The first time someone suggested deleting an Instagram post because it’d been 10 minutes and only a handful of people had liked it, I scoffed. How could you care that much what other people think of you? Why do you even pay attention to how many likes you’re getting anyway? I wondered.

Today, I completely understand the temptation; the desire, not only to present your very best, highlights-reel version of yourself to the world, but to get addicted, at times, to the follower counts, the likes, the shares, the little badges of honor, saying “you’re worthy” as the number climbs.

It’s a phenomenon Shauna Niequist touches on — albeit indirectly — in an essay from her new book, Present Over Perfect. In it, she describes a man who has an incredible knack for connecting with people, making them feel loved almost instantly. That very gift cost him his marriage and relationship with his kids, not because of some sordid affair, but because he simply couldn’t be there for them. He got addicted to the quick fix of making people feel important for a few fleeting minutes, and he’d gotten so used to giving the best of himself to his 9-to-5 that he didn’t have the time (or energy) to invest so heavily in his own family. When he was off the clock, he checked out of being a caring, supportive human being, leaving only a distracted shell behind, it seemed. Eventually, his family left him, feeling unloved and unneeded.

His example may seem extreme, at first, until you consider the ways we do this ourselves: Being so exhausted from work each night that we can barely move past a grunting exchange of “how was you day?” and “fine,” before plopping in front of the TV until bedtime. Or, as Niequist puts it, the writer who’s so “addicted to the IV drip of blog comments and likes, while her family longs for her to close the laptop and look her in the eye.” Those words hit me hard. They’ve been me, thanks to the night and weekend projects I keep picking up (ahem, LBW), and the Facebook videos I feel the itch to monitor (“how many views?!” “What are people saying about it?!”). Don’t even get me started on how my mood visibly sags to Eeyore-like proportions if a video is bombing, or people hate a recipe. Hi, I’m a human buzzkill. Nice to meet you.

In little ways, we’re all guilty of giving our best selves to things that don’t really matter long-term, either purely because we’re passionate about the topic/project/whatever and want to excel at it, or — what’s worse — the dangerous combination of things Niequist mentions: Avoiding a messy home life (or whatever area of your world you’re neglecting) by zeroing in on your “quick wins” — the things you feel competent at. She explains it further:

We dive into information or work or bicycling or whatever, because it feels good to be good at something, to master something, to control something when marriage and intimacy often feel profoundly out of our control. And so, little by little, we tiptoe away.

By “tiptoeing,” Niequist refers to the dozens of little decisions that fracture a relationship, when you neglect it to focus on whatever you currently feel confident doing. For me, I’ve seen it on the career side: In previous jobs, when I feel less-than about my results at work, I’ve found myself suddenly dreaming of a new gig — perhaps an entirely different field, in a whole new city — because seeking an escape is easier than facing the mess (and the fear that we’re less than capable) head-on.

If this happens in a relationship, that gradual retreating creates a distance between two people, and that distance “always seems to create a space for another person,” someone (or some people) you confide in instead, Niequist writes. That immediately struck a chord with me; I’d heard that story before. Several times.

This makes it all the more crucial to be aware of the moments when you don’t feel good enough, noting where they come from (work, family, friends, your own negative self-talk), and taking steps to understand the issue, rather than avoid it. If you do dodge it — hey, we’re human, it happens — there’s power in acknowledging that, and striving to move forward, openly and honestly, so you don’t find yourself creating a ravine between you and the people you love.

When any area of our lives spiral out of control, it’s tempting to keep moving, keep running, onto the next thing or into the thing that makes us feel confident, buoyed, just plain good. Niequist sums it up pretty nicely in an earlier chapter:

“I thought the doing and the busyness would keep me safe. They kept me numb.”

I don’t know about you, but I’d rather be alive and messy and error-prone than numb.

Niequist’s book, Present Over Perfect, is available in stores and on Amazon now.

Top Photo: Tord Sollie/Unsplash