The Social Media Conundrum...

My voodoo doll for banishing negativity...

"Social Media is in fact the devil."

I cannot count the times I have muttered this to myself and saying it out loud if one was to ask my husband has to be getting somewhere in the vicinity of "I've lost count" which I like to interpret as husband speak for "I have no fucking idea, I stopped listening awhile ago" which is totally fair. I mean it too, which is why I found myself creating yet another account for my future coaching business today my eyes were rolling so hard, I am in fact surprised they did not actually detach and land on my keyboard. So, why then feeling as I do (strongly, in case I haven’t been assertive enough yet in stating it) would I add yet another gateway to hell? There are two main reasons driving the bus here and despite my on occasion late night scrolling to watch silly cat videos and see how Jason Momoa is doing, the two reasons do in fact have some purpose supporting them.

The first and current reason my accounts have been active, have been solely for the purpose of keeping the Epstein stories and other assorted atrocities being committed by our current dictator TACO. I don’t usually dig my heals in on pettiness like this, but after listening to the Bulwark Report enough times I realized since congress has misplaced its testicles and has closed until September (in an attempt to avoid the media frenzy around aforementioned items), one of the things we peasants can do whilst they try and distract us is keep it alive and send the message that despite all data that this country has turned into a bunch of fascist loving lemmings, that we can in fact retain focus. In an age where it seems so many have acquiesced to the daily horrors of our country being turned into an actual joke, where things that would have had us all protesting under any other leader, have turned into the usual, we have become numb. We all have our line in the sand. As I have finally clawed myself out of the depressive pit I had fallen into realizing after the election how much this country hates women and voted in a felon to govern us, the Epstein story has added additional gasoline to the rage that I am finding harder to contain. So, to do my part and keep the stories alive, I have found turning it into a game has made it more palatable as I launch into my 15 minutes a day and look for reputable pieces to continue sharing. I say game because I dive in knowing it will be depressing and horrific, but each day when the emotional part of my brain wants to shut down and cry, the logical side reminds me nothing I am experiencing can’t even come close to the horrors all of his victims endured and that being born into a white Canadian family with decent jobs, my folks had the ability to navigate the immigration process, which even in the 70’s took almost 2 years. On a plus note, since I have been logging in with the sole purpose of accomplishing that goal (and check on Jason Momoa), my personal scrolling has dried up substantially. Sure, I miss the cat videos, but I have been busy doing other things which I am sure my old therapist would have been proud of. Then of course there is reason #2…

Reason numero dos is more complicated and 100% not a game. As I continue with my coaching practice and am gearing up to launch my business by the holidays, the reality and practicality of why social media has some uses comes into play. Social media platforms continue to be a fantastic way to connect with an insanely large group of people. More specifically, you can create content to seek out exactly the groups of individuals you are hoping to reach. As the niche my coaching is focusing on is neurodiverse women on the spectrum along with women who simply do not fit into the normcore (did I actually just type that?) of the female population. I am seeking the autistic, ADHDer’s, artists, introverted quirky types & any other women who society has thrown into the “weirdo” pile. Ya know, my people. Social media does in fact still deliver in a huge way on this front as to engage, one merely requires an internet connection and phone – no social interactions in public required, available 24/7 for my fellow night owls. Despite its addictive qualities and some generally shitty behavior, one can still find with a fair amount of ease their tribe. Insert disclaimer here: being of the Gen X generation I realize my use of the word tribe may trigger some to admonish me for perceived lack of respect for indigenous peoples. That could not in fact be further from the truth. The word tribe not only brings a feeling of respect when I say it, but it still holds a very literal meaning for my autistic heart: a social group composed chiefly of numerous families, clans, or generations having a shared ancestry and language. I stand by my belief that the neurodiverse folks out there do in fact need their own tribe to connect with, unmask with and feel safe. This is where social media still holds a virtue – it is available to anyone who seeks it and does not yet require monthly fees to access. So I am working on accepting that this is something I need to form a healthier relationship with so that I can share stories with my tribe, reach those who may be looking for assistance from the comfort of their homes and can watch a few cat videos and stalk some of my friends with memes that make me think of them. The healthier relationship part is what got me off my ass and to create pages on both Instagram and Facebook today and I realize it creates a unique opportunity for me as well.

Whilst on my regular pages I continue my assault to Trumps ego by helping to keep stories alive that quite frankly I do believe need some serious transparency, the new pages offer what one could view as a fresh start. Not only for my coaching business and reaching out to my sisters and brothers on the spectrum but also pages that can and will remain POSITIVE. I want my new creations to be an expression of the part of myself I am actively feeding throughout my day. No old baggage or stories that are no longer a part of who I am. A place where I can be safe to express my unmasked self. The optimist. The purveyor of hope. The little part of me that has never grown any armor to protect her and knows there are others out there like me. No, I am in no way saying Pollyanna as I loathe the term. We all have our baggage, our dark parts, the angers we are entitled to when inflicted upon us and we all deserve to let them out and scream when they are enraged or cry when they have been hurt. But we all also deserve to have parts of our lives that can remain pure.

After my mom passed away in 2024 I told everyone around me who would listen that my goal was to spend the rest of my life painting rainbows in my life. Yes, I did mean literally in my artwork, but I also meant in my chosen engagements with the world. Because I, like so many others, feel powerless so much of the time to create change in this shit show we are currently living in. But creating rainbows is something available to anyone who chooses it. In artwork. In our attitudes and how we engage with others, even those who don’t see eye to eye with us (perhaps especially them!). In what energy we create and share with those around us. So perhaps I misspoke, and this new experiment can become a game of sorts. My Clever Girl social media accounts will be my platform to share my journey and invite others to join who are seeking the same. Because I do believe that each of us has within us the ability to write the life we want and although I know the battle with the algorithms will be intense, I know I am up for the challenge. That voodoo doll I made for myself (pictured above) for when I want to poke the negative emotions as they rear their head will be my mascot of sorts, my reminder that shame, guilt, insecurity, anxiety etc. are the trolls that advertisers and society shove upon us to try and keep us quiet, obedient and too tired to let our own light shine. Fuck that and fuck them. Perhaps the rainbow tribes time is upon us and all those who have felt knocked down for being different or weird or non-conforming will be reminded that they were knocked down, but that no one can ever stop an optimist from getting back up again and painting rainbows wherever we damn well please.