Does social media make us narcissists? No, but it can reveal a lot about how we view ourselves

When it comes to narcissism, there is perhaps no more endearing example in the world than Kanye West. Pop culture’s king of self-aggrandisement once declared that he wished to describe his profession as ‘creative genius’ on immigration arrival forms – but he didn’t know how to spell the word ‘genius’ (lol). 

Narcissism is something I’ve been thinking about lately because I’ve seen a few columns fretting that our obsession with selfies and documenting the minutiae of our lives online is creating a generation of narcissists. I don’t agree. 

Firstly, a definition – because narcissism is not, despite popular belief, the same as arrogance or just plain bad behaviour. During a discussion at the recent Sydney Writer’s Festival, social commentator Anne Manne (author of Life of I: The New Culture of Narcissism) offered these defining characteristics (among others): having a sense of superiority; a sense of entitlement; a feeling that you’re entitled to exploit others; and a desperate desire to gain attention to prove you are really significant – which is where social media use really comes under the microscope.

Brene Brown, leading researcher in the field of vulnerability, describes narcissism as “a shame-based fear of being ordinary”. At its core, she writes, narcissism is driven by a fear of not being enough.

I’m not sure what this says about the industry I’m in, but I’ve worked with more than a few people who fit into the narcissism category. And I’ve certainly seen people – from differing age groups – use social media as a platform for relentless self-promotion, which can be uncomfortable for me to observe. But even though many commentators have identified a correlation between social media and narcissism, I don’t think that means social media *breeds* narcissism, as such.

My opinion is that although there’s a good argument for all of us pulling back on our social media use and engaging more in face-to-face interactions, wanting to showcase your life online isn’t necessarily unhealthy. That said, if you feel like you are reliant on multiple ‘likes’ to feel valued – and feel like you don’t matter if you don’t achieve that – you could probably do with asking yourself some reflective questions. The way you use social media might be a symptom, rather than a cause, of a disconnect between what you think you have to offer the world and the unquantifiable, exquisite value you bring to the world every day simply by virtue of being yourself.

I did a social media detox a while ago and although it was short-lived (obviously) this did change the way I approach Facebook, Twitter and Instagram in a lasting way. Thankfully, I’ve never had the problem of aligning my sense of worth with my social media ‘reach’ or approval ratings – but my sense of self-worth has certainly struggled as a direct result of how I was using social media. The result was me feeling deeply inadequate for not having a life as glamorous or as exciting or as love-filled as other people ‘appear’ – and the key word here is ‘appear’ – to have. The good thing is, I was able to recognise that although Instagram et al were making me feel crap about myself, that was really a result of my low self-esteem – social media was merely exacerbating an existing problem. Which I’m taking steps to address, BTW. Understanding and honouring my value as a human being, and not using other people’s lives nor societal expectations as a yardstick for that, is an ongoing process for me.*

By the way, going back to the narcissism thing (in case you needed some reassurance)... if you’re worried you’re a narcissist, you’re not. Because if you were a narcissist you wouldn’t have enough self-awareness to even consider yourself one. (Good to know.)

I’m not really sure where this leaves Kanye, but I love his music, regardless.

* Read my blog post on comparison syndrome in relation to social media here.

the art of accepting compliments

Receiving compliments is not a comfortable experience for me. Because I’m self-employed I have to fly the flag for my work – it is the mark of my “brand” (ugh, please forgive my brief lapse into marketing speak; it won’t happen again) and of my value. Because my work is published on the reg, it’s out there for people to comment on. Thankfully, they seldom do – I don’t receive a lot of feedback, and I’m happy with that. But on the rare occasion someone – generally within the industry, as readers don’t usually correspond unless they want to complain – proffers a compliment on a piece of mine, there’s a part of me that dissolves into cringe mode. 

I used to work with someone who would greet any compliment with a look of faint disgust. Her response was to tell you all the things that she regarded as being wrong with her story, and all the ways she should/could/would have improved it. It was almost like a slap in the face for the person giving the compliment – basically she was saying: ‘your opinion is uninformed and irrelevant, so keep it to yourself’. In her effort not to appear arrogant (FYI being proud of your work is not arrogant!) by deflecting the compliment, she came off as haughty and a little precious. Of course, it’s perfectly healthy to be self-critical – how else will you hone your craft if you can’t see the areas in need of improvement? – but to pour your personal dissatisfaction onto someone who just wanted to say something nice seems somewhat disrespectful. I understand that humility is important but I don’t think discrediting the opinion of someone who had good intentions is very fair.

My response to compliments is much less petulant. Over the years I’ve learned to disregard my discomfort and simply say: ‘thank you, I really appreciate your feedback’. I might not share their affection for the piece, but that’s OK. It’s taken some time to figure out how to separate my feelings about my work from the feelings of others. Even if I’m profoundly disappointed in the way I’ve executed a brief, if someone with no vested interest in that story enjoyed reading it, that’s awesome. I’ll take that. My work is, after all, for other people to read. It’s not some grand monument to hang in the Eternal Gallery of Trudie. 

