On performing, burning out, and finding your way back to the pantry.
The Stage Nobody Asked For
Somewhere between Facebook and now social media stopped being social.
It became a stage.
Everyone performing. The right hook. The right content. The right timing. Post. Measure. Repeat. Wash and rinse and do it again tomorrow.
And the platforms helped. Nudged you toward consistency. Rewarded engagement. Suggested you reply to twenty accounts today. Told you your reach was dropping. Reminded you it had been three days since your last post.
So you performed.
Not because you had something to say. Because the platform told you to say something.
And slowly, without noticing you stopped showing up and started performing.
The fatigue you feel scrolling through your feed? That’s not social media fatigue.
That’s audience fatigue. The exhaustion of watching everyone perform on a stage nobody signed up for.
The Irony
Social media was supposed to be the pantry.
The office pantry where people gather between tasks. Where conversations start casually. Where you don’t need a script or a hook or a lighting setup.
You just show up. Say what’s on your mind. Listen to what’s on someone else’s.
That’s what it was designed to be.
Now it feels like showing up to the pantry and finding a stage, a spotlight, and an audience expecting a performance.
And the people most burned out are the ones who followed the rules most carefully. Who hit their quota. Who replied to twenty accounts. Who posted consistently regardless of whether they had anything real to say.
They did everything right. And they’re the most exhausted people in the room.
The Way Back
This is not a strategy. This is a return.
Back to what social media was actually for before the platforms turned it into a performance venue.
Show real interest in others.
Not performative engagement. Not the reply you typed because you needed to hit a number. Real curiosity about what someone else said. The kind that makes you stop scrolling because something they wrote made you think.
Reply with intention.
One reply with something genuine is worth more than twenty replies with nothing. The person you’re replying to can feel the difference. So can everyone reading the thread.
Share what’s close to your heart.
Not what’s backed by data. Not what the algorithm rewards. Not the framework you borrowed from a guru.
The mom sharing a habit that actually helped — without showing off, just sharing because it might help someone else.
The father talking honestly about teenagers and how hard it is some days.
The young person who just started working and doesn’t know how to socialise in the office sharing that uncertainty because someone else is feeling it too.
That’s not content. That’s conversation.
And conversation, real conversation is what everyone came here for in the first place.
If you disagree — say so.
But say it without inviting a quarrel. There’s a way to hold a strong opinion and deliver it without making the other person feel attacked. That’s not weakness. That’s the difference between someone who wants to be right and someone who wants to be understood.
The Simple Test
Before you post. Before you reply. Before you hit publish on something you’re not sure about:
Am I performing ,or am I present?
Performing is for the stage. For the algorithm. For the quota.
Presence is for the pantry. For the person on the other side. For the conversation that actually means something.
You came to social media to connect.
The platform turned it into a stage.
You don’t have to stay on it.
Pull up a chair. Find your table. Talk like a human.
That’s enough.
Clarity is the most underrated business investment. — Lokman S., Majalah BIKIN