A Letter to Creatives Who Feel Caught in the Algorithm | VUNDRR Journal

🍊 A Letter to Creatives Who Feel Caught in the Algorithm

Sometimes, I post to be seen — not to share, not to connect, just to be reminded that I still exist in the feed.

Instagram has always been my favorite place online. It's where I've grown up, experimented, laughed, and posted photos that didn't have to mean anything. It's where I built worlds and sometimes hid inside them.

But if I'm being honest — there are days when posting gives me anxiety. When I refresh a photo that didn't get the response I imagined. When I start to measure my value in likes, saves, or story views. When I post out of obligation rather than intention.

And I think that's what social media does to many of us — it starts as a playground and slowly becomes a mirror.

The Moment It Clicked

I noticed it most when I posted a talking-head video for Creative Therapy Club — a series I built around creative direction, storytelling in photography, and mental health for artists. I love that series and I still plan to keep building it, but that day… it didn't feel like expression. It felt like performance. Like I needed to prove that I was still active, still relevant, still the artist I claim to be.

That moment taught me something about artistic authenticity and creative balance. Being seen isn't about showing up for the algorithm. It's about showing up for myself — and for the two, ten, or hundred people who actually feel something from what I make.

Being seen means letting your art breathe outside of approval. It means connection over numbers, community over clicks, visual storytelling over engagement.

When the Numbers Got Loud

When I started my photography blog and editorial campaigns, and TikTok took over the culture, everything shifted. The timeline filled with "how to post correctly" and "best times to engage." I studied analytics like gospel — and somewhere in that study, my creative direction started to sound like an echo.

I began creating for the timeline instead of for myself. I'd second-guess what I wanted to share because I feared it wouldn't "fit the feed." It felt distant — almost dystopian — to realize that visual storytelling, something sacred, had turned into something scored.

But over time, I found my way back. VUNDRR became my diary again. A space where I can pour out story, strategy, and softness at the same time — whether it's a paid editorial campaign or a photo I just like because it makes me feel something.

To the Creative Checking Their Likes

If you're reading this and tying your worth to engagement, pause for a second. Imagine being in a room with ten people staring at your work in awe. Ten likes. Ten real souls. Ten moments of impact.

A "small audience" is still an audience. Intimacy scales slower, but it lasts longer.

When I post now, I hit share and close the app. Sometimes I turn off my like count. Sometimes I hide comments. Not because I don't care — but because I want to protect the joy that made me create in the first place. That's part of creative balance too — knowing when to step back so you can keep stepping forward.

Finding Ground Again

When the validation noise gets too loud, I unplug and return to things that don't need to be posted. I read The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron. I sketch, paint, and read psychology books that remind me creativity is something internal — alive even when no one's watching.

This is where creative therapy happens. Not in the likes. Not in the analytics. In the quiet where you reconnect with why you started.

Because artists can exist online and authentically. It's the boundaries that keep us honest. Social media marketing for artists can only dilute what you allow it to.

The Reminder

When you were ten, you didn't paint for strangers. When you were thirteen, you didn't create for comments. You made things because it felt good — because creation itself was enough.

That's the energy I want to carry into every frame I shoot, every story I tell, every piece of meaningful content I build. Not for proof. Not for performance. But because photography reflection reminds me who I was before the numbers got loud — and who I'm still becoming.

Creative growth doesn't happen in the feed. It happens in the margins — in the messy drafts, the unposted experiments, the work you make just because it moves you.

So here's my question — when was the last time you created something just because you wanted to? 🍊