Whenever I’ve used Instagram with any frequency, I have found it to be the most expedient way for me to feel simultaneously inadequate, overwhelmed and depressed.
Instagram mothers were cooking gourmet plant-based meals for their kids, while I was popping open boxed macaroni and cheese. Instagram entrepreneurs were making millions in business at the age of 25, while I was trying to figure out the next chapter in my career at 40. On Instagram, my contemporaries embodied #BlackGirlMagic, while I was feeling completely unremarkable.
