On coming back to myself (and Instagram)

— a conversation I’ve been having with myself, and a few trusted friends lately.

Margo’s founder, Bec Patterson at our first Pleasure Picnic. Photo by Courtney King.

You know what’s funny?

If you met me in real life, you wouldn’t describe me as shy. I’ve always been more on the extroverted side — the person who’ll chat to anyone at the party, who sparkles on good conversation, who makes friends randomly and easily. Confidence, at least outwardly, was never something I lacked.

But somewhere in these last few years… something shifted.

Maybe it was Covid. Maybe it was aging (shedding my fun and flirty thirties with the mama/homebody era of my forties). Maybe it was my time living in Canada — where for the first time in my life, I felt profoundly lonely, isolated and bored. It was also where, after a long road of trying, I finally became pregnant. I was far from home, far from my community, and for someone who thrives on connection, that took its toll.

So I retreated inward. Not consciously. Not dramatically. I just… became quieter.

And when it came to social media? I all but disappeared.

There was a time when Instagram felt like a true community to me. Back in a past life, when I worked at Vogue Magazine, us mag girlies jumped onto the app in its infancy — it was playful, experimental, and honestly, pretty pure. I made actual friends there. I carved out my career there. I found real connection. It felt fun. It felt social.

But now? It’s just not filling my cup anymore.

Now it feels like standing in the middle of a shopping centre with a megaphone, shouting alongside millions of other people holding megaphones. It’s loud. It’s relentless. It’s sell, sell, sell. It’s us on our knees in this algorithm-driven world. I visualise it like I’m standing in the middle of Times Square, gazing up at all the billboards around me and feeling completely insignificant and overwhelmed. Instagram’s become too touristy.

And the older I get the more I value my privacy. Fiercely. My family, my sacred life outside of work — it’s not up for public consumption. It’s also more vomit stained jeans and Play Doh than the sparkly, beautiful interiors and floral life I lived before.

And the truth is, part of the reason I haven’t been showing up online (or answering your texts, DMs or emails) is simple: I’m exhausted.

I’ve had two babies in under two years. Most of that time with them literally strapped to my boobs or hip! I’m deep in the thick of it — the feeding, the night wakes, the everything. My bandwidth has been used up in the glorious, chaotic, dull, overwhelming mess of motherhood and launching a business (there is no such thing as balance within this paradox).

So for a long while, I convinced myself:

I don’t need to be visible online. Margo’s can speak for itself.

But here’s what I’ve realised: Margo’s was born from my own need for connection. From my own questions about how we stay tethered to ourselves, to nature, to pleasure, to each other. And in this age, where brands feel more human when they show their humanity, I know that I can’t hide behind mine (or a gigantic bunch of flowers) anymore. It would feel a little hypercritical to ask this of our community — to be vulnerable and open — and not live this myself.

So with that — deep breath — I’m here. Hello, this is my face.

I won’t share everything. I’ll keep the deep sacred stuff to myself, my love, my babies, my therapist.

But I do need to show up, in my own way, with the same values I built Margo’s on — connection, playfulness, openness, vulnerability, safe space. I want to share the bits that feel very Margo’s: my thoughts on motherhood, on womanhood, on creativity, on ageing, on intimacy, on sustainability, on the rituals that bring us home to ourselves.

That said… can I also just admit how deeply uncomfortable I find this? Putting my face out there again feels awkward and strange. What do I even do with my hands? I hate the sound of my voice. I’m from the blogger/tumblr era of internet ffs. I feel silly and self-conscious, like… who am I to stand on some soapbox and talk to “my followers”?

It doesn’t feel natural to me.

But here I am. Trying. Because connection matters more to me than my discomfort.

It’s not about building a following. It’s about building trust.

It’s not about being seen for the sake of it. It’s about offering something real.

And it’s not about confidence, really — it’s about courage.

Me smiling for the camera. It helps having a ridiculously talented friend behind the lens - Courtney King, I’d be lost without you ;)

I’m learning how to rebuild that outward part of myself. The part that knows how to share softly but bravely. The part that doesn’t shrink from visibility but doesn’t perform for it either. The part of me that’s remembered: community, even online, can still be meaningful.

I’ll probably be really inconsistent, but yes, I’m coming back. Slowly. And in a way that doesn’t give me the ick!

If you’ve been here quietly too, waiting for something to feel good again or for the time to feel ‘right’. Or you’re feeling the fatigue of our ever digital lives…

Drop a comment. Slide into my inbox. Let’s figure it out together.

Bec xo

Margo’s founder

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More than pleasure and orgasms, Margo’s is about connection. I wrote more about why I started Margo’s here.