We're all performing vulnerability while hoping no one notices it's a performance.
My friend posted a photo of herself crying. Perfect lighting, artful tears, captioned "Some days are harder than others đź’”." Within minutes, the comments flooded in: "What's wrong babe?" "Here if you need to talk!" "Stay strong queen!" She never explained what was wrong, but later told me she'd been feeling invisible for weeks. The post was her way of asking for help without knowing how to ask directly.
We've all been there. Maybe not the crying selfie specifically, but we've all sent out digital signals hoping someone would notice we're struggling, celebrating, or just existing. What's fascinating isn't that people seek connection on social media—that's literally what it's for. It's how we've developed these elaborate codes for asking for support while protecting ourselves from the vulnerability of asking directly.
Research on social media behavior shows that our online personas are attempts at connection, but we're increasingly disconnected from what we actually need. We think we're asking for likes, but we're really asking for love. We think we're sharing achievements, but we're really sharing anxieties. And honestly? That's profoundly human.
1. The "I'm so busy" list that's really saying "I matter"
"Absolutely EXHAUSTED from my 5am workout, 8am meeting with investors, lunch with my mentor (so blessed!), afternoon volunteer session at the shelter, evening MBA classes, and now meal prepping for the week! #NoDaysOff #Grinding"
What they think they're saying: I'm successful and disciplined. What they're really saying: Please tell me all this stress is worth something.
These posts come from a real place of anxiety. In a culture that equates busy-ness with importance, listing your commitments becomes a way of proving you matter. The poster needs reassurance that their exhaustion has meaning, that someone sees how hard they're trying.
I've done this. During a particularly overwhelming period, I posted my entire weekly schedule, pretending it was motivational content. Really, I was drowning and needed someone to either tell me I was doing amazing or give me permission to stop. The busy-bragging was a cry for help dressed up as a flex. Understanding this changed how I respond to these posts—now I see someone who needs support, not judgment.
2. The vague post that's really asking for support
"I can't believe this happened... absolutely heartbroken. Don't want to talk about it."
If you don't want to talk about it, why post? Because sometimes we need comfort but don't know how to ask for it directly. This is the digital equivalent of sighing in a quiet room—not ideal, but deeply human.
What follows is predictable: concerned comments, vague responses, maybe a follow-up about "knowing who your real friends are." The posters aren't trying to manipulate; they're trying to connect while protecting themselves from potential rejection or judgment.
When I see these posts now, I try to remember: this person is asking for help in the only way they feel safe. Maybe that's through a private message, maybe it's just a heart emoji. Sometimes people need to know someone cares before they can share what's wrong.
3. The gym selfie with the life story attached
Nobody needs seventeen paragraphs about your morning workout, but sometimes that's not really what the post is about. The photo is you in the mirror. The novel attached is you trying to make sense of change.
"Today marks 47 days of my fitness transformation. As I stood in the gym this morning, I reflected on how far I've come, not just physically but mentally, emotionally, and spiritually..."
What's happening here is someone trying to narrate their becoming. They need their effort to mean something beyond aesthetics. Every workout becomes a metaphor because sometimes that's the only way to make sense of why we do hard things.
I get it. When I started running after a breakup, every mile felt like a profound statement about resilience. Was I oversharing on Instagram? Absolutely. Was I also trying to create meaning from pain? Also absolutely. Sometimes we need witnesses to our becoming, even if those witnesses are just double-tapping out of habit.
4. The "candid" photo that took forever to get right
"Caught off guard!" they caption the photo where they're laughing at the perfect angle, hair artfully messy, golden hour lighting just right. Their friend definitely took multiple shots while they cycled through poses.
This is the paradox of social media: we want to be seen as effortlessly attractive, but effort always shows. It's like watching someone pretend to be asleep—the performance of unconsciousness requires such consciousness that it defeats itself.
But here's what's underneath: the very human desire to be loved for who we are while being terrified that who we are isn't enough. So we curate, filter, and pose, hoping someone will see through to the real us while making sure the real us is properly lit.
We all do this in different ways. The "candid" photo is just one version of the universal dance between wanting to be seen and fearing what people might see. The trying isn't the problem—it's the pretending we're not trying that creates the disconnect.
5. The relationship post that's really reassurance-seeking
"Just want to say how GRATEFUL I am for this amazing man who brings me coffee in bed every morning, tells me I'm beautiful, supports all my dreams! Ladies, never settle! đź‘‘"
These posts often come during the exact moments when the poster feels least secure in their relationship. It's not deception—it's aspiration. They're not lying about their partner; they're trying to manifest the relationship they want by declaring it publicly.
Research on relationship satisfaction shows that couples who post less about their relationships on social media report higher satisfaction. But this doesn't mean the posters are fake—they might just need more external validation during uncertain times.
I once posted a gushing tribute to my partner right after our biggest fight. Was it performative? Yes. Was it also my way of recommitting, of trying to speak better days into existence? Also yes. Sometimes we use public declarations as private promises.
6. The wisdom post from someone still learning
"Just want to remind everyone that it's okay to cut toxic people out of your life. Your peace is worth more than any relationship. Remember: you can't pour from an empty cup! 🙏✨"
They just discovered this truth yesterday, probably through pain, and now they need to share it immediately. It's not fake wisdom—it's fresh wisdom, still tender from the learning.
When someone posts life advice right after learning the lesson themselves, they're not trying to be a guru. They're trying to make sense of their experience by teaching it. It's how many of us process: we understand things better when we explain them to others.
The truly wise might not post unsolicited advice, but the newly wise need to. It's part of integrating the lesson. When I see these posts, I try to remember the poster is really talking to themselves, reminding themselves of what they just learned the hard way. The public post is a private affirmation.
7. The "I'm leaving social media" post that's really saying "please notice me"
"Taking a break from all this. If you need me, you know how to reach me. Going to focus on REAL life for a while. ✌️"
They're back in three days. Sometimes three hours. This isn't really about leaving—it's about feeling unseen and hoping absence will make hearts grow fonder. It's the digital equivalent of walking slowly away hoping someone will call you back.
The irony is obvious: using social media to announce you're leaving social media. But underneath the contradiction is something touching—the hope that our absence matters, that people will notice we're gone, that we've made enough of an impact to be missed.
Every time I've announced a social media break (yes, multiple times), I was really saying: "I'm overwhelmed and need to know I matter beyond my posts." It's not the healthiest way to seek reassurance, but it's human. We all want to know we'd be missed.
Final thoughts
Here's the truth with more compassion: we all do these things because we're human beings trying to connect through screens, which is like trying to hug through glass. We're using tools designed for connection but that often leave us feeling more isolated.
Social media has turned us into our own PR teams, but most of us never wanted that job. We just wanted to be seen, known, loved. When we post our busy schedules, our gym selfies, our relationship updates, we're not being "desperate"—we're being human in a digital world that hasn't figured out how to hold our humanity.
The posts that try hardest often come from the deepest need. The person writing novels under their gym selfie might be processing trauma. The vague-poster might be too scared to burden specific people with their pain. The relationship over-sharer might be trying to speak love back into existence.
Maybe the real growth isn't in stopping these behaviors but in recognizing them with compassion—in ourselves and others. Next time you see someone reaching for connection in a clumsy way, remember: we're all just trying to be seen. Some of us are just more obvious about it, and that's okay. Vulnerability, even performed vulnerability, is still vulnerability. And that takes courage, even when it doesn't look like it.
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