I Forgot My Life Didn't Need an Audience

A few weeks ago, I realized something that surprised me.

I hadn't posted on Instagram since the beginning of June.

Normally, that's the sort of thing that would have made me uncomfortable. I probably would have worried that people had forgotten about me, that the algorithm would punish me, or that I was somehow falling behind. As someone who has spent years building an online business, creating patterns, writing a book, teaching classes, and sharing pieces of my creative life, social media has always felt like part of the job.

But this time, I didn't really notice.

And once I did notice, I realized I didn't particularly miss it.

That isn't to say I've stopped creating. Quite the opposite, really. Life has simply become... life again.

For a long time, I think I got into the habit of viewing experiences through the lens of whether they would make good content. Not consciously, at least not at first. It happens gradually. You finish a quilt and immediately think about photographing it. You bake something beautiful and wonder if you should grab your phone before anyone takes a bite. You go somewhere interesting and start thinking about captions before you've even left the parking lot.

None of those things are inherently bad. Sharing our lives is part of what has allowed so many wonderful creative communities to exist online. I've met incredible people, because of Instagram, and I'm genuinely grateful for the opportunities it's brought into my life. But somewhere along the way, I think I forgot that not everything needed to be shared.

This summer has reminded me of that.

July is always a busy month in our family. Both of our kids have birthdays, so there's been no shortage of cakes to bake, presents to wrap, decorations to put up, and celebrations to enjoy. I still can't quite believe they're ten and twelve now. Every year seems to pass a little faster than the one before it, and I'm becoming increasingly aware that these summers won't always look like this.

I've also been playing my second season of softball in a local recreational league. If you've known me for any length of time, you'll know that sports have never exactly been my defining personality trait, but I've come to love Sunday nights on the ball diamond. I love getting outside. I love laughing with my teammates. I love the satisfaction of making a good play - or, just as often, laughing at the ones I completely mess up.

One of my neighbours joined the team this year, and that's been an unexpected gift. We've always been friendly, but spending evenings together, cheering each other on and talking between innings, has turned us into real friends.

None of those moments ended up on Instagram. Or TikTok, or on any app you can doom scroll through. Not because I was intentionally keeping them private, but because I simply wasn't thinking about posting them.

And honestly, that felt... freeing.

I've also spent time settling into my newly renovated sewing studio. It's still not quite finished. There are pictures waiting to be hung, shelves to organize, little corners that still need to feel lived in before I'm ready to show them to the world.

In the past, I probably would have rushed to share every update.

This time, I've enjoyed letting the room become mine first.

There hasn't even been as much sewing as I imagined there would be. A younger version of me might have felt guilty admitting that on a quilting blog, but I don't anymore.

Creativity has seasons, just like everything else.

Sometimes we make quilts, sometimes we make memories, and sometimes we simply make space.

I've been thinking a lot lately about how much of modern life encourages us to perform our experiences instead of simply having them. We take pictures before we've fully looked. We think about captions before we've finished the conversation. We document the moment before we've actually lived it.

I don't think that's anyone's fault. Social media was built to encourage exactly that.

But I've realized it's no longer how I want to experience my own life.

That doesn't mean I'm disappearing from the internet.

It doesn't mean I'm giving up quilting, or blogging, or sharing what I'm working on.

It simply means I don't want to create something because I feel like I should.

I want to share when I have something that genuinely excites me.

When I've finished a quilt I'm proud of. When I finally hang the artwork in my sewing studio. When I discover a technique that makes sewing easier. Or when I have a story worth telling. Not because it's Tuesday. Not because the algorithm likes consistency.

And certainly not because someone somewhere says I need to post three times a week.

For the first time in a long time, I'm allowing myself to believe that a quiet season doesn't have to be an unproductive one. Sometimes growth happens in ways that can't be measured by likes, comments, or follower counts. Sometimes it looks like spending an evening at the ballpark with people who make you laugh. Sometimes it looks like baking birthday cakes for children who somehow keep growing up. Sometimes it looks like sitting in a sewing room that isn't quite finished yet, simply enjoying the peace of being there.

I've spent years inviting people into my creative life, and I don't regret that for a second. It has brought me friendships, opportunities, and a community that I cherish more than I can say.

But this summer has reminded me that the best parts of life don't become more valuable because they're shared online. If anything, some moments become even sweeter when they belong only to the people who were there.

So if you've been wondering where I've been, the answer is wonderfully ordinary.

I've been living my life.

And I have to admit...

I've rather enjoyed keeping some of it to myself.