Did It Even Happen If I Didn’t Post It?

Over the last decade, I’ve slowly stepped away from social media. Not entirely, but enough to feel the difference. I stopped participating in the noise, the outrage, the performative culture. My philosophy is simple and works for me: if something feels broken or it doesn’t enrich my life, don’t just complain. Just remove yourself.

On many levels, protecting my energy has been wonderful. Quieter. Clearer. More intentional.

But there’s been a cost.

Somewhere along the way, I lost touch with people. Social media had been the thread connecting acquaintances, distant friends, and even close ones, and when I let go of it, some of those ties loosened. That part still stings. (And isn’t it quaint to think about social media only existing to connect individuals and not to radicalize?)

Still, I knew I didn’t want to exist in a world where extremism and rage are monetized. I was done feeding it my time, my attention, my energy.

Then 2020 happened.

I had a baby the same year the world shut down. And while I could blame motherhood, it was really the stillness of that moment in time that changed me. Everything stopped. The constant moving, doing, and producing. My outlets paused or completely ended.

And I had to just be.

That was hard for me. I’ve always been someone who does. But in that forced stillness, something shifted. I started to understand the difference between being a human doing and a human being. And now, even when I am doing something, there’s a quietness to it. It’s a little precious. It’s just mine.

I still do a lot. I always will.

I just don’t post about it.

Which raises that funny, modern question: did it even happen if you didn’t share it?

A few people recently reached out, surprised to learn I had been featured in The New York Times. Of course they had no idea. I never posted about it. I didn’t even really tell people. Some friends only found out because they recognized me. 

Last night, Kris said something to me.“If you met your 17-year-old self and told her everything you’ve done, she would be in complete awe. You could pick just one accomplishment, and it would blow her mind.”

And he’s right. That perspective matters more than likes on any post ever could.

At the same time, I’ve noticed another shift since becoming a parent: connection now requires intention. We live in a world where we passively consume updates about each other—through feeds, likes, and quick comments. It feels like connection, but often, it isn’t.

So I made a quiet rule for myself: if someone wants to know me, or know my daughter, it has to happen off the feed.

Through real conversation. Through effort.

And yes, it’s a little awkward to take a relationship that has lived in likes and comments and try to move it into something more direct. Some people make that leap. Some don’t.

That’s okay.

But if you’ve ever wondered what I’m up to, if you’ve felt curious, or even just a little disconnected, this is your invitation.

I’m still here. Living, doing, becoming.

Just a little more quietly.

And a little more intentionally.

Reach out. Text me. Email me. You wouldn’t be the first person to find me again after years apart, and end up sitting across from me over coffee.