I’m all over the place. One minute I’m unhappily listening to the buzz of a tree-ripping machine on the neighboring property; the next I’m scrolling threats on social media and asking myself, when is enough enough? There’s a heavy weight on me—something’s got to give. It feels like waking from open-heart surgery: anesthetized, aware, but unable to move or speak—only able to hear and feel.
I need to feel in control again. This exposed feeling on social media is like standing on the edge of a cliff: one part of me pulls back while another part pushes forward, teetering over that terrifying space as my body races with the thought of falling, even though I’m not falling.
I’m both losing and finding myself. What a conundrum. Every small decision feels like walking a tightrope between preserving my sanity and exploiting it. On TikTok I felt the power of my words—the space they created for people to gather, grieve, and feel heard. I’m proud of that.
But it wasn’t all good. Alongside the connection came toxicity: negative messages and misinterpretations that made me rethink being there. I realized I needed to control the content, even if that meant taking two videos with 30,000 views down. The visibility was exhilarating—and destabilizing. Ninety-five percent of comments were positive, but the five percent that weren’t felt like echoes from an abusive relationship, so I pulled the plug. Stopped the chaos. Now I’m coming down from that rush.
I’m over people, over exposure. I want to burrow—become a mole, disappear into a small safe hole with my family and a few mole friends. No internet. No big conversations. Just quiet, a couple of worms, and the occasional worry that a gardener will flood my spot.
As you can tell: I’m a bit down, scattered, and craving some real quiet. So that’s what I’ll do.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 