Tales From the Scroll

I love Tik Tok. What began as a spring 2020 impulse download has become an integral part of my daily life. Although my poor dopamine deprived brain can suffer from the prolonged scroll sessions, I can’t stay away*. I am not a person who loves to be on my phone. In fact, I am the opposite. Receiving text messages, DMs or pings from Whatsapp elevate my cortisol and answering them can take me days (or weeks). I hate the idea (or expectation) that through the internet we are perpetually available to the whims of the world and yet I want (need?) to be connected to keep up with life in 2023.

filters are all part of the fun

I left Facebook long ago, the site that captivated me at 15 now a strange place filled with ghosts of connections past. Instagram still holds appeal. I enjoy watching friend’s stories and adventures and while adrienne maree brown is still posting meme complications, I will continue to tune in. But after a brief moment where I believed activism involved reposting every traumatic event and accompanying educational resource I rarely post. A combination of overthinking and fear of judgement (am I being authentic? Is this bragging? Does anyone actually care) The phrase “talk is silver, silence is golden” became the ultimate answer to my overthinking mind trying to craft the perfect caption for the perfect, not-too-perfect image. Let’s not even talk about Twitter. But Tik Tok? Tik Tok is joy.

But there is something immensely joyful about having a tiny portal to another world in my hand, where people post snap shots of their lives in rural where-ever, showing me their favourite tree in their local forest. Or an autistic person sharing with a community of thousands the special interest they were bullied for having in school. I see 60 year old women finding themselves after a painful divorce and experiencing the grief and joy that is realising they deserved better the whole time. People share poetry, stupid jokes, their deepest fears and insecurities, the best sunscreens for people that hate sunscreen. Tarot readers promise breakthroughs, therapists share their tips for trauma survivors. Iranian women risk everything to get the word out about the revolution and the violent regime they are overthrowing.

I know that this is only a tiny snap shot, that the internet and social media are full of sorrow, exploitation, violence and bullying. But through this platform I have found people that feel like my community. During the pandemic Tik Tok connected me with the LGBTQ creators and made me feel part of community. Now as I write my thesis, I am connected with nurodivergent people like me, trying to figure out how to thrive in a world not necessarily built for us.

But on a simpler level, more fundamental level, Tik Tok ignites my brain and delights my curiosity. Just this week I have seen a Luna Moth hatching from her chrysalis! She was tiny and fumbling, with two juicily shrivelled wing buds. I got to watch as they miraculously unfurled to reveal broad strong pale green wings. And it was there, for me, to witness! I learnt that my favourite Christmas song Carol of the Bells is actually an adaption of an older Ukraininan song Shchedryk. The song tells of a little sparrow flying into the house of a a couple and blessing them with bounty. The song is based on a chant that is supposed to have magical properties. This song that I have always loved at this time of year is more magical than I thought!

more than a screen, my lockdown wfh set-up

The darker side is that on bad days, days when I am sad or tired or hopeless or avoidant, Tik Tok allows me to dissociate. It is easier to stay in the endless scroll, ignoring the “you have reached your time limit on this app'“ notifications I never had to use before this year. I get to be numb, I get to not think, I get to opt out of all that makes life alive. It doesn’t feel good. But I feel incapable of stopping. Addiction is interesting, because rarely it is about the substance or behaviour itself, but rather about what is being soothed by it.

It takes a great deal of strength to confront the scared, ashamed, suffering part of us that is caught in an addiction. There is a line in a MUNA song I love: “a bruise is only your body trying to keep you intact”. The behaviours we use to cope with life our us trying to do our best to cope. That’s it. It makes sense that I would escape to this place where there are interesting people, places, facts, music, comedy, ideas when I am overwhelmed in my offline life. My body is trying to keep me intact with the tools that are available. Realising this allows me to release the shame and have compassion for myself. It feels like I can put down that burning thing my hands have been clenched around for so long.

It should be easier, I think, to put down and step away from the torture we inflict on ourselves through self judgement, self critisism and shame. And yet this work is perhaps some the most challenging learning we will ever do. I am in the thorny middle of writing my PhD and I have been walking the road of shame, self flagellation, self doubt for a long time. ‘Just push through-ing’ my way to the point of absolute burn out at the end of 2020. I have seen this road very nearly kill some of the people I love most in the world. I have a friend who works with University Students in a support role. Over dinner at her place she reflected that the students she works with often come to her desperate, ready to pour out their hearts, seeking help from whoever is willing. Then, when options are presented like ‘rest’, ‘take an interruption of study’ or ‘'spend more time with your dance group if that is the only place you feel alive’ they often react with either distain or outright hostility. “What is that about?” she asks. "You aren’t helping them be more productive” I reply. When I have been in that position, desperate for help but still worshiping at the alter of “just work harder” I would have reacted the same way.

When our self worth is tied to our ability to produce or how other people value us for what we produce, it is truly terrifying to take any action that might disrupt our productivity. Even if we know we can’t go any further, our very survival appears to be at stake if we stop, rest, take a break. Anyone who tries to help us can be intensely scary, because by helping us they are actually threatening to take away the very thing we think makes us matter.

light through the trees

One of the strange things about burnout is that it robs you of your curiosity. I didn’t realise that I was burnt out until I was over the worst of it - a story for another day perhaps. It is not just that you can’t do your job properly or struggle with low mood, for me it was also losing all sense of what I enjoyed doing or was interested in. For a PhD student whose job is to be professionally curious I felt a double bout of shame - I am so privileged to be doing this PhD but utterly empty and seemingly incapable of caring about my research. I am very glad to say that I am worlds better now. This blog itself is evidence of my creative energy returning. One thing that helped me stay afloat, no matter how trivial it might seem to say, is Tik Tok. When I couldn’t find the energy to be curious or creative, scrolling kept me connected to a world that was those things. I didn’t have to engage, it was just there. A little portal into a world that watered my little soul enough to remember who I am.

Until next time, take care,

Iona

*This is definitely what social media is supposed to do - keep us addicted so we spend more time on the app and create revenue for the companies that monetise our attention. I have been avoiding reading the plethora of books about the science of screen addiction. I am not ready for that level of call-out, not yet.