Standing naked in a field of crickets

How I often feel when I share online (and what I'm learning about approval)

Last week, right after I published my first newsletter on here, I stood at my laptop for a good 15 minutes in total anxious silence while I refreshed my inbox and post stats repeatedly.

While holding my breath and hoping for all the acclaim that one gal could get, nothing. was. happening.

JeeWoo was even outside looking for more roly-polies (because six weren’t enough!), and surprisingly not yelling for me to help him. So, I had extra time to stare at this WATCHED POT THAT WOULDN’T BOIL.

I wanted my inbox to be immediately spilling over with things like, “This was incredible.” “You really helped me.” “You’re the best writer.” “Would you like to come on The Today Show?” “We’d like to make a movie out of your stories.” “Can my monthly subscription be $1,000?”

I wanted to see ALL the opens, ALL the clicks, and everyone on the internet subscribing to Moon Pollen.

But the only movements in those longest minutes of my life were four unsubscribes and a roly-poly fleeing across the kitchen counter from JeeWoo’s open bug catcher.

(And…unlike Mailchimp, where I published newsletters for decades, Substack doesn’t tell you who’s opting out. That is both agonizing and freeing.)

You’d think this was my first rodeo with sending a newsletter or starting something new. (Nope!) You’d think this was my first craving for praise. (HA! Not even close.) You’d think by now, an “unsub” would be seen as another step closer to my ideal audience. (Nah. It still stings a little.)

Since 2006, I’ve published thousands of blogs, articles, and newsletters. While many of those were for journalism gigs, content jobs, and marketing clients, a good chunk of ‘em were from good ‘ol vulnerable me.

And to this day, in those first moments after publishing, I still feel like I’m standing naked in a field of crickets.

Until someone chimes in with a like or reply, my brain is flooded with chirps of self-doubt while I am DRIPPING with fragility.

But here’s the thing:

If I kept one of those folders people keep of all the positive feedback they’ve received over the years, mine would be spilling over.

I’m not telling you this to brag. (Well, maybe a small part of me is. I mean, I am in the middle of confessing my addiction to compliments.) But I’m mainly telling you this because a big question has been looming over me:

When will it be enough?

Just like six roly-polies weren’t satisfactory for Mr. Bug Catcher and my second cup of coffee has me craving a third, my thirst for “standing Os” is clearly not quenched.

But…

Will it ever be?

Is our desire for approval as innate as our feelings of fear?

It sure is.

In the pre-historic days, our chances for survival literally depended on being included. If you left a group or were kicked out, you were dunzo. Of course, things are different in 2023, but this inherent need for connection and inclusion still runs deep. It explains why we fear rejection, and therefore, desire approval.

SO…

To want affirmation from others is to be human. It’s okay! Yay.

BUT…

When it becomes an obsession or totally takes over your thoughts, THAT is when something needs to give, and THAT is something I’ve been digging into big-time lately.

Something I’ve learned is this:

Just like our physical thirst ebbs and flows depending on what we’re drinking and doing, I’m convinced that our hankering for kudos does as well.

For me, the smaller / safer / more familiar the thing, the more comfortable, clear-headed, and poised I am.

My well of experience is so full, I’m prepared for rejection, mistakes, and unplanned mishaps.

This explains why I’m not glued to my notifications after posting quick Instagram Stories, dance videos, or impromptu piano ditties. Don’t get me wrong. I still check ‘em like crazy. Always dying to know if I’ve made someone laugh or smile. But my palms aren’t sweating and I’m more okay if there are crickets, because I’ve posted boatloads of these. I’ve had practice. Plus, I’m aware that my dancing is so bad it’s good, and I finally know that my piano-playing is so imperfect it’s perfect.

Then, there’s the stuff that strips you of everything you once knew.

The bigger / scarier / newer the thing, the hungrier I am for applause when my words or creations hit the stage.

In these moments, I’m basically dehydrated. My confidence is parched, my nerves have me on the verge of blacking out, and I’m shaking at the thought of someone criticizing it.

This explains why I blacked out the first time I did open-mic standup. And, well, I also had too much time to drown my anxiety with too many vodka sodas before going second to last.

This also explains why in the first few months of launching my first book ever, I cried into my husband’s chest after it got its second 2-star review in two days.

So, turns out there’s a spectrum of sorts when it comes to this stuff. But here’s what always rings true for me:

When I’m a total newbie or something I envisioned goes sideways, there’s no room for common sense.

But once I get moving again and a little time passes, my brain comes back to me. My fears wash away.

You see, no one’s thinking straight when their joke falls face-first into a quiet audience or they get de-pantsed by their kid in the checkout line at Costco. (This actually happened to my bro-in-law once. And the checker was a teenage girl. Talk about feeling VULNERABLE!)

But in time, things get better.

In time, you learn and grow.

You take that joke outta your routine, write some new ones, and get back up there. You make it back to Costco (maybe with a belt on?) and revel in the HILARIOUS story you will now tell for the rest of your life.

In time, you will realize you ARE in fact worthy, good, and seen — no matter what feedback is or isn’t on that screen.

But…

Also, in time…

Your desire for praise inevitably returns, because this human instinct cannot be banished.

It can, however, be managed.

If you feel like your craving for approval often takes over, and you’re looking for tangible ways to stay sane and UNSTOPPABLE, then next week’s post is for you (and, well, me too).

In the meantime, do you resonate with what I’ve shared? Why or why not? I’d LOVE to hear from you. (I just might be refreshing my inbox till I do!)