Instagram vs. Reality: The Truth Behind the Scenes of a Curated Wonderland

I recently took a trip to the UK and Europe for Christmas in an attempt to transmute trauma into triumph. 

While I was able to visit many gorgeous places and, of course, see some of the most beautiful Christmas lights in the world, my Instagram feed only showed the picturesque moments without revealing the reality of what was happening behind the scenes.

Behind the Scenes

Behind the scenes, a different story was taking place.

To make a long story short, I developed severe PTSD in 2020 after the sudden death of my mother during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic. 

I witnessed my mom going into cardiac arrest while having a stroke the day before we went into lockdown, and she passed away 5 days later.

I had previously struggled with panic attacks and anxiety earlier on in my life, but my symptoms had subsided quite a bit after getting sober during my second semester of senior year of college.

However, the combination of the loss of my mom, Covid, and violent riots in my home city proved to be too much for me, and I completely cracked.

I became obsessively fearful about my blood oxygen levels, constantly wearing my pulse oximeter to ensure I stayed in the 95-100% range. 

I socially distanced for months longer than I needed to because I was paranoid that if my mother could die so unexpectedly, I could too.

I also fell back into a toxic relationship, struggled with severe insomnia that lasted for months, and almost checked myself into a recovery center because I kept calling 911 thinking I was dying during my panic attacks.

Not exactly a good time in my life.

Then and Now

So, how does this backstory relate to my trip?

Well, I didn’t fly on a plane from 2020 to 2022, until my friend invited me to a conference with her, which seemed like the opportunity of a lifetime.

Unfortunately, I had a serious health crisis going on at the time due to a prednisone injury to my esophagus that affected my ability to swallow and breathe.

No one had ever told me that blood oxygen level drops significantly in the air due to reduced oxygen in the cabin.

So, when I checked my pulse oximeter, I was horrified to see the number 88 flash on the screen—the number all of the Covid fear-mongering articles said could be deadly.

Of course, at that moment, I felt as though I had lost my ability to breathe and fled to the back of the cabin where I promptly told the flight attendants I needed oxygen or I would die (and I genuinely believed that). 

What Happened?

I was the girl who studied public affairs journalism with the hopes of becoming a war correspondent. 

I was the girl who traveled for months on-end with a school-sized backpack and two outfits, who slept on rooftops in foreign cities and in hammocks in the backwoods.

I was the girl who almost broke up with her post-college boyfriend for even suggesting that he wanted me to live comfortably and accused him of undermining my calling to live in a cave in the Middle East.

I was the girl who was fearless.

Until I wasn’t anymore.

Healing in Stages

It took me a year and a half to get the courage to get back on a plane again after the Arizona fiasco. I took a 5-hour flight to Seattle that culminated with me hyperventilating and breaking down to the flight attendants. 

So, this winter, when I fell ill before my trip overseas and the doctors found inflammation in my lungs, I didn’t think I would have the courage to go.

I ultimately sucked it up and made it on my 1-hour connecting flight to Atlanta, but at the airport, I told my friend I didn’t think I would be able to get on the plane to go to London and almost called my dad to come get me.

But after taking some time to pray, take more NyQuil, and drink some hot green tea to open my lungs and calm me down, I swallowed my fear and boarded the flight.

Once we arrived in London, I didn’t know the trouble that awaited me. 

Two days into the trip, my friend and I were awakened in the middle of the night by the sound of a blaring fire alarm. Due to an influx of guests in the stairway, we reached a standstill—paralyzed by the fear of a fire engulfing us all looming as we found ourselves trapped inside and unable to move for what felt like a short eternity. 

Before I lost my mom, a situation like that wouldn’t have affected me much.

But after witnessing her have a heart attack and stroke that took her life shortly after taking a brisk spring stroll together, every moment something goes wrong, it feels like a near-death experience.

Now, I don’t fear death so much as I fear dying before I have completed the mission that I believe I was placed on this earth to fulfill. 

Dying before getting married.

Dying before giving birth.

Dying before writing the books I want to write.

Dying before doing all the things I know I was brought into this world to do.

But I have never thought about losing my life more since my mom lost hers.

Thankfully, it was a false alarm, but by the time we reached the hotel lobby, we found a man bleeding from his skull and the hotel flooded with policemen. The man, a hotel guest, had been brutally assaulted. 

Triggered again.

Accepting Our Real Selves

However, we must confront the fact that trauma changes us.

Healing is possible, but the truth is, you can never go back to the person you were after a tragic event occurs. 

As a culture, we overuse the word “trigger” and mock Millennials for claiming to experience it, but as someone still in recovery from PTSD, I can tell you how severe these triggers are.

In a moment when you experience a PTSD trigger, all logic is thrown out the window. In that moment, you cannot differentiate between your emotions and reality. 

Your body is screaming at you and telling you that the traumatic experience is happening again, so your stress hormones react as though the event is occurring for the very first time.

Essentially, you have to relive the worst moments of your life over and over and over, which can make creating new positive memories that much more difficult.

And so is the inner war—struggling to accept these new weaknesses when you were once so strong and brave.

But facing your fears step by step can help you overcome your trauma and become the bravest version of yourself.

Thankfully, the trip proved to be an opportunity for me to overcome some of my fears, and I definitely feel like I am getting closer to the adventurous, fearless woman I used to be—a brand new woman who is much stronger and more resilient than ever before.

Context Matters

While it might not always be appropriate to share the most intimate parts of your life and story on social media, I do believe context matters. 

I never want anyone comparing their life to mine based on the curated highlight reel without also acknowledging the realities of the struggles I had to face to capture those moments. 

Behind every carefree smile are sleepless nights, irrational terrors, heartbreak, grief, disappointment, and fear of the unknown.

Since I’m an aesthetic girl and love curating a gorgeous feed, I also understand the importance of being raw and real, especially online, so no one mistakenly assumes I haven’t suffered too.

Moving Forward

Today, the youth of the world are experiencing the highest rates of anxiety and depression in history, and much of it is linked to social media use. 

While I believe the benefits can outweigh the cost, collective contributions are required to shift the social media landscape from a fantasy world of perfect feeds to sharing the beauty and the breakdowns of our lives. 

And it starts with each one of us committing to share our most beautiful photos and the raw stories behind them.

Our glamour shots and honest posts about our struggles.

Our highlight reels and our darkrooms.

Only then can we embrace social media—and the world at large—for what it was always meant to be: wonderful, terrible, awe-inspiring, heartbreaking, lovely, and uncertain. 

And what a wonderful world that is.