? Expanding my Substack to a full-blown publication? Ah!

Sure, I might not need education to do this stuff, but I feel like it can’t hurt. And yeah, maybe some of these ideas are pie in the sky. But I bet Alan Rickman was told that quitting his graphic designer job at 42 to pursue acting was pie in the sky, too. I’m not saying I’m Alan Rickman, of course, but the article above shows that it’s never too late to follow your dreams.

As kids we’re told to dream big. Aren’t we? We’re told we can do anything. But then somewhere along the line it all becomes muddied with retirement planning, yearly raises, and choosing the safer path. As our years elapse the world slowly begins telling us that no, we shouldn’t dream big, we should follow the dollar signs. Why do we stop dreaming big? Is it fear? If we didn’t dare to dream big as adults, we wouldn’t have heard of Morgan Freeman. Or Julia Child. Or Alan Rickman. We wouldn’t have computers or iPhones. Or social media. Dreaming big changes the world. And after years of taking the safer path in life, I’m daring myself to dream big. I’m daring myself to shoot for the pie in the sky.

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I always get nervous when I go into a store to shop for clothes wondering what shit show might await me in the fitting room. I’m a plus size gal, so shopping IRL isn’t usually a positive experience. Majority of the time I’m lucky to find my size in store, and even when I do, the sizing is so inconsistent it messes with my mind, self-image, and overall mood for the day. Despite my reservations, I walked into the store optimistically. I usually have good luck at Reitmans, so I felt positive. After a couple laps around the store, I took an armful of items to the fitting rooms to try on. That’s when things went down hill and fast.

One by one, the items didn’t fit; items that I thought were in my size. With every article of clothing, I became more and more defeated, and couldn’t help but pose the following question to myself as I looked in the mirror: “Am I really this big?” Now, I recognize there’s a lot to unpack in that statement. Even those of us who have worked for years to unlearn anti-fat bias still are sometimes gripped by inner fatphobia.

I’ve preached for years that sizing up isn’t a you problem, it’s a clothing problem, but damn, knowing this doesn’t make it any easier when you’re in the fitting room trying to tug an article of clothing on your body that just doesn’t want to fit. And what happens if you can’t size up? With limited size ranges in majority of stores, sizing up is considered a luxury for some folks in plus size bodies.

It was in that moment I realized the grip the size tag has on me is still strong. I was hesitant to size up, because in my mind, a bigger size meant bigger body, and I still clearly am holding on to some notion that smaller equals better. But the truth is, a size tag doesn’t determine our body size. Currently, I have anywhere from a size 12 to 24 in my closet. Despite typically wearing a size XXL or 20, I have pants that are a size large. I have a dress that’s a size extra large. And I have a pantsuit that’s a size 22. How can we possibly base our size and worth off a number or word that sits on a tag hidden away in our clothing? The answer is we can’t. And we shouldn’t. Size tags aren’t labels, they are inconsistent units of measurement. They don’t reflect who we are on the inside. Our ability to love. Our laugh. Our smile.

Look, I get it. In the world we live in, it’s fucking hard. But we need to remember in these rough moments that size is just one thing that makes up our entire being and that our being is made of so much more than just what we look like. A smaller pant size might provide a fleeting moment of comfort, but at the end of the day, happiness doesn’t come from what size pants we wear. It comes from within.

For the record, I ended up getting a pair of pants and two shirts. And yes, I sized up in the shirts. Because despite a brief moment of hesitation, I focused on my comfort over the vanity of a label. And I hope next time you’re battling the same issues in a fitting room, you can remember this too.

It’s just after noon and so far, my 37th birthday has been a great one despite the existential dread I’ve been experiencing the last few days probably because of it. How am I 37? I still feel like a damn child, if I’m being honest. It feels like yesterday I was turning 18 and celebrating being old enough to buy lottery tickets. Or turning 19 and being able to drink legally. But 37? Wowza.

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As we get older it’s easy for birthdays to become a day where you reflect on how much your life is lacking. Thoughts like, “I still haven’t done this,” or “I still haven’t bought that,” can feel like a dime a dozen as you get older, with each birthday feeling like a reminder of all the things you have yet to accomplish in your life by your age.