Despite knowing this, whenever I receive a compliment I feel a small part of myself squirm. Partly this is because I’m shy so I don’t particularly enjoy being singled out in any way. Having attention drawn to something that bears my name – and by extension, drawing attention to myself – is an awkward experience. I much prefer to blend into the background. Unfortunately my work as a healer requires me to stand out.

The cringe factor also comes back to shaky self-esteem – which, I’m happy to report, is increasingly less shaky the more I work on my personal development. I’m better at actively challenging any message I tell myself along the lines of ‘you don’t deserve... ’ It’s harder for me to believe self-deprecating messages than it was in the past; they don't stick like they used to. That doesn’t mean I embrace compliments, but it means I don’t automatically reject them either. It’s a good sign that I am learning – finally – to value myself and my abilities. 

The times they are a-changing. 

On selling myself short – financially and personally

For more than a month now I have been getting the message that I needed to put my prices up. For more than

a month I have resisted. In terms of my main profession (I’m a freelance journalist) rates are set by the industry and I have very little room to manoeuvre. But in terms of my work as an angel card reader, I have set my rates at well under 50 per cent of what other readers charge, and I have justified this ridiculous state of affairs with the flimsiest of reasons. 

I told myself that because I am fairly new to professional card readings it wouldn’t be fair to charge the same rate as more experienced readers. This is a lie I told myself because – as is the case with many lies, I’ve realised – it was convenient. It was convenient for me not to face my fear that I am not good enough. This lie allowed me to feel OK about delivering a service that might not be as polished as other readers could offer, and only feel semi shitty about it (as opposed to completely shitty).

Basically, I didn’t want to let anyone down. But in doing so, I’ve been letting myself down. Badly. Which makes no sense, because charging a rate that is fair for me is not the same thing as ripping people off. And all the feedback I’m getting – plus the coaching I’ve been having – indicates that I am, in fact, good enough. I am providing people with real insight and messages that are helpful to them. So why not charge market rates?

Of course, this is not really about money at all, it’s about value. It’s the value I advertise my skills as having – and by charging a low rate I’m pretty much telling people that the information and insights I can offer them are worth about as much as the Sunday brunch they kinda enjoy but won’t remember afterwards. This is also about how much (or little) I value myself.

I’ve written before about my tendency to measure myself against other people, to my detriment. I am now

trying to redefine my understanding of the word ‘value’. I have challenged myself to stop measuring my value by other people’s standards and expectations – which is a sure path to low self-esteem. If I compare myself to the waifish-supermodel shape that society tells us is the ideal (do not even get me started on how wrong this barometer is!), I will always see my body as lacking. If I regard the marriage-mortgage-maternity formula as the determinant of a successful life, I will see myself as a failure. If I regard a high-flying job as the measure of career success, I will never see my professional abilities as holding value.

Instead, I’m trying to understand that my value comes from internal measures. I’m trying to recognise the value that I hold simply by virtue of being myself, and through the ways I’m honouring that individuality. I hold value when I am meeting my own set of – for lack of a better word – values. These include kindness, fairness, holding fast to hope and making meaningful contributions to a better world (in small and significant ways). When I honour those, and all the other virtues I hold dear, I hold value. And when I recognise my own value I am more likely to make better decisions about everything from what food I put in my mouth to what type of relationships I pursue and, yes, how much I charge for my work.

My decisions about the rates I set for my services are inextricably linked to the way I feel about myself. Both are overdue for an overhaul. My challenge is to learn to back myself, so that others will too. 

Why (and how) rejection hurts. And learning not to fear that pain

Hands up everyone who isn't afraid of rejection! 

Oh, nobody? I thought so.

The first thing that pops into my mind when I think of rejection is a memory of being the last one picked for sports teams at school, Freaks and Geeks style. Bring out the violins.

But rejection happens in adulthood too, and it's not only destructive on an emotional level, it has an impact on your physical health.


In his book Emotional First Aid, psychologist Guy Winch writes that rejection is such a strong emotion that the body experiences it like physical pain. Remember, for example, what it feels like to be dumped: "You might have felt pressure suffocating you, had trouble breathing or had jabbing pain like a sharp knife," Guy writes. (BTW, Guy's TED talk on emotional first aid is moving and insightful, if you're interested.)

This shows how intensely rejection can affect us. But it isn't a connection with physical pain that makes me as afraid of being rejected now as I was in my childhood. The reason fear of rejection stalks me today is all about self-protection.

