Life behind the screen as a very sensitive human
An essay for those wondering what it’s like to be deeply intuitive, overly sensitive, and seriously allergic to hustle culture, and still show up online anyway.
Some people run marathons or even climb mountains.
Some people go to social events after work. Yikes.
I, on the other hand, open my inbox and need a nap in a nearby forest.
My nervous system seriously isn’t built for the pace of this world. The fast replies, the fast scrolling, the fast opinions. The overwhelming amount of information, content, and people. Everything happens in an instant these days. Simultaneously, I sit with a feeling of not being able to keep up. I feel like a 90-year-old swamp witch from the 1800s who accidentally time-traveled into the 2000s and now has to decode robot-speak and weird glowing devices for a living.
I’ve tried to keep up. I’ve scrolled past endless “how to get your engagement up” videos, written posts with my heart in my throat, drawn with a pounding feeling in my stomach and a little voice in my head yelling: faster, faster, faster! I’ve posted pieces that left me feeling exposed, like I’d peeled off my skin and held it out for inspection before I’d even studied it myself. And then I’ve sat in silence, staring at a screen, waiting for a number to tell me if my art and voice mattered. If I mattered.
But now I’m done. I actually was a while ago, when I went MIA on my Instagram account for a year. That year was highly needed, and it absolutely smashed my engagement. Think you’ll get me back in the hamster wheel that easily, Zuckerberg?
It turns out, I just don’t do well in the economy of algorithms. I think some might be more well-equipped for it. But the sensitive ones? No, no. Give us a cave, 5 to 7 business days to reply, and a pause button to push, and maybe we won’t cry or scream at you for demanding too damn much (even though “much” might only be a simple reply to a text).
I’ve always been very sensitive and intuitive. I always cried too easily and over every little thing, both good and bad. I was told I had too many emotions. Too many thoughts. I feel everything – other people’s moods, the weight of words left unsaid, the ache in the air when something shifts.
People call that a gift. And sometimes it really is. But other days, it feels more like carrying a very loud radio that only picks up static and everyone else’s moods. Not very useful.
But what do I actually do when the algorithms and constant notifications fry my nervous system?
I’ve chosen to live behind a screen in a world of algorithms, endless notifications, and information. Which might sound very strange. But somehow, something as intangible as “the internet” makes me feel seen, connected, and free.
There’s great joy, wonderful people, and so much inspiration, beauty, and wisdom to be found on the internet. But you can’t just open it up and then it’ll be lovely. You need to sort through the weeds and plant your own garden. Choose which accounts make you laugh, inspire you deep in your soul, find soul connections, eternal wisdom, whimsical and wonderful art, or whatever makes you feel at peace. That has helped me immensely.
Sometimes I also log off for days just to remember how my own voice sounds without the echo of everyone else’s. It can be so hard to focus or create your own voice and art in a world where everyone’s opinions, thoughts, and comparison (!!!) take up so much space. I’m also highly addicted to the “focus” function on iPhone. Half the day it’s set to not disturb me, and only calls come through the barrier I’ve built between me and the online world.
I also ignore messages. Hehe. I simply turn off the noise. I throw my phone, my laptop, and my iPad into my closet like they’re on a timeout. It helps. I highly recommend it. It also helps to do that if you’ve sent a risky text. If you know, you know.
I choose to only answer messages when I have the energy. Sometimes it takes 5 to 7 business days. My friends know that if they call twice, I know it’s serious, and I’ll pick up. Otherwise, I’m probably under a blanket talking to myself and drawing little creatures that don’t exist, or in a nearby forest looking for trolls, or cooking a lovely meal, or lying on the floor completely exhausted and overstimulated. Because that’s just what happens.
Something that also makes being an “online” artist much easier: I don’t create on command. It’s physically impossible for me. I have drafts on my iPad that are 2 or 3 years old, because I only finish things when it feels right. When it comes from something real, some deep ancient place inside of me, based on a feeling, an event, a book, or a conversation I’ve had - not because someone online said “post 3-5 times a week.”
I do find a lot of inspiration in the world. In sentences, feelings, experiences, music, books, people, art. But I always return to my own little cave to make sense of it. That’s where the magic happens. When I’m alone. Quiet. Not trying to be seen. Just trying to feel it all.
I’ve also found my why. Why I do what I do, and why I dream of the things I do. First of all, I don’t write or draw to be liked. I write and draw because I have to. If I didn’t, all these feelings would explode inside of me like confetti in a bottle. And yes, I share it online. But not because I want to perform. Because it’s part of how I make sense of the world, how I process emotions and life in general, and how I connect. And because somewhere out there, I know someone like me is reading my words or seeing my art. And maybe they need it. I’m not interested in hoarding my art. I’ll share it generously, because I want to make this world a better place - the only way I know how to.
Well, we’re nearing the end and I’m starting to realize… I’m not sure this is an essay with a conclusion. I just wanted to share and connect with those of you that feel the same way. I can honestly say: I’m tired of performing. I’m still figuring this online world out. I don’t have a system or a strategy. I go by the trial-and-error method.
If you’re here, reading this… maybe you feel the same way.
The feeling of stress. The misplacedness (not sure that’s a word). The constant feeling of being bone-tired. The feeling of never being able to keep up. The constant fear of being forgotten if you’re not up to the pace of the rest of the world. The sensitivity that you try to run from, because it doesn’t have a place in this world.
But it does have a place in the world. Right here in your own little cave. You’re not alone. And if you ever feel alone, come visit me in my little cave - I’ve made room for the both of us.
Oh love. If you’re here, reading this, feeling the stress of the modern world too. Hi. You’re not too much. You’re not doing it wrong. You can absolutely require a cave, a pause button, and 5 to 7 business days to function like a person.
Just curious… have you built your cave yet?
Beautiful! Thank you .
🩷🩷🩷🩷