I started writing a totally different blog this morning. One about why I don’t have Instagram because it’s all so fake and that shit is toxic and blah, blah, blah.
Negative, blame-shifting, self-entitled crap.
But I think I need to share the real reason.
I don’t have Instagram because I used to have an eating disorder.
I have avoided Instagram for this long, because there is something inside of me that knows I can’t handle it. Even though my intelligent mind tells me it’s fake, and filtered, and not really real, the mind that was obsessed with being perfect – she feeds off of that shit.
She stares at all those pretty pictures and wants it all.
The body, the adoration, the perfect Eka Pada Rajakapotasana. She wants everything her counter-part knows she doesn’t need.
And even though she hasn’t been around for a very long time, I can feel her sniffing about.
I feel her every time my YouTube channel subscriber numbers don’t go up. When that post I thought was really funny didn’t get much of a reaction. When my yoga teacher friends tell me they had loads of students in their class that day.
She’s a real bitch. I hate her and she hates me.
She hates that I do yoga every day to keep her out. She hates that when I meditate or walk through the park, I never even think about her.
She hates it every time I post a new video to the channel where my top falls and you can see my gut. She mostly hates that I don’t care.
I don’t care about her any more.
She can tell me that this person is a better yogi than me, has more followers and an even skin tone. She can throw negative bullshit in my face, because I’ve learnt how to block it, I know it doesn’t serve.
I own her ass. And she can’t do anything to me that I don’t allow.
So, we’re going on Instagram. And I’m going to post about yoga, and my dogs, and life and learning.
She might show up.
She will show up.
But you can be damn sure that I’m gonna cut that bitch down!
Wanna see what I’m up to?