My worst experience of rejection in adulthood was in 2013 when my then-best friend squeezed me out of the close-knit circle of friends I'd had since my university days. I had no choice but to walk away, but the cost was high. No more sun-loving barbecue invitations. No more giggly brunches. No more daily email banter. Suddenly lonely evenings and weekends stretched out before me like a vast wasteland. My phone never rang. I'm sure my friends had their reasons - there are always two sides to the story - and it would be remiss of me not to admit that I was not a great friend to them either. Knowing that we were moving in different directions, and would have drifted apart anyway, didn't ease my despair - it was the slap of being rejected that hurt. Essentially, my worthiness as a friend and as a human being had been assessed by people who knew me incredibly well, and judged to be inadequate. The message: I am not good enough. The effects on my already-low self-esteem were catastrophic.

I wrapped my wings around my fractured heart and retreated into isolation. I stopped talking to people. I was cold to people who tried to connect with me. I stopped attending the few social events from other connections that came up. These were not conscious actions; they were the response to an unconscious belief playing in the background. This belief told me not to get close to anyone because I could not face the chances - which I believed to be high - of being rejected again. 

I'd love to tell you that this fear disappeared but it is more accurate to say it has only lessened slightly. After moving to a new city I have found myself in a great social circle of warm and wonderful people - yay! - but it has been difficult to learn to let people in. I have several confidantes, but I am careful not to lean on anyone too much. I don't have a best friend and I don't want one - that's way too risky.

Obviously there are a bunch of other self-esteem issues going on here too, which I've had for decades and have chronicled in other posts (like this one), as well as my natural (and entirely healthy) tendency towards introversion. But fear of rejection is almost certainly a factor in my reluctance to build deep relationships, both platonic and otherwise. 

Is this really a problem, though? I mean, it's keeping me safe, so that's useful. Is a fear of rejection even a thing that needs fixing? I've thought about this a lot, and my answer is yes and no. The thing is, fear never goes away. You can mute it but it will still be there, shapeshifting into another form (such as fear of failure). 

So I can't fix it. But I can change the way I respond to it. I can find new ways to arrest these thoughts when they appear before me, masquerading as my reality. I can go badass detective on the messages I send myself, and subject them to interrogation to determine their validity, instead of simply following their well-intended but ultimately self-limiting directives. I can push back on the thoughts that tell me the risk of letting down some of my barriers and simply being myself in my interactions with others is too great, and would lead to rejection. 

Of course, I don't *have* to do any of these things. 

But. 

If I don't, I'm essentially telling myself that I'm not good enough - which is the very message this fear is trying to protect me from receiving from others. By allowing myself to risk being rejected, I'm backing myself and saying I am worthy of being accepted, and that I'm resilient enough to deal with the consequences of possible rejection. In doing so, I'm accepting myself, which may not diminish my fear of rejection any but it seems like a pretty good start. 

The Self-Appreciation Project

I want to tell you about a little project I’m working on. Actually that was a lie – I don’t want to tell you about it at all. But my angels told me I had to, that it would help me to write about it… and, just like the husband who had warned you earlier in the evening that those stilettos would hurt your feet, they are always right (it’s very annoying). So here goes.

My self-esteem is ridiculously low. Not just I-hate-trying-on-bathing-suits low, or even I’m-too-chicken-to-ask-my-boss-for-a-raise low, but cruelly self-sabotaging-on-the-reg low – without even realising it. It’s only now, in my mid-30s, that I’ve decided I’m not willing to live like this anymore. 

I'm not looking to achieve Kanye-level self-love status, just a way of maybe being my own best friend. I’m no longer willing to avoid eye contact at parties from a belief that no one would find me interesting. I’m not willing to bail out of dates because of a belief that I’m lovable. I’m not willing to avoid pitching work projects out of a belief that they aren’t good enough (which really means: a belief that I’M not good enough).

It’s not easy to turn around decades of negative self-talk – especially when you hadn’t been aware you’d been treating yourself so shabbily. I’m not exactly sure it’s entirely possible, but I know that I have to try, with everything I’ve got. If I don’t, I will continue to push people away and live a lacklustre life. I want to live in the light now. 

That’s why I’ve embarked on something called the Self-Appreciation Project. Every night, I reflect on the day just passed and write down two things I loved about myself. Here’s the thing: it’s REALLY hard. Initially I wanted to list five things but I couldn’t. Even getting to two is a struggle. And in the spirit of absolute frankness I can tell you there have been days when I could not find a single thing. Not one. (I’m trying not to beat myself up when that happens, because self-compassion is another attribute I really want to foster. I’m also determined not to use those days as an excuse to give up.)

The Self-Appreciation Project, which shall henceforth be known as SAP, is bringing up a lot of dark stuff that’s been buried in my subconscious, which is unpleasant at best and downright terrifying at worst. But I know that I need to go through all that to get to the other side. Like Louise Hay once declared: “Honey, if you want to clean your house, you’ve gotta see where the dirt is.” (That woman is always slaying me with her wisdom.)

I hope that telling you about SAP will help keep me honest, and committed. I don’t know whether it will actually change anything, but I know that I have to do it. This may be the most important thing I do in my entire life. I can’t fail at it – it’s too important. I am too important. And I hope one day to truly believe that with every fibre of my being.