In my mid-twenties I really struggled with my birthday. I felt sad about getting older and wanted to cling onto my youth as tightly as I could. I think it’s because I still felt like a baby and wasn’t ready for all the shit being an adult would throw at me. As I progressed through my twenties and into my thirties, my feelings around my birthday shifted more to indifference. But this year feels weird. I feel excited and thankful for another year and for the love and support of my family and friends, but I can’t help but also a bit disappointed at where I currently am in life.

I don’t have kids. And while I am for the most part at peace with my decision in that, every passing birthday acts as a reminder of the fact that I may never experience that in my lifetime. Sure, some would say I still have a few years, as people are having children much older in life now. Heck, Meghan Markle had her first child when she was 37 and second at 39. But I am still not convinced it’s for me. I thought a switch would flip in my head eventually that would make my desire to be a mother stronger than the fear I have about it, but that has yet to happen for many reasons I’ll write about in the near future.

Am I really in my dream career? Most people at my age are well already on their way to becoming or have already become managers, directors, even CEOs. And while I know the job I do is important, it still feels like I’m flailing a bit. Furthermore, Instagram was my life for six years and gave me purpose. To have somewhat moved on from that now, I feel a bit lost. What comes next? When will I know it’s the right time to make decisions? What should I do? So many questions cloud my brain lately it makes my birthday feel like a reminder that I’m getting older and the pressure to make moves is overwhelming.

Despite all of this swirling in my head and the doubt that inevitably creeps in for a bit with every passing birthday, I stop to remind myself that life has no set path. Life truly is a journey, and instead of focusing on how uncertain it may be right now, I’m trying to focus on the excitement that awaits me. I’ve been given an opportunity not many people get in their lives: the opportunity to start over. I could move. I could find a new career. I could even go back to school if I wanted to. That’s exciting because for years, I felt stuck. I felt like change wasn’t possible. And now, it is. I control what happens next.

Now, I’m a realist, and I obviously know money is not unlimited and eventually I will need to figure my shit out. But for this moment, as I officially reach 37, I want to take a moment to pause and be thankful for the people in my life, the opportunities that I’ve had to this point, and the ones that still await me.

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Did I think this through enough?
Did I maybe just need a big break?

I am so frustrated with myself. I have a very hard time making decisions because one second I can feel steadfast in my conviction and then the next have a complete change of heart. Impulsivity is, after all, a symptom of bipolar disorder. But this? This was supposed to be different. I thought this through. I made the pros and cons list. I did what I needed to do. But still, doubt.

I want to sit here and say that despite experiencing doubt, I still feel confident in my decision, but the truth is, I don’t know if I do. I feel… dare I say, regret? Maybe it’s just growing pains. Perhaps I need to cut myself some slack for feeling this way. I mean, creating was my life for over six years so there will inevitably be an adjustment period. But regardless, I am currently sitting here and questioning the decisions I’ve made over the last few weeks.

On the other hand, maybe this is what needed to happen to help bring me back to creating on a healthier, more sustainable level. Maybe my creator journey isn’t done after all. Maybe this was a reset I needed to do in order to learn how to create boundaries and find what being a creator truly meant for me.

So can I just… return?

What will they think? Those invisible people who stalk in the shadows online sitting rent free in my mind? I am so fucking tired of giving those people so much real estate. Seriously. Part of me feels like leaving in the first place was to appease them. Why am I so fucking hellbent on appeasing these people?! What about the thousands who wanted me to stay? Why don’t I work to appease them?

I’m mad. At myself. At them. I’m slapping the keyboard as I type each letter, pursing my lips. I didn’t want to leave. I just wanted them to stop. I wanted the overwhelm to stop. I wanted my jealousy and frustration to stop. I wanted to feel happy again. I wanted to feel joy in creating again. I just wanted to create something that makes people smile. That inspires people. That makes people feel seen and like they aren’t alone.

I feel so confused. Unsure. Messy. Too much. Ha. Remember that? Too. Fucking. Much. Go read your own shit, Danielle.

