The fear of missing out.

FOMO.

Fear of Missing Out.

Something that controls whether or not you go out with your friends when your tired and not really feeling it, have that feeling to do something you don’t want to do, for the instagram photo, the facebook status, to be tagged in the photos with them to say “Hey! I have a life! And it’s so interesting and fun and I am interesting and fun! Be envious of me!”

Sometimes this pressure to get ‘likes’ on a photo – a snapshot of a moment – to somehow prove your self worth. To make yourself likeable. It pushes you to do things that you don’t want to actually do, just for that photo that you can use to get people to say that they like you.

Which is a terrible thing.

That women have pushed onto them their entire lives. To be likeable, to be nice, to make everyone like them. But never has it been more public, or recorded, this percived view of how likeable you are.

Ready to cut into you when you see the likes on your instagram stop at 19, and then compare to your friends likes’ and distect this public-private persona of yourself, how worthy you are, to attack your self worth based on these unliked projections of yourself.

And how I’m feeling today is caused because of anxiety from wanting to partake (ironically) in a meditation session beside the sea.

Something about having to get there early, spending two hours trying to do something I’ve never done before, in a group of strangers, while feeling so far out of my comfort zone I cannot even reach for a glimpse of the person I was before this to ground myself.

It’s something that I am fighting against, a mix of feeling not like myself and a loss of the confidence I have cultivated slowly over the years to be the girl at the party who doesn’t know anyone and feels shy, but pushes through that inital embarrasment quickly and promptly introduces herself to everyone, in a way I can’t describe, I would make friends and laugh, be at ease with these strangers, make friends in the sea of unknown faces.

Here, however, my lack of language means that I feel stilted, awkward, that indescrible ability shrinking away to a place I am not sure I can retrive it from.

I wonder, if, like an unused skill, it will vanish completely to be something I used to be able to do.

Someone I used to be.

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