Cosplaying Depth

almost an intellect, almost an artist but the screen time don't lie

When I was ten years old I discovered the word apathy.

Apathy- lack of interest, enthusiasm or concern.

It burned into my young brain. Even then, I understood it as a predator and I, the prey. I have never been a hard worker. As a kid, I couldn’t commit, whether to friend groups, to hobbies, to much of anything. I got bored. Always looking for the next best thing. I tried just hard enough to be seen as gifted but never felt deeply passionate about anything in particular. Layer in family trauma and chronic health issues that started around the same time, and I began to accept that I was just... tired. Now, decades later at 36, I still feel that way.

It makes sense that the church appealed to me so much in my teen years. I remember proudly telling people that apathy is the worst of sins. Nothing worse than not caring enough. Not fighting hard enough against sin. Faking faith.
Ironically, I did that often.

Deconstruction, partnership, and motherhood have filled the years since. So has chronic pain. (I’ve been diagnosed with chronic migraine since youth, recently with POTS, and I suspect Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome) So I’m not without grace. In fact, I often feel I have grace to fill an ocean for myself.
Which might be exactly how things have gotten so fraught.

I honestly thought I gave up on embarrassment a long time ago. Something about birthing children with a bunch of medical students in the room tend to let that emotion die.
But there’s one surefire way embarrassment still reemerges:
Showing someone my screen time.

We all know it.
It’s the damn phones.
And yet… we allow it.

We were born in times such as these, were we not?
And how else would I find that new song that I’m hyper fixated on? (currently- David by Lorde)
How else would I discover another book to read—or at least buy?
That hair clip that changed her life? I should probably check the price.
And shit, we’re out of paper towels and I definitely don’t want to go to the store.
Better order some.

Wait… is my kid behind in math? What should they know by age ten, anyway?
What?! My government is doing what?
I do not consent. Better read up on what to do if I see ICE.
And yes, I care. I should get involved in local protests.
Wait- a flash flood warning? Again? What do you mean the ocean currents are changing?
Also, what’s that new show everyone’s watching?
I need to relax.
I need to plan dinner.
I need to order groceries. Feeding people is hard. Feeling myself is hard. Have I eaten? Better look up signs of ADHD… again.

We allow it.
We call it research or rest or being informed.
We call it caring. (And honestly sometimes it is- I am not one to advocate to not know of current events) But I suspect after so much consumption it ventures into cosplaying.

Cosplaying intellect.

Cosplaying depth.

Cosplaying the kind of cool girl who knows what is going on, what’s on trend, what’s of importance, but never knowing enough. At least not enough to be changed by it.

And I’ve played that part all too well, sometimes unconsciously, maybe a lot of us have.

Interested in everything, committed to nothing.

Smart enough to seem thoughtful, too distracted to think deeply. Maybe I can quote the headline, drop a statistic or two, a reference, but not the whole story. I can talk about systems and cycles, art moments, trauma theory, but I still scroll like it’s my true passion. Still skim the moment my brain wanders, still buy things thinking they will help me in my creation process.

It’s like constantly preparing for a role, and never auditioning.

Woman who almost has something to say, almost has something to create, almost… almost… almost.

And I’m tired, and I know all this and I still let apathy win.

Listen, I’m a millennial. I was there when the internet came alive… slowly, then all at once. I remember dial-up. I remember AIM away messages.
My high school days (shoutout to the class of 2007) didn’t have Instagram or Snapchat.
We still passed notes. We still had long silences. I get that the times have changed.
But our time here? It’s always been unknown.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve felt like an artist. A writer.
I follow people who speak in poems, whose work drips with depth.
And something in me whispers: Why not me?

But then the spiral of consumption takes over. The distraction. The just, let me check one more thing.

The algorithmic rinse and repeat.

And it goes all over again.

And again.

again.

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And it’s not just me spiraling. According to a July 2025 survey, 83% of Gen Z and millennials say they feel overwhelmed by digital life, specifically screen time, social media and constant information overload. The study found that, on average, we feel emotionally maxed out 17 days a month (I’d be interested to know that number for parents because mine is much higher). Still, for all that is more than half their time a month. Scrolling, pseudo- research, tabs full of articles to read later (oop looking at my long list of substack saves). All of which doesn’t soothe, it splinters.

Still, I reach for it. Like everyone else, because apparently that is just what we do.

But this isn’t an audition. I’m not researching a role. I’m living a life.

I want to know in depth about topics.

I want to write poetry that surprises me. I want to create art work that isn’t trending but true. Even if no one cares. Even if it doesn’t get traction online.

I want to feel passion.

I want to feel pride, not in how I look or what I bought, or how I come across, but in how I use my time.

& Not to get too morbid here, but when I die I want to feel like I used my time well. That I created, that I learned, that I listened. That I didn’t just scroll through other people’s lives and wished me too, but never was present living mine.

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Words are all pretty and well intentioned but I need practically.

As a mother of 4, who also homeschools, I need parameters to function.

Therefore, I have a few guidelines to help me move from the cosplay to the reality.

• I bought a brick

  Screen time limits never worked for me, but this little device actually does. There’s something about physically walking across the room to turn it off that works for me. It also lets me set custom schedules, so far I’ve created two: one called Morning Time, and one called Presence. These kick in during the early morning and evening, bracketing my day in calm.

• Phone charges downstairs, not in the bedroom

  Boundaries start with space

• No more buying books

  Holding this rule until I read at least one physical copy I already own. I have enough to inspire, one more isn’t going to be the catalyst I need. I am.

• Post my creation online

  Most likely. here, on substack. To share and to practice.

• One quote from my Morning Pages each day

  This is for accountability, and rhythm. MPs (morning pages) just help get the clutter out of the brain. (see below today’s- a little sad but got me to write this up after so a win is a win.)

  

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an artwork I did this week inspired by David by Lorde, and deconstruction. oil pastels and acrylics. If interested message me.

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I am just beginning this process.

I’m trying, not because I think I can suddenly become a different person, but because I’ve let apathy coat my body for too long.

& I know nothing is binary.
I’ve lived through chronic pain. I’ve mothered. I’ve moved through mental health sagas. I’m not saying throw it all out. I’m just saying: I need to find balance. Presence.

Maybe I’ll never be the full-blown intellect.
Maybe I won’t ever be the effortlessly cool art girl.
But maybe, I can find passion.
I can write true.
I can create.

And isn’t that the joy of it all?
To stop being the prey to apathy—
and simply be.

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