You’re damn right. I am too much. I’m a fucking human being. I am passionate. I cry. I bleed. I feel emotions. I change my mind. I’m trying, day in, day out, to be the best person I can be. Perhaps thats the beauty of being a human being. We are complex, interesting little things who experience so many of these different, beautiful emotions. We change our minds, we adapt, we make due. We reserve the right to pivot in our lives and do what works best for us regardless of what other people have to say about it.

If someone came to me in this exact situation I’d tell them that the only author to their story is them, and they make the decision of what their next chapter looks like. They aren’t accountable to anyone in the story of their lives. So maybe, in this case since I know how to dish it, I need to learn how to take it, too.

I need to focus on living my life without forcing black and white decisions on myself or telling myself I ‘should’ be doing anything. This is my life. I hold the pen. I can give up… or I can keep writing in a way that I see fits best.

Anyway, let’s recap the week, shall we?

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Saturday I went to the local air show with my sister and Bill, a new experience for all of us. Bill used to take lessons when he was younger and admitted as we watched the planes come in and take off that he wished he had stuck with it. How cool would it have been to have a pilot husband? *heart eyes emoji* Chris Hadfield, the renowned astronaut who is famous for singing Space Oddity in, well, space, was there signing autographs and meeting the crowd. While I would have loved to have met him, the line was long and moving slow. My brother, sister-in-law, and nephew did brave the line though, met him, and said he was simply a delight.

The next day, we went for a little drive up north to look at a camper from Facebook Marketplace. It was cute, but unfortunately needed a bit more work than the pictures online had originally showed. Still, lovely to meet the seller and her little pup, and get out for a nice drive on a Sunday. In the evening, Bill had to work but I went over to my parents house for dinner and powerpoint night. Yes, powerpoint night. If you haven’t heard of it before, let me tell you, you are missing out. Essentially, everyone prepares a powerpoint on any given subject and presents it. At our powerpoint night, we had presentations on barbecues, animation as a career, highland cows, and farts. *face palm* Ahh, my good ol’ younger brother and his obsession with farts.

The rest of the week was spent working my day job, going on walks down by the beach with Bill and Winston, and working away on my computer on projects I am feeling very excited about. I’ve started a few new books on my Kobo, but haven’t been able to get into any of them. I have this new habit of reading the first few pages and giving up if it isn’t piquing my interest. We shall try again this week to find something that sticks.

Yesterday I formally gave notice to my management company that I am moving on from the influencer life. I’ve been with them since the pandemic, so it feels weird leaving, almost like I’m disappointing them. But I know it’s the right step. While I am happy with my decision, a new reality has set in: money. That conversation might be better suited for a separate piece, though.

While this week wasn’t too exciting, I’m basking in the calmness that has resulted from removing myself from the creator life. I’m more present with my family and friends, and have had more time and energy to revive projects I thought I had abandoned. So while I may not be trekking to fun events anymore, I’m at peace. And that’s what matters most to me.

This feeling is all too familiar for me. When I was actively posting on Instagram I would have these same pangs of fear every time I posted wondering if I was being too much and what people thought about me.

“She’s so emotional.”

“She’s erratic.”

“I wouldn’t work with her, she’s too unreliable, always struggling with something.”

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I’m paraphrasing, of course, but these are things people have actually written about me. It’s like these words have been tattooed to my skin, because, if I’m being honest, I carry them with me day in and day out. Small, flippant phrases written by strangers that have had a monumental impact on me. Anytime I think I’m being too much, I think about these words. Then, I yearn to retreat. Close myself off, like a turtle going back into it’s shell. Complacency.

I am always puzzled about the people behind these hurtful words. As someone who, as I mentioned earlier, wears her heart on her sleeve, I always want to dig deep into the psyche of the people who say and write these things, given they sit anonymously on a forum spewing vitriol about someone they don’t even know or haven’t met. I like to believe that we are all a product of our personal experiences and what is happening is an unconscious projection.

It also plays into this tired trope that women who are using their voices are nothing more than ‘emotional’. And being emotional, in this context, means you aren’t being rational or thinking clearly. Emotional is bad. As a result, everything about the woman is questioned. Her legitimacy, her ability, her personality. And this harmful stereotype isn’t just perpetuated by men; women can be just as guilty of reinforcing these false gender norms.

