The Strange Art of Being Seen

On Instagram, vulnerability, and finding my own way.

I've been thinking a lot lately about my relationship with Instagram.

And the truth is, I'm not entirely sure what I want that relationship to look like anymore.

Which is a strange thing to admit, considering I've been using the platform for well over a decade, and have maintained a separate professional account for years. You would think by now I'd have figured out how I want to show up in these spaces.

But I haven't. Not quite.

There is something inherently strange about trying to build something professionally, share your creative work, or offer vulnerable pieces of yourself to an audience that includes people you've known since elementary school.

People who have witnessed entirely different versions of you. People you haven't spoken to in fifteen years. Former friends, acquaintances, strangers, and everyone in between.

It's a peculiar little audience, isn't it?

You don't necessarily know who's listening, who's genuinely interested, who's quietly rooting for you, or who's simply keeping tabs. And, if we're acknowledging the elephant in the room, who's watching from the shadows thinking you're being a little cringe.

I think anyone who has ever tried to express themselves publicly has probably wrestled with some version of this.

The vulnerability of being visible is one thing. The vulnerability of being visible to people who already have an idea of who you are is something else entirely.

Because what happens when the person you're becoming no longer fits the version of you that someone else remembers?

And why should that stop you?

Somewhere Between Personal and Professional

I've found myself in an interesting predicament.

My personal Instagram feels too personal to become a revolving advertisement for my professional offerings. I don't want every class I teach, every project I create, or every new endeavor to feel like another thing I'm trying to sell to people who followed me simply because they know me.

On the other hand, my professional Instagram sometimes feels too polished to accommodate the more vulnerable, philosophical, and occasionally messy parts of who I actually am.

There are things I want to say that don't necessarily belong beneath a beautifully curated photograph of someone doing yoga.

There are thoughts that deserve more than a caption.

There are experiences that I want to explore without wondering whether they align with an algorithm, a brand identity, or someone's expectations of what a wellness professional should sound like.

And perhaps most importantly, I don't want to confuse professionalism with the absence of personality.

I am a yoga teacher. I am a Reiki practitioner. I am someone who has dedicated years to studying the body, movement, energy, and the human experience.

But I am also a woman who is still figuring things out.

Those identities are not mutually exclusive.

In fact, I would argue that my willingness to acknowledge the latter is part of what makes the former meaningful.

On Support, Silence, and the People Watching

Something else I've been reflecting on is how reluctant we can be to openly support one another.

Social media has made it incredibly easy to observe someone's life without ever meaningfully participating in it.

We can watch someone's creative endeavors unfold, follow the development of their business, read their writing, or witness them take a risk without ever acknowledging that we were there.

And of course, nobody owes anybody their attention, applause, or engagement.

But I do wonder when we became so hesitant to offer encouragement.

When did expressing genuine admiration become something we feel the need to withhold?

I've tried to be intentional about this in my own life. When someone's art speaks to me, when their vision resonates, or when I see someone bravely putting something meaningful into the world, I want them to know.

Not because I expect anything in return, but because I understand what it takes to put yourself out there.

A kind word, a shared post, an inquiry, or simply taking the time to explore someone's work can mean more than we realize.

And as I continue developing my own offerings, I am learning that support doesn't always need to look like purchasing a service or attending an event.

Sometimes it's simply being curious.

Visiting someone's website. Reading what they've written. Sharing their work with someone who might benefit from it.

These are small gestures, but they remind us that behind every business, creative project, or personal endeavor is an actual human being who has decided to try.

Making Room for a Different Kind of Expression

Which brings me here.

To this little corner of the internet that belongs to me.

I've decided that I want my website, and particularly this blog, to become a home for some of my deeper reflections.

A place where I can write freely, explore ideas, share experiences, and connect the wisdom I've gathered through my work with the realities of being human.

Without having to package every thought into something immediately consumable.

Without worrying whether it's too long, too personal, too philosophical, or simply too much.

I don't expect everything I write to resonate with everyone.

I don't need it to.

The people who are curious will come. The people who connect with what I'm sharing will stay.

And perhaps there's something wonderfully liberating about allowing that to happen organically rather than trying to convince an audience to pay attention.

I want my work to be discoverable, not imposed.

I want my voice to be recognizable, not manufactured.

And I want the spaces I create to feel like an honest reflection of the person behind them.

The Practice of Showing Up

If there's one thing yoga has taught me, it's that we cannot think our way into every answer.

Sometimes we have to practice our way there.

We show up on the mat without knowing exactly what will unfold. We try something unfamiliar. We lose our balance. We discover limitations we didn't know existed, and occasionally surprise ourselves with capabilities we didn't know we possessed.

We adjust. We experiment. We begin again.

And somewhere along the way, through repetition and curiosity, we start to recognize what feels true.

I think finding my voice professionally is going to require much of the same willingness.

The willingness to be a beginner, even in spaces I've occupied for years.

The willingness to share something that might not land.

The willingness to change my mind, evolve my approach, and occasionally look back at something I've created and think, Well, that was an interesting choice.

Because I would much rather risk being a little awkward in the process of becoming than remain perfectly composed in a version of myself that no longer fits.

So, for now, I'm experimenting.

With Instagram. With writing. With the ways I share my work and the spaces in which I choose to share myself.

I don't have a definitive strategy or a perfectly curated plan.

What I do have is a desire to create something meaningful, to connect with people authentically, and to keep showing up long enough to discover what feels right.

Maybe that's enough.

After all, the practice was never about getting everything right.

It was about being willing to begin.

And here I am.