I’ve always found it a bit ironic, you know, the way I obsessively check how many likes my meditation selfie gets. There I am, cross-legged on my yoga mat, eyes peacefully closed, caption reading “Finding my center #innerpeace #mindfulness” – and then I spend the next two hours refreshing the post to track its performance.
God, that’s embarrassing to admit.
But let’s be honest here – I’m not alone in this weird contradiction, am I? We’re all out there preaching about disconnecting while simultaneously tracking our follower counts like they’re vital signs.
I remember the exact moment this paradox really hit me. It was about three years ago, during this 10-day silent meditation retreat I’d signed up for. I’d been banging on to everyone about needing to “reset” and “reconnect with myself” for months beforehand. My Instagram stories were full of posts about digital detox and the value of silence. I even bought a special journal with “Journey Within” embossed on the cover (£28.99 from that fancy stationery shop – ridiculous, I know).
Day one at the retreat, I handed over my phone like I was donating a kidney. The staff member – this serene-looking woman with impossibly clear skin – smiled knowingly as I asked, “Just to confirm, there’s absolutely no way to check messages, right?” like some kind of digital junkie negotiating my fix.
“That’s the point,” she said, sliding my phone into a labeled envelope.
The first three days were actual hell. I’d find myself reaching for my phantom phone about 400 times an hour. During meditation sessions, instead of focusing on my breath like we were instructed, I kept composing the post I’d write when I got my phone back: “10 days of silence changed me forever. Here’s how…” I was literally planning the engagement strategy for my spiritual experience while still in the middle of it.
On day four, during an afternoon meditation, I had what our guide might have called a breakthrough but what I’d call a proper moment of mortifying self-awareness. There I was, supposedly doing the inner work, but actually mentally calculating how many followers I might gain from this spiritual journey if I played it right.
I started laughing – which, by the way, is frowned upon in silent meditation halls. The guide shot me this look that somehow conveyed both compassion and “shut up” simultaneously. But I couldn’t help it. The absurdity was too much. I was seeking validation for… not seeking validation. Talk about missing the bloody point.
Tom (my therapist – yes, I have one, and yes, he’s worth every overpriced penny) says this contradiction is pretty much the defining condition of our generation. We’re desperately seeking authentic experiences while simultaneously packaging them for external consumption. We want to be present, but we also want everyone to know just how present we’re being.
“It’s like you’re performing mindfulness rather than practicing it,” he told me during our session after I got back from the retreat. I remember feeling personally attacked by this observation – which, of course, meant he was spot on.
This isn’t just a me problem, though. Look at any wellness influencer’s feed. There they are, journaling about gratitude while perfectly positioned near a window with ideal natural lighting. Or meditating on a cliff at sunset – who brought the photographer along for that spiritual experience, I wonder?
I’ve got this mate, Sarah, who’s recently gotten into what she calls her “spiritual fitness journey.” Last month she invited me to this sound bath healing session that cost £45 for the privilege of lying on the floor of a community center while someone banged gongs around us. Before we even got through the door, she was setting up her phone against her water bottle to film her arrival for her Instagram followers.
“Don’t you think it’s a bit… contradictory?” I asked her. “Filming your spiritual experience for social media validation?”
She looked at me like I’d just suggested we kick a puppy. “It’s not about validation,” she explained, adjusting the angle of her phone. “I’m just sharing my journey to inspire others.”
Right.
To be fair, though, who am I to judge? I’m just as bad. I’ve got a meditation app that gives me little achievement badges for consistency. I literally get a dopamine hit from an animated shooting star because I sat still and breathed for ten minutes. And God help me, I care about those digital stars. I once meditated at 11:58 pm, nearly falling asleep sitting up, just to maintain my “21-day streak.” Nothing says inner peace quite like frantically squeezing in mindfulness before a midnight deadline.
The thing is, I actually do feel better when I meditate or journal or go for walks without my phone. These practices genuinely help. But then I go and corrupt them by turning them into content, or achievements, or ways to impress people at dinner parties. “Oh, you’re stressed? I meditate for 30 minutes every morning, it’s literally changed my life.” (Conveniently leaving out the fact that I spend 20 of those 30 minutes making mental shopping lists and thinking about what to caption my next post.)
My most ridiculous moment – and I can’t believe I’m admitting this – was probably when I found myself redoing my “casual” mindful walking video three times because the lighting wasn’t flattering in the first two attempts. There I was, supposedly engaging in a practice all about being present and accepting what is, while rejecting reality because my double chin was too visible from that angle. The irony was completely lost on me at the time.
I’ve been wondering lately why we do this to ourselves. Why can’t the private experience be enough? Why do I feel this compulsion to broadcast my personal growth like it’s a product I’m selling?
Part of it, I think, is that we’ve been trained to document everything. Life doesn’t quite feel real unless it’s been captured, filtered, and shared. The external validation has become proof that our experiences matter.
And there’s something else, something a bit deeper and more uncomfortable. For me at least, there’s this fear that if I do all this inner work and nobody knows about it, it somehow counts less. Like that old philosophical question about the tree falling in the forest – if I become more mindful but don’t get any recognition for it, have I really changed at all?
Tom says this is because we’ve confused self-improvement with self-promotion. We want the benefits of spiritual growth, but we also want the social capital that comes from being seen as someone on a spiritual journey.
About six months after my meditation retreat fiasco, I decided to try a different approach. I deleted my social media apps for a month. Not permanently – I’m not a monster – just a temporary experiment. I didn’t post about doing it beforehand (the ultimate sacrifice). I told approximately three people, and even then I was annoying about it. “Just so you know, if you need me, you’ll have to actually call or text because I’m taking a break from social…” like I was embarking on some grand pilgrimage.
The first week was predictably awful. I kept having these thoughts or experiences and automatically thinking, “This would make a great post” – then feeling weirdly bereft when I remembered I couldn’t share it. It was like all these little moments suddenly had nowhere to go, no purpose.
But then something shifted. By week three, I started having experiences without mentally narrating them for an invisible audience. I’d see a beautiful sunset and just… look at it. Not frame it for a photo. Not think about how to describe it. Just experience it directly, without the filter of “how will I package this moment later?”
It was properly disorienting at first, and then quietly revolutionary.
Don’t get me wrong – I went back to social media after the month ended. I’m not claiming some profound permanent transformation. The first thing I did was post about my “social media detox insights” (I know, I know). But something had changed. I became more aware of that voice that’s always performing, always seeking validation.
These days, I’m trying to find a middle path. I still meditate, but I’ve stopped posting about it. I still journal, but I don’t share aesthetically pleasing flat-lays of my journaling setup. It’s not perfect – just last week I caught myself considering downloading my meditation app statistics to share as part of some “wellness Wednesday” nonsense.
But I’m working on keeping some experiences just for me. Not because I’m above seeking validation (clearly I’m not), but because I’ve started to recognize how the constant performance changes the experience itself.
Maybe true inner peace isn’t found through perfectly filtered yoga poses or inspirational captions. Maybe it’s in those small, private moments that nobody else ever sees or validates. The quiet achievements that don’t come with likes or followers. The growth that happens when no one’s watching.
Or maybe I’m still missing the point entirely. Maybe someday I’ll reach such profound enlightenment that I won’t feel compelled to write articles about my spiritual journey for strangers to read.
But I’m definitely not there yet. So… did you like this piece? Please let me know in the comments below, and don’t forget to subscribe for more content like this! (Just kidding. Sort of.)
Leave a Reply