In my case, this has led to self-doubt and has caused me to question a lot about who I am as a person. Am I too much to love? Too much to have a friendship with? Too much to handle? I’ve spoken with my therapist at great lengths about this and she always pulls me back down to earth and helps me reframe this though process.

Why is being too much a bad thing?

Maybe being too much means you are passionate. You love wholly and completely. You are unapologetic. You refuse to shrink yourself to adhere to other people’s standards. You aren’t made to fit inside a glass box, after all. You’re meant to burst through it.

If you’ve ever been told you’re too much, this is for you. Embrace your too much-ness even when you have moments of doubt like I do, and know that it’s not you who needs to change, it’s them.

I recently launched a new Instagram account to start fresh and distance myself from the old niches I used to be tied to, breaking my week streak of no social media. It’s my attempt at a clean slate; an opportunity to start new and make my page what I wanted it to be after feeling stuck for so long.

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It feels weird. I don’t want to be an influencer, per say, but I will be honest and say I miss sharing my life and connecting with followers.

How does one share their life without inevitably falling into the category of influencer all over again? If I share a mac and cheese I like, am I technically influencing? If followers ask you to share fashion finds, am I influencing? What the heck defines the term? Influencing isn’t inherently bad after all. We’re all influenced to some extent every day of our lives. Maybe the question I need to ask myself is this: why am I so desperate to distance myself from that title?

I think a lot of it has to do with the bad rap that comes along with it. I mean, if you ask most people, I’m sure they’d have something negative to say about the profession. I’ve seen influencers referred to as grifters, snakes, predatory, liars, attention hungry, and fake amongst other things. All things I know I am not. Even in my desperate phase of taking as many paid partnerships as I could, I still knew when to draw a line in the sand and say no to certain opportunities or free products. And after being the subject of a few not-so-nice Reddit posts, there’s still a little girl inside of me that is scared of judgement.

Also, I want to create - after all, I’m a creative person - without it being my job. Once it became my job is when it became not fun anymore. And furthermore, I don’t want to be stuck to a niche like a ‘good’ creator that dictates what I need to be posting about. I’m an indecisive girly with bipolar disorder and with that comes my need to be multifaceted and have the ability to change my mind if and when I feel like it. Ultimately, I want people to want to follow me for me, not for what I can offer them. If that’s even possible.

Speaking of bipolar disorder, I can be messy, and I’m the first person to be able to admit that. I wear my heart on my sleeve and that definitely isn’t a good thing when you have so many eyes on you - especially the brands who you need to put on a good face for so they’ll want to work with you. Regardless of if we’ve made progress towards accepting mental illness in our society, there is still an unspoken stigma that haunts those of us who are public with our battles.

All of these factors are what eventually led me to want to quit altogether and distance myself from the profession. It was too much pressure to be someone I wasn’t day in and day out. I spent years trying to remove the ‘mask’ they say you wear when you have mental illness only to put it right back on towards the end of my influencing career.

I’m still confused as to how I should move forward. I know I want to write. I want to start a business (like, really bad.) And I want social media to be a part of that journey, just not the whole damn thing. Because at the end of the day, I became defined by my brand partnerships, and there is so much more to me and to life. So, am I still an influencer? Or no? I guess for once in my life, I need to lean into the grey matter and accept that perhaps there isn’t a finite answer. Whether I’m an influencer or not, being me is what’s most important moving forward.

Today’s piece is a bit of a change from my usual journal-style entries. I had fall on the brain and it felt right to write about it. So, I present to you, fellow fall lover, a listicle of my favourite things to do to help usher in the best season of the year.

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Watch shows that give fall vibes

While these shows aren’t necessarily set in the fall season, something about them just screams autumn to me. Maybe it’s the clothes, or perhaps it’s the hazy mountainous backdrops and unlimited supply of flannel. My fave shows to turn to this time of year are X-Files and Supernatural. Sure, they hit any time of the year, but perhaps it’s the spooky vibes that make watching these shows so much more enjoyable during spooky season.

