Embracing Your Cringe

Letting go of what other’s think when sharing art in a public space and the dark side of content creation.

Embrace your cringe.

I used to avoid being cringe at all costs. It was too close to the wound. Too close to shame. Too close to the hurt I spent years running from. If I let you see the broken pieces, then I could not claim I was whole. If I broke down, I would have to face my imperfection, and you would leave. I had to be either/or, there was no room for both/and.

I could not move on from my past, because I would not claim it. Scared of rejection, I rejected myself. I gave myself the ick. I was so cringe, I locked it away. Until now, at the ripe age of 33, my cringe is back, it has returned to me. I’m letting it all spew out.

“Becoming a beautiful butterfly b*tch 🦋.” Munnar, India, December 2024.

I knew I wanted to share in a public space for the last five years. The thought would excite me when it came up. I knew it was a path which would both challenge me and ignite my passion. I dove headfirst into projects, making YouTube videos, buying studio lights, spending hours making content. I spent a month creating a YouTube page and couldn’t wait for the release date I had planned. When the time came around, I released a single video, only to delete the whole page a day later.

I didn’t have enough internal space to handle the cringe coming up. I had a full blown panic attack. It was more than cringe. It was a shame spiral. I was terrified of rejection, terrified of the perceptions of what other’s would think of me. I didn’t have the confidence to have “bad” content of myself out there. I didn’t have the self-worth to be new, inexperienced. I hadn’t yet developed the courage needed to grow and develop a new skill through consistency and determination.

Two years would pass before I would try again. I quit my job in September of 2024 to travel Asia for a year. This would allow me the time and space to deepen my meditation practice, writing and to pursue content creation. Once again, I dove headfirst into projects. I posted on my Instagram page that I would be starting a YouTube, a Substack, a TikTok, all of it. My focus was spread thin. I wanted to do everything. I blasted it all out there in a public space, headstrong, biting off more than I could chew.

“This is fine meme.”, Goa, India, January, 2025.

I landed in Fort Kochi, India, December 1st, 2024. I was quickly overwhelmed by the numerous posts I was trying to make across all these different apps. I was posting short-form writing to my Instagram, making short videos for TikTok (not allowed to post in India, where there is a TikTok ban 😂), long videos for YouTube and a longer writing each week for Substack. Balancing culture shock, jet lag, and creative work sucked the life out of me.

Coincidentally, while having lunch in a small hotel cafe, I was approached by a famous YouTuber from Kerala, India, who has over a million followers. He asked if I wanted to be in a promotional video for the hotel. I wasn’t doing anything that day and thought it would be fun, so what the hell? I went back to my place, showered, changed into a cute outfit, and met him back at the hotel. We filmed a video, he posted it to his Instagram page, and tagged me. My personal Instagram account was public and I gained 600 followers within a matter of days (mainly of Indian men). This was what I wanted right? He shared tips with me about posting content, then we parted ways.

Christmas rolled around, I didn’t have any plans. The YouTuber reached out to ask if I’d want to create another video with him trying on sari’s for Christmas. I said I would absolutely love that! Then Christmas rolled around, I spent extra time doing my make-up with blue eyeliner and silver glittery eyeshadow to resemble a snowflake, only for him to flake. I confronted him about the last minute cancellation, and he broke down, saying he was spread so thin with constantly producing videos, the stress had taken a toll on his mental health.

“Another opportunity to wear a sari presented itself and I gladly accepted.” Goa, India, January, 2025.

I became confused, overwhelmed with what I thought I had wanted—content creation, to share myself vulnerably in a public space—with what I was seeing, this mental deterioration for likes, shares, views. It didn’t feel authentic to me, it felt performative, extractive, toxic. I deleted all of my accounts for the second time. I felt like a failure. Was all of this for nothing? What I thought I wanted all came crashing down around me, and I was lost once again.

I went in the complete opposite direction for the next few months. I took a social media sabbatical, deleting the apps off my phone. I wanted to refocus my energy. How did I actually want to share myself with the world? What did I really even want? I spent a month in Goa, India, on the beach writing, reading, and detoxing from technology.

“Sunset at Turtle Rock.” Palolem Beach, Goa, India, January, 2025.

I came across Mark Manson’s book, The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck, which gave me a new perspective for choosing what to give a f*ck about, “Learn to sustain the pain you’ve chosen. When you choose a new value, you are choosing to introduce a new form of pain into your life. Relish it. Savor it. Welcome it with open arms. Then act despite it. I won’t lie: this is going to feel impossibly hard at first. But you can start simple. You’re going to feel as though you don’t know what to do. But we’ve discussed this: you don’t know anything. Even when you think you do, you really don’t know what the f*ck you’re doing. So really, what is there to lose? Life is about not knowing and then doing something anyway. All of life is like this. It never changes.”

Manson was speaking to my soul with the exact words I needed to hear. I craved depth, commitment, for my scattered energy to become focused. Coming to this realization, I would have to choose and narrow down my focus. How would I know if I made the right choice? I felt once I chose, I would regret my decision or want to change my mind. This was a trap I set for myself. Constantly changing my mind to start a new project, a new venture, the trap of starting over indefinitely. I had done this my whole life. Then I read Manson’s words which resonated deeply with me, “But depth is where the gold is buried. And you have to stay committed to something and go deep to dig it up…” and “…Commitment allows you to focus intently on a few highly important goals and achieve a greater degree of success than you otherwise would.”

“The long, lonely, road of dedication.” Goa, India, January, 2025.

I made my decision: it was writing. I would commit to writing poetry and long-form content for Substack. I created a new artist’s page on ONE app (Instagram) where I would not post daily, but start small with three times a week. I would post on Substack once a week. Ah, the sigh of relief that it didn’t have to happen all at once. I would make small efforts consistently overtime to maintain sustainable growth. I didn’t have to be a machine, producing constant content. I made my personal page on Instagram private, going through and deleting all of the new followers I had gained from the viral hotel promotional video. I no longer wanted views and likes from people I didn’t know or had no connection to in real life. Privacy felt more important to me on my personal page.

The cringe did not disappear. I deal with the feeling of not knowing what the f*ck I’m doing on a daily basis. I have to deal with the awkwardness and embarrassment that people saw me in a public space advertise my pages, delete them, then start them again. I fumbled, quit, then reappeared. My voice feels shaky, unclear. My style for posting feels messy and I change my mind constantly. I show up despite the doubts. I show up for my commitment and post even when I feel it’s terrible or I don’t want to.

“‘You can do it’ - emotional support doggo.” Goa, India, January, 2025.

The cringe of writing when there is no audience, no likes, no validation. The cringe of posting writing where I spill my guts out, write from the wound, and it just hangs there in space. To start from zero followers, to vulnerably ask for people to support my writing. It forces me to confront self-limiting beliefs on a regular basis. To keep going in spite of. I ask myself continually, why writing, why did I choose this? Cathartic releases happen for me when I write. Even when no one reads my work, when I’m writing poetry, or enter that flow state where words pour from me, I start crying, or smiling, I feel deeply. It connects me to myself. It is what makes the pain worth it, because it helps me connect to it and feel it.

Thank you to those few people who continue to support me and support my writing. It only takes a very few people who are meaningful to me to give me words of affirmation to keep me going, not a mass of stranger’s likes and follows. If this page were to grow, I would hope it would be to help others, not for my own selfish validation and ego. I hope this reaches the people it needs to 🫶🏼

“Rangoli: used to welcome guests and invoke good luck and positive energy.” Fort Kochi, India, December, 2024.