
I wake up in the morning, rub my eyes, taste my morning breath with regret and then, of course, grab my phone. I check Instagram even before I know what the time is.
I look at the ‘likes’ I received on the photo I posted last night. ‘Thank God it got over 100’ I think. It’s so nice when you feel so much acceptance from your followers. I make sure I get back to the comments people left, tag them all and give them a love heart.
I then go through my feed. I scroll, and scroll, and scroll. I see photos of girls with perfectly-structured-and-ridiculously-in-proportion bodies.
‘Wow she is incredible,’ I think. ‘Damn I wish my body looked like that,’ I compare. ‘How can I make myself look like that?’ I contemplate.
A good 30 minutes goes by without me even noticing.
*****
It’s a self-obsessed, self-destructive ritual. And one that I, and many other young women of my generation, know all too well.
We were guinea pigs for growing up with social media. I created my Instagram account when the app was launched back in 2010, and have maintained my profile ever since – I’m now 19.
Being teenage girls, our insecurities are as high as our confidence can be low. You’re learning about yourself in every way: appreciating where your strengths lie and conceding your weaknesses. Puberty arrives, you’re growing taller (or not), getting pimples (or not), growing boobs (or not), experiencing your first kiss (or not).