Put on one of those cozy fall jazz videos on YouTube and journal

Like the yule log is to the holidays, in my opinion, those cozy jazz videos on YouTube are to fall. If you have yet to discover these illustrated or AI generated videos of cozy coffee shops set in an autumnal atmosphere with wind, rain and/or fire crackling sound effects, you are truly missing out. In fact, I have one playing right now as I write this piece. Trust me. Not only will these videos improve your productivity, they will help you bring in all the cozy, fall vibes.

Light a fall scented candle and read

Clearly, I am all about setting the ~vibes~. And getting cozy on the couch with a blanket, hot cuppa, book, and candle burning is peak fall perfection, IMO. Add cozy fall jazz video on YouTube for added vibes.

Go browse fall decor at your favourite stores

The excitement I get each August when pumpkin and harvest themed decor items hit my local Michaels or HomeSense is unmatched. In fact, it’s truly the pinnacle of the beginning of the fall season. I don’t necessarily buy anything - maybe a small rug or some form of cute pumpkin accoutrement, but it’s all about the fun of looking and feeling the fall season beginning around you.

Pay attention to the leaves changing

The entrance at the place where we take Winston for daycare starts with a long road lined with trees. I always think to myself that the true marker of fall coming is when these trees begin to change colour. Slowly, with each day we go there, the leaves change colours and begin falling. It’s an awe-inspiring experience that I look forward to every year.

Ok. Now I’m fully ready to pull the Uggs out of storage and wear my cozy sweaters and pants despite the fact that the temperature is set to rise to around 30 degrees tomorrow. And while I may want fall to be here like, yesterday, I remind myself of all the things that happen leading up to the season, as discussed, and how much I love them. It’s a reminder to slow down and enjoy the process because before we know it, we’ll be whining about snow and cold temps. Lucky for us, we get to do the same thing all over again next year.

I’m interested to know what some of your favourite things are that help usher in the fall season.

I think I’ve known instinctively for months now that it is time to call it quits if I’m being honest. Constant breakdowns, an ongoing sense of melancholy, jealousy, and overwhelm engulfing most of my days. I wasn’t focusing at my day job, my screen time was embarrassingly high, I couldn’t start or complete daily tasks, and I was miserable 24/7.

Look, I’m not going to sit here and whine about how hard I had it as an influencer, because I’m well aware of the privilege I have. Influencing isn’t a hard job, per say, but I will say it is a mindfuck. And while I won’t write a long, drawn out list of every reason the gig has spited me, I will just say this: the industry is cruel, reeks of favouritism, has an unspoken aura of competition, makes receiving constant online criticism and hate normal, and favours those in smaller, more palatable bodies just to name a few things.

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Influencing is all I’ve known since 2018 when I started my Instagram in the hopes of sharing my experience to help other people struggling with mental illness. All I wanted, or so I thought, was to be able to make money off my activism so I could pay my bills.

Then, a shift happened. Eventually, I became obsessed with numbers. My opinions and activism were stifled as to appear more brand friendly, and chasing the next partnership became my sole focus. Content was no longer about what inspired me or what felt important to say, but only about what would get likes and appeasing an algorithm that would chew me up and spit me out any chance it would get.

The truth is, I’m tired. The thought of planning Reels or trying to grow my TikTok exhausts me. Same with keeping up with the latest content ‘trends’. Brand trips seem icky to me now, and I cringe when I think about how often I said the word ‘obsessed’ in reference to a product I liked at best. When I really sit and think about it, I just wanted to fit in. I wanted people to like me. I needed validation because deep inside, maybe, just maybe, I still hadn’t learned to accept myself as I am and sought validation to soothe the heart of the little girl who still lives inside my 30-something year old self.

And to add subtext, I’m not trying to shit on influencers. Many of my closest friends are influencers and there are quite a few that I enjoy following. I’m just describing where I am at and am not making a generalized statement that applies to all influencers.

