It’s been a while since I’ve shared anything online, whether here on my blog or on social media. A number of things happened in the past year and a half that knocked down some of the enthusiasm I used to have for sharing. I dealt with multiple health challenges, a hard drive with most of my photography failing, and then having my backpack (with my laptop, camera, lens, and more) being stolen while in Milan a few months ago. I was wrestling with the weight of it all and the painful metamorphosis unfolding in the midst of it.
By the time I was ready to share again, I felt a tension I had to take stock of. I had developed a love-hate relationship with social media and blogging. I loved engaging with people and content that showed me different worlds and sparked conversations on different topics and perspectives, but I noticed a pattern that made me want to revolt.
I would periodically take little breaks sabbaticals from Instagram, and every single time I returned, it felt like I needed a tutorial on how to use the app. There were so many new features that it was disorienting…where the heck do I go to post? Where is my inbox? And why can’t I find my chronological feed? On top of the restructuring IG did, there was a bundle of new features that I wondered… surely we don’t need all this to connect with people, and yet many were jumping through hoops to do just that.
It felt like watching puppets on a string performing on a stage, hoping to connect with the people they wanted to. There were content creators whom I adored in their earlier years, whose content was real, vulnerable, immersive, and wholesome. But as the years wore on and the algorithms changed, they, too, changed in ways that felt less like the people I had come to know and more… performative.
The more I saw it, the more I realized why I took sabbaticals from the app. It was because I didn’t want to be tethered to the string that the folks over at meta used to tell us we needed to use all these features, in all these different ways, just to connect to the people they had made it difficult to connect to in the first place.
I was tired. Tired of seeing people whose content I used to love jump through hoops just to get the visibility they once had, only to do weird dances to some viral song or post content that didn’t support their mission.
I get it, nobody wants to create content from their heart and then not get visibility. Nobody wants to share a piece of their life with the world, to ask deep questions, and feel like they’re talking in a vacuum. When you experience it once, you think ok, it’s just a glitch, but when it starts to become a norm, it gets really disheartening. There’s so much vying for our attention, and so much consuming it, that many really good people get overlooked across these various platforms.
I experienced the diminished visibility that many people had. I spent time trying to figure out what I needed to do, and sat through webinars and tutorials that said to post more content, use this viral sound, follow this metric, and add this thing. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that if I subscribed wholly to the formulas, I would easily lose a sense of who I was.
Don’t get me wrong, some metrics are necessary, but they are no longer necessary if you become an inauthentic version of yourself just for visibility’s sake. But if I’m honest, I let it all get to me because pushing back against what the platforms encourage meant standing independently of it all.
So where do we go from here?
That’s a really good question. Many of you know me for my nomadic travels; others for the conversations on faith; and still more for my transparency in the in-between. My tension is that much of my expression, whether creative or not, doesn’t meet the success criteria for social platforms like this.
Just like there are algorithms on social media, there are algorithms behind blogging that dictate visibility. I was so tired of it all that I was dangerously close to pulling the plug on my online presence. I wanted nothing to do with the metrics that made blogging successful because it stifled my creativity, my flow, my thinking.
In a moment of lamentation with God, airing every frustration and even trying to give reasons why I should deactivate all the things, I felt I heard: “There are people I want you to reach here.”
Here? On these apps and platforms, where nobody is commenting when I post? (clearly overreacting here, but you get what I mean)
Surely I heard wrong.
Who am I reaching when nobody’s responding?
So, back to me lamenting about the blog, only to be reminded of something the Lord shared with me a couple of years ago that became an affirmation for my husband and me in our business. It was a reminder that God is the one who makes a thing successful, not the blueprints of a guru or the metrics of a platform. And His metrics look waaay different than theirs and mine. And that metric may not be visible in the way we’ve become accustomed to seeing it.
And since I’m being continually exposed to some of the Lord’s “it don’t make no sense” ways of doing things and seeing the powerful things He does in them that I could never do or accomplish on my own, I developed a renewed sense of purpose and overwhelming encouragement to not only curate this blog in a way that excites me but steward it in the way that He designed me.
My blueprint is not, and should not be, bound by SEO scores, algorithms, or visibility metrics. My cumulative collection of experiences, perspectives, and creativity was intentionally designed, so why stifle it?
If I’m honest, while excited by this encouragement, one uncomfortable question pushed through the deep –
Will they like me?
A sinking feeling filled my belly. There it was, the thing that could threaten it all.
Will I be obedient and consistent despite the lack of common metrics to affirm me?
Will I trust God to do something better, even if I can’t see it? The algorithms and metrics give data. They tell me what people like and even whether people like me, but they don’t dictate God’s direction.
I have to follow God first, even if it flies in the face of what platforms and algorithms say will be successful, and even if it makes me look like a fool.
It’s better to look like a fool than to disobey God. He always proves himself in our obedience. Always!
And the metric may not be 15 comments, but a single private message from someone sharing how much your obedience confirmed or challenged them. It may not be 30 shares, but it may be faith building within you.
It may not be the biggest brand deals, but a growing confidence in who God is, such that anytime He asks something that seems ridiculous or makes no sense to you, you smile and say –
Okay, Lord, I know that all things work together for the good of those who, not only love you, but are called. I will surrender and trust you in this, even though I don’t understand and even though it doesn’t feel good right now.
Our greatest measure of success is not our visibility but His. And Him becoming known to the point that people are curious about Him because of your obedient actions. It starts with being confident in how He designed you and remaining authentic to that. It starts with allowing yourself to be seen and known, not hiding behind the fig leaves of shame, insecurity, or unworthiness.
The process of becoming is also an opportunity for God to reveal Himself. Your perfectionism doesn’t rescue people. Your authenticity does.
So here you’ll see the things that matter to me: more vulnerable conversations in faith; the messy yet profound middle of my journey from fear to deep faith. My curious adventures as a digital nomad: the people, moments, and experiences that moved me, itineraries that are intimately curated because I believe that slowing down offers some of the most meaningful and memorable experiences.
Yes, writing posts like “15 things to do in Oaxaca” may make me more visible and successful by blogging-platform metrics. But telling you about the Zapotec woman who challenged my views of success while kneeling on a piece of cardboard in the dirt is more meaningful and more resonant with who God created me to be.
I will say this: as much as I’m no longer tethering myself to the metrics of shares, likes, and writing formats that stifle creativity and authenticity, I do love a good, heartfelt conversation, and I hope you’ll slow down long enough to share your thoughts, reflections, and questions in the comments (even if you’re a shy introvert like me).
So where do we go from here? We follow the divine blueprints of God.
Divine Blueprints
I find myself coming back to this often. It was something the Lord shared with me during one of our moments of quiet, when I wrestled with telling hubby that we needed to double the investment for one of our services. It wasn’t a decision I made, but rather a knowing the Lord dropped into my spirit that I could not shake, no matter how much I wanted to.
We were part of a personal brand coaching group that had a methodology and runway to become known for our services and increase our revenue, but this broke every script they had. We eventually followed the knowing and had one of our best revenue years with the new business we had just built.
Needless to say, Divine Blueprints has become a regular part of Monday morning business meetings with hubby. It’s a recurring reminder and promise that recalibrates me when I’m afraid to do something different from what I’ve heard or seen from the mainstream. It reminds me to trust what I hear from Him in the quiet more than the loudest voices.
I don’t always remember it, but it doesn’t change the truth – His blueprint and direction will take you further than man’s blueprint.
