One of the hallmarks of anxiety is indecision. I choose to view my questioning approach, my careful consideration, my research, my planning and my preparation as positive traits – most of the time. But sometimes all this weighing of pros and cons leaves me in a state of perpetual uneasiness. In truth, I am often motivated by the fear of making a wrong decision, by the potential of regret or hurt, by the need to please or the need to be perfect, all happy companions of anxiety. And when I finally make a decision, I am often ambushed by self-doubt so that I start the questioning all over again. It’s exhausting.
In order to quell such anxiety, I am making an effort to decide once and move on. This is how I came to a recent decision about the role of social media for me. I’ve enjoyed some aspects of Instagram – mostly the community and the creativity. Thankfully, I’ve not been driven by the desire for “likes” or “followers,” but still I found myself in that space every day, often multiple times. I felt the need to post every day and play nicely, commenting and liking the photos of friends, following links to read more, replying, and keeping up with my feed. I wondered what the payoff was for the time I spent on Instagram. And when I really thought about it, I couldn’t come up with a decent reason, mostly it just seemed like something I "should" do. I am not good at moderating my behaviors, tending to be an all-or-none kind of person. And so, as with drinking alcohol, it just seems easier to abstain. I followed the steps to “temporarily disable” my Instagram account, figuring I’d give it a few months and then re-evaluate. It feels good to decide, even if it turns out it was the wrong decision.
The one thing from Instagram I do miss is joining in with ViewFinders and their monthly theme. I adore the work of these talented, caring and creative women. The theme for September is “home,” and I’ve decided to join the fun right here.
I feel at home on the back roads and rural routes of Virginia, pulling over for the occasional goat.
I feel at home visiting my childhood friend in North Carolina, where things are modern and minimalistic.
I feel at home sitting in the living room of my downtown artist friend, where things are quirky and creative and there are cats who pose.
I feel at home in the studio of my writer friend, where things are vintage and homage is paid to history and nature and books.
I feel at home on our screened-in deck that overlooks our own private forest, where there are plants and good books to read, candles and comfy chairs, and evening breezes. And there is homemade pumpkin soup for dinner.
I feel at home again in my own skin where it is good to be me.