I don’t know what the future looks like for me right now or what I’ll do with my Instagram account that has over 108,000 followers. And for the first time in a long time, I’m ok with that. It feels exciting to know that for once I control what I do next and I don’t have to keep trudging on miserable because I feel like I have to. I have some entrepreneurial ventures I’m excited about. I’m really enjoying my time here on Substack. My day job is ramping up for a fall filled with fun tasks and projects. I’m reading more, and getting more of those ‘one day’ projects knocked off my list at home. It’s not to say I won’t ever miss the game - I’m sure I will - but I know that this decision is what’s best for my mental health. And that’s what’s most important. This is self-care.

So here’s to the future. One that suddenly seems a lot more exciting and bright…

And thus, a new series is born - The Week Unfolded. So, uh, let’s just get into it!

The social media break started last Friday. My sister and I went for a drive to our local beach and for the first time in a long time, I didn’t tell the Internet about it (until now, of course.) I did, however, take some photos because this sunset was too pretty to forget.

I felt nostalgic as I said to my sister, “hey, can you take a picture of me?” Because in the age where short-form video content reigns supreme, I rarely find myself taking photos anymore. In fact, my camera roll is stacked with little video snippets taken for the sole fact of creating content that would hopefully ‘beat’ the algorithm. Ah, how I’m reminded that nothing was enough. Photos are way better, IMO.

A few days later, Bill and I went down by the water to grab some fries and take a walk. Normally I’d just sit in the car and scroll on my phone scheming about how I could turn our private venture into a public event to feed the algorithm, but on that day, I said yes to the walk. It was hot, I got sweaty, but wow. How amazing it felt to walk without the need to film it and create vlog-like content. In fact, after we fed the fish at the local hatchery, I noticed the cutest little library right at the corner of the waterfront parking lot. I’d heard of ‘free little libraries’ before, but never really saw one up close. Probably because my eyes were fixated on my screen.

As I type this, my mind jolts to the stack of books I’ve either read or don’t intend to read that I’ll probably bring down there today. No judgement to these books, but this library needs some more current picks.

Speaking of reading, I’ve read 1.5 books this past week on my Kobo. That’s more reading than I’ve done in, well, a long time. Again, I was too busy on the other device, you know? My Kobo has become my bestie, and although it’s an older version and slow as molasses, I love reading on it. I even took it with me in my bag to work so I could read on my lunch hour.

I threw my car in park at the waterfront, turned on some light jazz on Spotify, and spent 50 minutes reading and enjoying the sunshine. It was a nice change of pace from lunch breaks where I’d be scrolling and constantly refreshing my email to see if any new brand partnerships came in.

All in all, this past week my mind has been so much clearer. The noise has subsided and my emotions feel so much lighter. A week in, I’m really realizing just how bad Instagram and TikTok have been for my mental health and well-being. I feel like I’ve found a new friend in Substack, and although it technically is social media, it’s just different. It’s calmer. Lighter. More supportive. I think I’ve found my new home.

So, here we go into week two. I wonder what discoveries and experiences await me…

As I’m sudsing my hair with my favourite Pantene Everyday Moisture shampoo (Keira, if you’re reading this, please don’t kill me), my gaze focused on a terracotta object dangling from the black steel shower basket stuck to the wall. There, in all it’s blurriness thanks to my lack of decent eyesight, was a scalp massager (or scrubber? I honestly don’t even know what you call it.)

I laughed to myself because I knew damn well when I purchased that off of Amazon there was no way I was going to actually use it to wash my hair every other day. But, because one of my favourite New York City influencers used one, I thought that I needed to, too. Spoiler alert: I only used it once since I got it almost a year ago.

As I’m scrubbing away not using the exfoliator or scrubber or whatever, my mind couldn’t help but think of other things I’ve purchased simply because someone on social media said I needed to.

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My gaze shifted to the Verb Ghost hair mask I got at Marshalls for what I thought was a steal of a deal. I’ve used it twice, and each time, it made absolutely no difference to my hair. While it still sits in the shower accumulating mildew, I have yet to remove it because social media said I needed it. Turns out, I don’t.

Then I thought about the Ouai products I purchased for an obscene amount because that same NYC influencer convinced me they were ‘life changing’. Again, spoiler, they weren’t and right now sit on my bathroom cupboard collecting dust with not even a quarter of the product used.

