I Disappeared…

I disappeared.

Honestly, I’ve been dreading this post. How do I dip my toe back into social media spaces after all this time? How do I talk about my writing now? What do I explain? What do I keep private? Will anyone even care?

Because social media is about connection. Or it’s supposed to be. On bookstagram I had friends. Creatives (authors, editors, marketers, artists) who I enjoyed interacting with. Authors who became friends. We made plans to visit each other. We texted about our joys and disappointments, good and bad book reviews, our pets and our children.

And then one day…I couldn’t do it anymore. I disappeared without saying anything.

Part of the reason for this was (and still is) the impact of the heartbreaking world we live in, the injustice and corruption of the current political climate. But it was also the migraine-inducing, heart-palpitating pressure of trying to look successful, when I didn’t believe in myself.

I should’ve said something. I should’ve written an “I’m taking a mental health break” post. But I didn’t even have the words for that. It felt like part of me had died, and I was floating through social media like a ghost.

The thing is, I’m betting you understand. Especially if you’re a creative writer in age of post-literacy and generative AI. If you’ve queried agents, been on submissions, or self-published and marketed your own books, you can relate to the bone-dry, scraping feeling of having nothing left in your creative tank.

I’ve come to realize, at least for me, it wasn’t a social media problem. Not entirely. It was a me problem. I needed to get healthy again. I needed to learn about the role of shame in my internal landscape. I needed to learn how to nurture my unique soul and personality, to find joy where I am, regardless of what state the market is in, or how well my work is received.

I had to disappear to recover this sense of self, and in many ways, mine it at a new depth. This involved therapy. Rest. Face-to-face friendships with nonwriters. Therapy. Prayer. Podcasts. More rest. Reading for pleasure. Nature. Finding a local artists community. Accepting my neurodivergent operating system. Therapy and therapy still.

I’m healthier now, but this state of balanced creative health and contentment isn’t something I’ll ever truly arrive at. Not in this realm. I will always be in process, weighing my allocation of energy every morning, hoping those choices facilitate joyful creativity. I won’t always hit the sweet spot, but I’m getting better at it.

So, I’m here again. Ready to be in public spaces as a writer, editor, neurodivergent person, and maker. I plan on sharing what I’m working on (I have exciting news I’ll share soon.), but I also want to discuss what has helped me over the past two years of reclaiming my creative spark (don’t worry, I’m not selling anything).

If you’ve gotten this far, you’re one of my people! Please introduce yourself. Tell me something about you that most people don’t know, or something unusual about you. I’d love to connect. DM me: https://www.instagram.com/angelawrencrocker/

Finally, thanks for reading! Remember to find a way to be kind to yourself today. :)