When life becomes a performance, and the loss of self

Instagram once felt like a place to share glimpses of life. A meal, a walk, a moment in nature. Over time, it’s shifted into something else — a stage. Now, it’s not just about sharing. It’s about curating, performing, and playing the role of a self that others will recognize.

And now, the curtain never falls. The algorithms ask for constant output. The stage is our living room, our breakfast, our walk in the woods. What was once a persona reserved for a moment has seeped into the daily fabric of who we think we are.

Psychologically, this blurring chips away at presence. You’re no longer just drinking your coffee or noticing the way light moves across the water — you’re half-aware of the invisible audience. The self becomes fragmented: part of you is living, part of you is performing.

This isn’t a new idea. Celebrities and musicians have long created personas — a public-facing version of themselves. But for most of us, that role used to stay separate from everyday life. Now the expectation is daily, constant, woven into ordinary routines. There’s no Friday night show and then back to yourself. The performance doesn’t end.

I’ve felt this pull in myself. The system rewards it with dopamine and monetization. You’re told, “You’re on this app anyway — may as well earn from it.” Earlier this year, when I rebranded, I asked some hard questions: Do I want to remain online? If so, why?

I realized I still love sharing my work. I love connection. And I love that my art and words can reach more people than I meet in daily life — even if I never go viral or rack up big engagement numbers. But I’ve become incredibly conscious of how easy it is to slip into the role of online Lindsay, instead of simply being.

Life was never meant to be lived on a stage.

And here’s the part that feels most important: it’s not as simple as logging off. You can delete the apps, take a “digital detox,” and still live in performance mode — rehearsing the next post in your head, translating experiences into content, feeding the audience, and allowing like-potential to dictate who you are. This isn’t just about screen time. It’s about sense of self.

It’s okay to create content, and it’s okay to be a content creator. But something to reflect upon… maybe if you’ve been feeling off lately, this could be why. It’s not only fatigue from scrolling, blue light, and making a reel. It might be a subtle loss of self. And the invitation isn’t just to walk in the woods without your phone — though that helps — but to notice what it feels like to simply exist.

No audience. No performance. Just you, in your own life.