The One Size setting spray. Didn’t need it.
The Ilia stick foundation. Didn’t need it.
Anything. Charlotte. Tilbury.
Didn’t. Need. It.

So why the fuck have I spent thousands of dollars accumulating material shit I absolutely did not need? Well, for a few reasons. One of the big ones is because I was blowing my savings and any dollars I did get to ‘invest’ back into my career - i.e. buying things to share online hoping the brands would notice me and want to work with me. No, it rarely ever worked.

FOMO. Oh, FOMO. The dreaded FOMO. As if there is any product in this damn world that can actually be as good as they say it is, but sneaky advertising techniques build this sense of urgency and prestige around these products that make us believe we need it immediately. Like, if you get the Drunk Elephant bronzing drops you’re in some sort of fancy club. Like you can afford it. Like you’re important. Like you’re ‘in’. Like you can relate to the influencer who told you that you needed it and/or be on their level.

And finally, in the toxic pursuit of ‘self-care’. It took me a long time to realize that self-care isn’t just face masks and pedicures. Sure, those can be important parts of it, but that’s not truly what self-care is. Self-care is getting enough sleep at night. Drinking water. Mindfully consuming content. Taking breaks. Taking your meds. And so on. Before I realized that, I thought that the idea of ‘romanticizing’ my life and engaging in so-called self-care would help me feel better about myself both physically and mentally. And, well, to reiterate my point from above, feel more connected to the influencers that influenced me. And again, spoiler, it didn’t.

I guess if there’s one thing I want to leave you with after reading this, it’s that no matter how many things we accumulate or buy, it won’t result in lasting happiness. Sure, it provides a temporary release of dopamine that makes us feel like we’re on top of the world, but that comes to an end. No amount of Dior lip oil or Rare Beauty liquid blush is going to solve the problems we have in life. It’s just a temporary fix to get us through another day, when we’ll rinse and repeat the process again.

Now, when I feel ‘influenced’ to buy something, I think about that. Do I actually need it? Or am I chasing happiness or other form of positive emotion?

I’ll admit I am starting to miss the scroll. I miss seeing what my friends are up to and supporting their content. That’s probably the biggest drawback I’m experiencing now. But everything else? Still feels like the right call to take a break.

Ever since I deleted those apps the question that’s been rolling around in my mind constantly is, “what’s next?” What does my life look like moving forward?

I want to be level-headed and open for negotiation with myself, but my gut is telling me one thing: it’s time to move on. And let me tell you, there is a huge weight lifted off my shoulders when I allow myself to lean into that.

So, ok. Let’s say I stop being a content creator. Then what?

I can’t see myself completely deleting my ‘danielleisanxious’ Instagram account. Mainly because I’ll miss you folks too much. But I’ll have to really think about how I want to use it moving forward. Maybe it’s just a space I can share my writing, forwarding people to my Substack. But, if I’m being honest, the thought of making another ‘what I wore today’ video makes my skin crawl. Nothing wrong with those videos, but I realized I just don’t really want to make them anymore.

See that’s the thing. When I started on the ‘gram back in 2018, reels weren’t even a thing yet. TikTok wasn’t even a thing, I don’t think. It was about my writing. It was about art. And I think that’s why I found so much joy in it. But over the years, these platforms have morphed into short-form video content farms who have one goal: keep people scrolling and looped in no matter how harmful it is to their mental and physical health. Because the more people scroll, the more money they spend. And let’s be honest here, it’s about money.

I miss taking creative photos with my sister or friends to share alongside a thoughtful caption. I felt like I got something out of it. Writing, after all, is therapeutic to me. And I think that’s why I found a chunk of my core audience in the first place; because of my writing. And because my mind has been preoccupied 24/7 with how to create the next viral reel, I lost the one creative outlet I once turned to when I needed to process my feelings because I didn’t have enough time or emotional bandwidth.

As I fell asleep last night, a newly lit spark in me felt excited. Excited for some secret projects I’ll share about later, but also for the future. It was in this moment I realized I’ll probably always want to create on some level - heck, I’m a creative person. But the way I create will be much more intentional and won’t necessarily involve GRWM videos and anything and everything to try and beat an algorithm, promote an affiliate link, or share a product in the hopes a brand will notice me. My ‘create’ involves being intentional in what I put out into the universe, and if people want to follow along, great. I want to create art, not pander to an algorithm. So, maybe that’s my answer from the question posed above. Maybe I’ll do just that.

