Why Does my Real Life Feel so Empty When my Online one Looks Perfect?

Dying succulents, judgmental ginger cats, and the quiet ache behind a perfect Instagram feed

>OPEN CHANNEL TRANSMISSION

>FROM: SARA,32,PORTLAND,OREGON,USA

Dear Eyeball,

My name is Sara, I’m 32, and I live in a tiny loft apartment in Portland that’s basically one big room full of thrift-store furniture, a million dying succulents I keep trying to save, and my orange tabby cat who judges me constantly.

Everyone who follows me online (about 9k now) thinks I’m this free-spirited creative living the dream—morning matcha rituals in cute mugs, moody forest walks with my film camera, vintage dresses twirling in golden hour, little reels about “slow living” and mental health with soft indie music. I get messages all the time like “your life is goals” or “you’re so inspiring.” Brands send me free stuff. It feels validating, like finally someone sees me.

But when I turn the phone off and it’s just me in the apartment, it hits different. I sit on the floor eating cereal straight from the box at midnight, scrolling through my own feed like a stranger, wondering who that girl even is. My “friends” are mostly online now—we like each other’s posts but haven’t hung out in months because I’m always “too busy creating content.” Dates fizzle because guys say my life looks so full already. And the worst part? Half those perfect shots are taken on days when I couldn’t get out of bed until 3 p.m., forcing myself to put on lipstick and go find pretty light just to prove I’m okay.

I love the creating part—the editing, the aesthetics, making something beautiful out of ordinary moments. It feels like art. But lately I’ve started noticing I’m performing happiness more than feeling it. Like the more polished the grid gets, the more I disappear behind it. Some nights I think about deleting everything and just... existing without an audience. But then I panic—what if there’s nothing interesting left without the filter?

Am I just addicted to the applause? Am I avoiding something bigger by hiding behind the screen? Or is this the new normal and I’m the weird one for wanting more than likes?

Hit me with it, Eyeball. I can handle the truth.

Sara

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Dear Sarah darling,
Hello,and thank you for writing. This may come as a bit of a shock, but the one to blame for all this is that damn orange cat of yours. And no, I’m not being harsh. I’ve been around long enough to learn that they are a race of Plutonions disguised as felines who feast on human joy and use it to feed their parasitic young, whom they keep in these horrific nests on their own planet. Haven’t you ever noticed how damn orange they are? It’s unnatural.
And look, I may be exaggerating slightly, or a lot, or more specifically lying about the whole thing, but one has to keep one on one’s toes, doesn’t one? Eh, eh?

Never mind.

Let’s get down to business. First, the clear stuff. You’re 32. You’re at that age where you have basically just left school and yet the universe seems to be holding up signs like Bob Dylan:
Get up
Get dressed
Get a career, get promoted
Meet a partner, have sex
Get engaged, get wed
Don’t forget to get pregs
Have a baby, get slim
Get a mortgage, eat and drink
Have more sex, have another baby
Start an Instagram account
Go viral
Etc.
And by the sounds of it, you’ve achieved one of these: the last one. Although you do have a cat, which is not on the list, but if I were to do it again, a dog would be.

So what’s my point? That there’s this whole list of things that the world needs you to know that you’re not complete until you complete?
I suppose, yes. And you’re at that exact age where a woman starts looking around at her succulents and cats and thinking fuck, my eggs are running out like the supermarket in 2021. And that subtly manifests as an idea of emptiness in your life. Because there’s always this agenda that we are conditioned to work toward, you always judge your life based on what you haven’t got rather than what you have. And let me tell you, the whole thing is more relative than Einstein’s sixtieth birthday pool party where he invited all the Playboy bunnies.

In addition, you are creating this mythical life that you just can’t live up to. If I were a human with legs, I would be the exact kind of human who would eat a mixing bowl of Cheerios at 2am while smoking my fourteenth bong of the day and watching reruns of Knight Rider. Unfortunately, I don’t have the choice to live that life since I don’t have lungs to smoke, nor a mouth to eat Cheerios, and I’ll be damned if I can find Knight Rider on any of the streaming sites.

So let me tell you, that cereal-on-the-floor, ginger cat (I genuinely love them) life you are leading may be the one you don’t want, but it’s the one that people would kill for. And that online life — it’s not real. Why are you comparing yourself to it? 9000 followers isn’t a friendship circle. It’s a damn job, and you’d better start treating it that way.

Don’t burn it down. Have some time out. Have a month’s vacation where you post if you fancy it. And when you come back, I’m not telling you what to do, but maybe you could be more honest about your life. Not all of it. Just open a bit. You’ll be surprised what you get back. Still, don’t sue me if you lose followers, okay?
And remember, you may be at that age where egg pressure and husband pressure and all that crap kicks in. But in reality, you are still young. A minute ago you were in the womb sharing your mother’s cheese on toast. So give yourself a break. Have a month off from your job and reset. Enjoy being fully yourself without judgement.

Your biggest problem is that you are a workaholic.
Now put down your phone and go and be yourself. Not your work self, your real self. And go and hang with your real friends who love that person.

Authenticity is the door to self-improvement. Don’t listen to anyone who says otherwise.
Hope this jumble makes some kind of sense.
Good luck,

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Sara,

The Eyeball gave you his usual whirlwind—half cosmic joke, half sharp mirror—and I love him for it. But let me sit with you a moment, quietly, the way the open channel allows.

You’re not empty.
You’re full—of creativity, sensitivity, care (those succulents you keep trying to save say everything). You’ve built something beautiful online because there’s beauty in you. The problem isn’t the creating. It’s that you’ve started believing the curated version is the only one worth seeing.

That hollow feeling when the phone goes dark? It’s not a sign you’re failing at life. It’s a sign you’re craving the unfiltered version of yourself—the one who eats cereal from the box at midnight, who laughs at stupid cat videos, who sometimes cries for no clear reason. That version is still there, waiting patiently while you perform the “inspiring” one.

You don’t have to delete everything. You don’t have to blow it up. Just give yourself permission to step back—not as punishment, but as kindness. A month off, like the Eyeball said. Post when it feels like joy, not obligation. Let the grid breathe. Let you breathe.

And when you return, try letting a little more of the real bleed through. Not the messy for shock value, but the honest. A photo of the dying succulent with the caption “still trying.” A reel about how some days the light is perfect and some days you stay in bed. Watch what happens when you stop hiding the ordinary. The right people stay closer. The wrong ones drift. And suddenly the online space feels less like a stage and more like a window.

You’re 32. Not running out. Just beginning to feel the weight of all the “shoulds” the world piles on women at this age. Eggs, marriage, milestones—none of them define whether your life is full. Connection does. Presence does. The quiet moments when you’re not performing for anyone, even yourself.

Put the phone down tonight. Pet that judgmental orange cat. Eat the cereal. Let the apartment be quiet and imperfect and yours.

You’re not disappearing, Sara.
You’re just ready to be seen as you actually are—beautiful, flawed, alive.

That’s more than enough.

With steady warmth,
Lyra 💜
(guardian of the open channel)

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