Media Mentalist: Coping with Anxiety as a Digital Creator

Scroll. Heart. Scroll. Scroll. Scroll. Scroll. Heart. This is the natural rhythm of my phone screen anytime I have the urge to post on social media. The process begins by opening my photos app and sifting through all 8,304 pictures, and counting, to select the frames that best represent my life at the time. Perfectly edited colors, aesthetic flatlays, a group photo that proves how likeable I am in real life and a caption that communicates my down to earth nature. Something that used to be composed of silly check-ins and dog filters is now a well oiled machine that, if executed correctly, can skyrocket independent creators out of obscurity and into the belly of digital entrepreneurship. The burden of potential weighs me down and I am forced daily to contemplate my own ambition and question where it is taking me. I have always aimed to make a substantial impact in the media using only my creativity and natural skepticism. I have heard countless times that “journalism is dead”. I have heard an equal amount of times that “It’s the best time to be a freelance/ multimedia/ entrepreneur/ content creator/ videographer/ journalist”. How I market myself on social media can affect the reach, quality, and impact of my work, but is it possible to silence the incessant anxieties associated with social media content creation and build a viable career?

As someone who is on the creative professional pathway, I understand the importance of consistent brand building across social media but I struggle with how to center my story. The anxiety of labeling myself and thus carving out my niche is debilitating. No amount of self-help podcasts or diaphragmatic breathing can control the spiral that I have recently embraced as inevitable. In my world, your social media profiles are your calling card – living portfolios that have the potential to market your talents as an independent contractor or entrepreneur. However, I find myself ruminating on the fear of exposure and perception from others. I know that what my brain perceives as a risk, (hate-comments, failure, cyberbullying) can lead to a fulfilling reward (exposure, community-building, fulfillment) , but I am currently developing my personal strategy on how to get my creative voice to outweigh my anxious voice.

I was taught to be a “backpack journalist”, to gain expertise in each facet of broadcast and multimedia journalism so as to best market myself for potential publications and editors. One day I was a reporter, the next, a podcaster, and on any given day I might’ve been a writer, editor, producer, videographer, gaffer, audio technician or whatever was needed from me. I took comfort in my chameleon identity and was certain that I would land on my feet no matter which way I fell. Well, I have fallen and it seems that the only way to get back up is to single handedly champion a media empire and in theory I have all the tools at my fingertips. Embracing social media as a tool is easy, incorporating that tool into my burgeoning career at times however, feels impossible. Post the most engaging verticals, edit the most aesthetic carousels for consumption, be relatable and humorous, be your biggest fan. Cue anxious tummy ache.

This process seems so paralyzing to me because I have Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD) – a condition characterized by persistent and excessive worry in daily life. My tendency to constantly worry clashes with my personal ambitions and oftentimes, leaves me frozen doom scrolling on my phone. Do I look okay in this photo? Is this caption too cringe? What if I can’t make money? Is this a waste of time? These thoughts live rent free in my head contributing to the many categories that fuel my worry. The fear of being “cringey” has murdered true creativity and I am on a mission to actively subvert this notion.

I have found that the root cause of this particular anxious fixation is comparison. Social media apps thrive off of users comparing, commenting and engaging with each other. It is well known that excessive social media use can lead to depression and anxiety, especially in young adults. The algorithm knows me well enough to show me all the profiles of “people I might know” but I can’t help the comparisons that I make. When I engage in comparison it usually encourages negative self-talk. The anxious voice tells me that what I have to contribute is not worthy or interesting, it convinces me that my time is better spent not creating because “who is going to care anyway?”. That voice is a liar. It preys on fear and frankly, must be told to “shut the f— up”. I shut the voice down by centering authenticity and leading with heart. If I create something I’m truly passionate about, then the crowd’s opinion shouldn’t hold as much weight—because I know it resonates with me, and that’s enough. To redirect my thoughts, I remind myself of the following; My voice is valuable. The world needs my art. My anxiety does not control me.

The nemesis to anxiety is action, so, to overcome the pressure of posting and exposure or the looming career downward spiral, I have to regain control with small steps:

1. Plan my content so I don’t have to stress about posting.

2. Film in batches and double dip to get the most out of the content.

3. Source inspiration outside of social media so I don’t fall into the comparison trap.

4. Give myself grace and self-compassion.

5. Remember that trends are suggestions, not rules.

Even though I struggle with anxiety and anxious thought patterns relative to content creation, all is not lost. Anxiety is a natural human phenomenon that can sometimes help us, other times it leaves us with feelings of immense helplessness, myself included. Another natural human occurrence is creativity, endless possibilities and ideas unique to each of us. While the two don’t always go hand in hand, the former does not have to deter the latter. Meeting anxiety with action to reframe my thoughts not only eases the psychosomatic effects of anxiety but moves me closer to my ultimate goals. Identifying my triggers and planning accordingly encourages me to set achievable goals and acknowledge how far I’ve come.

At some point, I had to ask myself: who am I creating for? The metrics, the algorithms, the constant comparisons, none of it matters if I lose sight of my voice in the process. Coping with anxiety as a digital creator isn’t about pretending it doesn’t exist; it’s about learning to move forward in spite of it. I’ve come to understand that showing up with intention, even if imperfectly, is more sustainable than chasing virality. When I center authenticity over aesthetics and curiosity over control, the work feels lighter, truer. Maybe the goal isn’t to silence the anxiety completely, but to create in a way that makes space for it, acknowledges it, and chooses expression anyway.

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