Instagram VS my real body confidence : PART 2

A while back, I wrote a blog piece that spoke somewhat honestly about my body confidence; “Instagram VS my real body confidence”. 

P.S it’s a pile of shit so maybe don’t spend that much time reading it.

I had a little re-read myself and realised there’s a lot that I wanted and should have said but never did out of shame and embarrassment ironic really considering this is supposed to be an honest and open blog. 

But we all have demons we try to hide and I know I have many that I keep in the closet of my mind – I am working on it though, slowly. 

Now the real truth is my personal Instagram has always been an incredibly easy way to mask the way I have been really feeling. Social media really is fake. I have never edited my pictures to look a different way but in a way I’ve been able to do that emotionally. 

For so long I used my Instagram to share this happiness I never felt organically. Don’t get me wrong there were some happy times but for a couple of years now I have been going through some dark depressions and an unbelievable amount of mental breakdowns to the point that they have been daily for almost a year now. I’ve realised that this is such a normal thing that really isn’t talked about enough.

There is so much that I could share through social media that I don’t, but for a while I was sharing the holiday snaps, the travel and the bikini pics that were a cover up behind the huge insecurities I was trying so hard to overcome and still am trying to overcome.

“Instagram was an easy way for me to share something that I thought I should have been feeling, an easy way to receive social acceptance and ‘self-satisfaction’ without ever feeling satisfied because I could never see an end with happiness in sight, or not with myself at least.” 

I just couldn’t face myself, I struggled to look at myself and celebrate the small victory’s like getting up healthy in the morning. I can’t tell you how many days I have woken up and thought to myself why.

I was incredibly depressed, sorry I am still depressed and am still learning how the fuck to navigate PTSD and what that continues to entail. It’s exhausting, while I continue to exhaust myself in a bid to stay away from my mind and that’s why it’s been so easy for me to hide behind the life Instagram can portray. 

Unfortunately, I feel like with any mental illness especially for females our appearance takes the brunt. We’ve been told that if we look a certain way and fit into a certain category only then will we be socially accepted. Some lads will argue it’s not them but I’ve had male friends literally point out as and when I’ve lost weight because they think I want to hear it and that I can take it because I’m strong enough (that’s a direct quote) – but you know what I’m not. I fucking remember every single comment you think Is acceptable to point out. 

I remember the first time a boy said I had ‘hairy legs’, to the guy I dated who thought it was ‘funny’ to point out my insecurities and the mate who said my double chin was gone and then my dad who said I was gaining weight so that I would go back outside and clear the garden because he was too fucking lazy to do it himself. 

I’m not strong enough to digest this useless information on-top of the mental battle I go through every single day. It annoys me that it’s just normal behaviour to constantly have to try and tell myself that I can get through the day and that I don’t look as bad as I think. 

So for a long time I used Instagram as a way to gain some self satisfaction like some people get from downloading tinder just to see how many swipes they have – there’s nothing wrong with it, it’s just sad that we have to look elsewhere to find something in ourselves that we can’t see on our own.

I’m not saying that I have the exact same mindset now because I have learnt a lot about myself since the first time I felt unlike myself.

So here’s to being a bit more truthful, to finding honesty in ourselves, learning to love the things we hate to see and to realising that being socially accepted doesn’t define your ‘beauty’ status, because if we all looked the same then life would be pretty boring.

Love always, ya gal Sammy x