I’m very good at hitting the unfollow button on Facebook. It’s a gift. I’ll be scrolling, absent-mindedly consuming, when suddenly I’m mentally arguing on behalf of the person they didn’t consider in their hostile—usually politically motivated, often passive-aggressive—post. That’s my cue. About face. Reverse scroll. Time out.
My body gets keyed up fast—like ripples under the surface. I’ve learned I can’t let too much slide. One or two posts slip by, and I’m carrying it around for hours. So I cut it off early. Control the input. Protect the nervous system.
What I really want is an exorcise-the-demons button on the TV. If I see one more ad telling me to ask my doctor about a GLP-1, I might start dialing regulators—maybe someone in Europe, since I hear they don’t allow pharmaceutical ads. I’d vote for that in a heartbeat.
Raising a daughter while trying to nurture a steady sense of self and body image is exhausting to field the “What’s that?” questions. And then there’s the military tank toy at Dollar Tree. I’m over that, too.
We’re not a big TV family, but during the Olympics, we’ve had it on. Watching her eyes lock in as trailer after trailer flashes violence—everything but the actual blood—unsettles me. Hockey fights disturb me. Two people pounding fists into each other’s faces while the crowd roars with gladiator energy? I don’t get it. When she asks, I say, “I don’t understand it, and I don’t think it’s okay.”
I don’t want to be desensitized to what gets marketed as normal—bloodshed, fighting, fat phobia. I don’t want that slipping in unnoticed.
And the truth is, this is the same instinct as the unfollow button. Choosing what enters the house. Choosing what enters my head. Curating the atmosphere—not perfectly, not obsessively—but deliberately.
Even writing about it gets my blood pumping, which is not ideal before bed.
So my new routine doesn’t include nighttime writing. It’s lights out at 10:30. Evenings for reading and quiet. Early mornings for work, writing, and running. Less static at night. Fewer competing stations.
I’m not firing on all cylinders yet, but I know what needs to be done.
Unfollow. Turn it off. Dim the lights.
Tomorrow is another day. Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 