The Reality of Social Influencers (We're Human)

Being a social influencer (which, honestly, I do not see myself as one) is often painted as a dream. The highlight reels make it look effortless—perfectly curated posts, endless engagement, adoring fans. But behind every photo, every story, every post, there’s a quieter, heavier reality that few people see.

Even as a small account, I feel it. And I can only imagine how much more intense it is for the bigger ones—the ones with thousands, tens of thousands, or even hundreds of thousands of followers. There’s constant pressure. Constant comparison. “I posted something similar but it’s not getting attention.” “Am I posting enough?” “Is my content entertaining?” “Am I even getting my message across?” These questions don’t just linger—they echo, day after day, alongside every new post.

Our inboxes tell another story. Messages swing from one extreme to the next. “Let me fuck you” to “You changed my life today.” One is invasive, the other overwhelming. Sometimes, you feel isolated even while being surrounded by people—thousands, hundreds of thousands, all scrolling, all watching, all interacting in ways that may feel distant or transactional. The sense of being alone while so visible is deep, uncomfortable, and exhausting.

I want to be clear: I’m not complaining. I love what I do. I love the friendships I’ve built, the messages from people who say I made a difference, the small moments that remind me why this matters. But loving it doesn’t erase the reality: we are human, not content machines. Watching engagement fall, videos not being watched, posts ignored—these things sting. And all the while, there’s the constant battle against the way the world values us.

For women especially, the message is clear: our physicality is visible, desired, even commodified—but our real worth, the messy, complicated, raw parts of us, are often invisible. People want surface-level perfection. They don’t always see who we are beyond the curated smiles, the sleek captions, the edited photos. And it’s maddening.

Yet despite all this, we keep showing up. We choose this—not for fame or validation, but because we believe in the power of connection, of spreading kindness, of sharing our perspective. We post, we interact, we create, even when it comes at the expense of our own mental health. Our value isn’t tied to metrics or engagement. It’s tied to who we are—the human being showing up fully in a world that often only wants the highlight reel.

Being visible doesn’t mean being seen. And that’s a truth I’ve learned, painfully and beautifully, every day. But I’ll continue. Because even if a thousand people scroll past without noticing, even if my worth is ignored by the masses, the moments where I make a difference—where I reach someone, touch someone, inspire someone—are enough.

That’s why we do this.

That’s why we love it.

And that’s why we keep showing up, messy, complicated, and fully ourselves.