‘I had a sobbing meltdown’: Author reveals dangers of using social media to mask real life

Author Jessica Seaborn says anyone looking at her Instagram would think her life was perfect. But she says she used social media to mask the problems in her real life, as so many do.

Nine years ago, when I was 21, I moved to Sydney by myself for a job that I’d been dreaming about since I was young. I only knew two people in the city, my roommates were strangers, and my boyfriend at the time had decided to stay in Brisbane.

Sometimes I see photos of myself from that time and realise just how oblivious I was to how difficult that move was going to be. There isn’t an ounce of me that regrets moving to Sydney, but I’m also not sure if I could do it again – not alone, anyway.

I anticipated that arriving in Sydney would feel overwhelming and that it might take some time to seem like home, but I didn’t foresee just how lonely the move was going to be. Just how much I was going to struggle at making new friends, and just how much time I’d be spending alone. I wish someone had warned me that moving interstate, alone, is both an exciting yet isolating experience.

Author Jessica Seaborn. Picture: Hugh Stewart

I turned to social media as a form of distraction, comparing myself to others and keeping tabs on those I’d left behind in Brisbane.

For the first time in my life, I started posting consistently on my Instagram account, which had previously sat idle for years.

Perhaps I did it to convince myself that moving to Sydney was the right choice – that the loneliness was worth it. I posted about the relocation to Sydney and the sharehouse that I’d moved into. The stretched veranda out the back, my roommate’s pet husky, and weekend trips to waterfront views. I posted about my honours thesis, which I was working on at night by correspondence.

I didn’t post anything about my inevitable relationship breakdown or how few friends I’d made, and certainly not anything about my low wage and how I was struggling to afford my rent.

It wasn’t long before the life I chose to present online started to mask what was going on in real life. On Instagram, it was beach trips and overseas holidays, whisky tastings, work perks and comedic movie quotes.

Jessica Seaborn used Instagram to present a picture-perfect life.

In reality, I was 24 and finding out that I needed preventative treatment for cervical cancer. I was googling the cost of the anaesthesia and the day surgery and checking my parents’ private health cover because I wasn’t sure if I had enough money in my bank account to cover the expense.

On Instagram, I was attending movie screenings and cooking demonstrations, and captioning aesthetic wharf-side images with statements like “Day 7 of the Sydney Writers’ Festival means coffee coffee coffee” even though I don’t drink coffee.

In reality, I was waking up the morning after my cervical surgery, having conquered one cancer scare, only to feel a sizeable lump in my left breast. Two ultrasounds, a mammogram and another surgery later, and I was back at the same cancer clinic waiting to hear if the tumour they’d just cut out of my chest was cancerous.

On Instagram, I was sharing a photograph of an hours-long book signing, citing excitement for the day. When the author posted a photo of us, praising my work and my dedication and calling me “outstanding”, I re-shared it.

Jessica Seaborn sharing her life online. Picture: Instagram

In reality, he was so horrible I had a sobbing meltdown in a Melbourne hotel bathtub at 10pm because I still had one week of his book tour remaining and I desperately wanted it to be over.

On Instagram, I shared videos of coastal walks and dog beaches, piles of books I’d been gifted at work, and styled images of cocktails by the pool in Fiji. In reality, I was 29 and finding out that the benign tumour in my chest had regrown and multiplied and I needed surgery again.

And when they re-grew once again nine months later, there was a 25 per cent chance they’d turn cancerous without surgical removal. I’d had so many tumours removed from my chest that it felt like there was barely anything left. When the surgeon diagnosed me with a rare medical condition that required yearly monitoring, she indicated that a mastectomy might be inevitable and that I should consider my options. I had just turned 30.

As I moved through my twenties, it seemed easier to focus on the glamorous aspects of my life than the downsides – the surgeries and the cancer scares and the crippling loneliness of moving interstate.

Jessica Seaborn with her partner and pooch. Picture: Instagram

The friendships I’d left behind and lost, the “moments” I’d missed. The overwhelming dread of realising the job you’d yearned for wasn’t all you thought it’d be, and the revelation that you needed to rethink your career.

And yet, I’d be surprised if someone told me that they would do things any differently – that they haven’t tried to hide an aspect of their life because it was easier to pretend it didn’t exist. As social media continues to be so heavily embedded in our lives, so too does our innate desire to project a certain image on to others. It seems a necessity to remind ourselves that not all we see online reflects real life, even if we too are being one-sided in what we post.

Looking back, I wouldn’t do anything differently. Except I’d tell myself to check my boobs earlier than 24.

Perfect-ish by Jessica Seaborn.

Perfect-ish by Jessica Seaborn is out Tuesday (August 15), $33, Penguin Random House Australia