'Tis the Season to Skip Social

Have you ever taken a break from social media?

I'm sort of embarrassed to admit this, and for the sake of humanity, I hope I'm in the minority here, but the truth is that I have most likely logged into Facebook every single day since I got Facebook in the summer of 2005. That's nearly 15 years of social media on the daily. And I have a lot of mixed feelings about that.

I never really felt that bothered by my phone or social media usage until Apple introduced Screen Time reports. When I saw those reports, I was appalled and immediately defensive. That can't be right. I left my phone on to read a recipe while I cooked dinner. I used my maps app while driving today. I was searching for useful after-school activities on Pinterest. This report is flawed. But week after week, the results kept coming back the same. Averaging between 3-4 hours A DAY on my phone. That's a whopping 21-28 hours PER WEEK. I could work a part time job in that amount of time. I could read several books. I could run a hundred miles. I could build 50 block towers and do 20 puzzles and sing 30 songs with my kids. I could write more. I could sleep more. I could have more conversations. I could stop comparing myself to everyone else. I could stop measuring my worth in likes. I could set a better example for my girls.

While it's true that I do use my phone for useful things like recipes and maps, it's also true that more than half of my usage tends to be on social media apps. But why? For me, it's mostly FOMO. It's been a lifelong plague for me, that Fear of Missing Out. It's why I say yes to every invite and attend every event. What if I miss something fun? What if someone tells a hilarious story? What if everyone is making memories without me? And on social media, what if I miss Ashley's post that she's expecting a baby? Or that tear-jerking article that Jennifer shared? Or those adorable photos of Emily's kids in their matching sweaters?

Lately though, I've been considering the notion that what I'm actually missing out on, are the things right in front of me. What if I miss Maddie's rockin' new dance move? Or Mackenzie's adorable voice singing to her baby dolls? Or a chance to connect with my husband? What if I look back on these years and calculate that 25 hours per week equals 1,300 hours per year, and 1,300 hours divided by 24 hours in a day equals 54 DAYS PER YEAR spent on my phone. Days I will never get back.

Anyway, all this to say, I'm going to try something new (to me) this Christmas. I'm going to delete my social media apps and check out completely for a week. Will the world fall apart? No. Will I miss some sweet photos of your kiddos by the tree? Yes. I'm sorry in advance that I won't be here to comment on their precious grins and I will be sad not to see your photos. But I won't be sorry for those extra hours spent playing on the floor and enjoying time with my family.

Merry Christmas, and I'll "see" you in January!

The Critic

It’s my birthday today!  If you know me well, you know how much I love birthdays. I love to celebrate, and I love to be reflective and nostalgic. Facebook “memories” around this time of year are my favorite. They’re full of quotes like this one: “Casey Cooper is… thinking this might be the best week ever.” on October 22, 2007 at 9:12am. [Remember when your Facebook status had to start with “ is…  ”?? Haha! Vintage Facebook.]

Recently, a memory popped up with a link to my old forgotten blog, when I invented the 3.1-31-31 challenge for myself last year. And that blog link really had me feeling nostalgic.

Last fall, I decided to stop writing on my blog after my “31” posts sort of flopped, and someone told me I was just a wannabe who would never been a legit blogger. She said I was a mediocre writer with intentionally bad grammar and boring topics. No one cares about your little mommy blog, she said. It’s a waste of time and an embarrassment that you’re still doing it. You don’t have the talent and you don’t have anything valuable to share.

I felt defeated and disheartened. For years, I’d found joy in sharing my writing, but suddenly blogging was dead. Instagram was queen. Influencers were younger and cooler than bloggers. I bought into my critic’s narrative, even though it contradicted all the compliments I’d received over the years. To this day, I still receive thank you’s for writing about vulnerable topics like my miscarriage. Perhaps, in the face of the critiques, I might have considered the fact that I’m not a self-help guru. I’m just an average parent going through relatable parenting struggles. I could have simply altered my topics and continued on with my happy little blog. Instead, I bought into the notion that I am actually a terrible writer who should absolutely stop sharing her writing altogether.

But the thing is, my entire post-collegiate adult life is on this blog. It’s been a labor of love. I started it when we moved to Austin and when we bought our first home. I wrote about my husband, our first baby, being a mom, the loss of our dog, and heck, even pumping at work. I explained my decision to leave my job. I got political and vulnerable and I tried to be inspirational. I attempted to be educational and I became Pinterest famous. My miscarriage gave my friends community, my VBAC story gave them encouragement, and my piece on restlessness was relatable to people in many stages of life. Then, despite all these great posts and memories, my posts about health/running were received with mediocre enthusiasm so I decided it was The End. The End of my blogging career. Forever.

But, is it really The End? Do I want it to be over? I’m not sure. So here I am again. I don't have aspirations to be a famous writer, but I do enjoy sharing my writing with my small community. And I'm going to be a bit more cautious when I listen to my Inner Critic.