Twelve months.
That’s how long I’m giving myself.
A year off social media — off the endless scroll, the noise, the pressure to be “seen.”
I don’t hate it. I just miss me.
Somewhere in between the likes and the algorithms, I stopped noticing the quiet things the ones that used to make me feel alive.
So I’m going back to them.
This next year is about building again.
Piece by piece.
Slowly.
Intentionally.
I want to read twelve books. Real ones. The kind that smell like paper and make you think about your life halfway through chapter seven.
I want to take photos again, not for engagement, but because light hit something right and I couldn’t help but capture it.
I want to get better at sewing. At thrifting. At taking something broken and making it useful again.
Maybe it’s about more than fabric. Maybe I’m learning how to fix myself too.
I want to walk closer with God.
Open the Bible because I need the truth, not because it fits a morning routine.
Talk to Him in the silence. Let that be enough.
I want to love my family better.
Be there for my friends.
Eat food that fuels me.
Move my body because it deserves that kind of care.
It’s twelve months of choosing real life.
Of chasing dreams that aren’t digital.
Of creating because I feel something, not because I’m supposed to.
Maybe I’ll come back online.
Maybe I won’t.
But if I do, I hope it’s as someone who finally lived, instead of someone who just posted about it.
Twelve months.
Me, God, and the slow becoming of whoever I’m meant to be.
uncommonsight 