Item after item, I removed the hanger, folded it, and placed it on the bed. Before I knew it, I had three massive piles taking up my entire side on the bed. I won't lie, I looked at these piles with sadness. Each item telling a different story. Some I have worn. Some I bought with intentions to wear. But majority of these items reminded me of just how dependent my life has been up to this point on buying things for content.

For example, in order to demonstrate to people that they should just ‘wear the clothes’, which was kinda my thing on socials, I rationalized the thousands of dollars spent accumulating clothing that would only see the light of day once in many cases. In most of those cases, the clothing was worn simply for content. That’s something I didn’t share.

Maybe not so surprisingly, that's something a lot of content creators don't share; the constant consumption of clothing in order to keep up with the latest trends and to continuously be able to promote shoppable affiliate links. I follow some creators who are showing hauls of multiple items multiple times a week. It always puzzled me how they were able to do it, but really, it’s a game of buying and returning. Week. After. Week. How exhausting.

That isn’t reality. Who in the world needs that much clothing? And furthermore, how is it relatable to be wearing something new seemingly every day?

This was only one thing that I felt I needed to ‘chase’ on the hamster wheel that is being a content creator. If algorithms, constant online hate, jealousy, competition and poor mental health weren’t enough, then you had to throw constant spending and consumption in the mix. And, as I mentioned in a previous post, it got me into some trouble financially.

Deep breath, Danielle.
It’s hard to write this.

About a month ago, Bill sat me down and laid out our finances to me. And, well, from my perspective, it wasn’t good. Debt crept up. Savings dwindled. And all I had to show from it was a closet full of clothes I wasn’t wearing and a cart full of makeup and beauty products I bought to ‘diversify’ my GRWM videos.

Not to mention expensive trips I probably shouldn’t have taken to Toronto how many times in the attempt to create relationships with brands I was hoping to work with. Did it ever pan out and result in a financial return? Well, not really, I guess.

Look. I don’t want to come off as sour grapes. Because I am truly thankful for all the experiences being a creator has afforded me. I’ll never forget some of these experiences. And I have no shade towards creators. But my gosh, keeping up with the Benjamins is hard. And if I’m laying it all out on the table, the financial and mental return just doesn’t seem worth it anymore.

I’ve got tons of stuff I can talk about in regards to creator culture, but, in an attempt to pace myself, I’ll end it here. Until next time, anyway.

And for the record, here is a photo of two bags of clothes I’ll be sending off to my fave consignment store, Consign Your Curves. My closet, and mind, are feeling a lot lighter this evening.

If I’m being honest, something has been telling me for a while now that I need to shake up my life and that my body and mind have been yearning for a change. I’ve felt like this before, don’t get me wrong, but today feels different. I have a tendency to make brash decisions based on emotions and then either backpedal or regret afterwards, so I’m trying to sit with these feelings before making any major decisions.

I found myself at my computer making a pros and cons list as to why I should continue on the career path I’m on and why I shouldn’t. And while I don’t want to share this list, let me just say that the cons list - AKA why I should stop creating as a career - is about triple in size from the pros list.

But one thing that I wrote down on that cons list spoke volumes: “It’s not fun anymore.”

And that’s that. It’s not fun anymore. It causes me stress. Anxiety. Exacerbates my mental illness. Makes everyday tasks almost unbearable. Causes guilt. Anger. Jealousy.

I mean, I do like social media. I just don't really want it to be my entire life anymore. I don't want it to control everything from what I wear to what I do.

I used to think ‘quitting’ was giving up. But now I’m starting to see that maybe it’s just a new door opening to a new path forward. A new chapter in my life. Where I start something new and be thankful for the experiences I’ve had up to this point.

I'm hoping that as the days pass off social media I'll get some clarity with what the next step is. Is it to keep forging ahead? Or is it time to start a new chapter? Only time will tell.