A lot of unreasonable things give me anxiety like using household cleaners, going to the grocery store, or saying my own name, but last night I really was ashamed of my panic over something so trivial: changing my Facebook profile photo.

Since back to the days of MySpace, a profile picture has been a sort of update on where you’re at in life, and a way for others to make judgments about you. The picture you chose probably falls into one of these categories: a recent photo of yourself where you think you look fantastic, you doing the coolest thing you’ve done lately, a testament to being in a relationship, recently wed, birthing a baby, or just being excited that you have someone who is OK with you putting them in your profile pic, or an oldie but a goodie that some times disappears but always comes back like that damn pimple on my chin. Either way, this inch by inch thumbnail really shouldn’t speak as loudly as it does.

I prefer to make well calculated profile swaps. My most recent change-up was to a photo of me and my mom to pay tribute to her on Mother’s Day and to make up for not sending her a present, because c’mon what greater a gift is there than the inclusive in one’s profile picture? I revisited this photo last night now that Mother’s Day is long gone, and I wasn’t that psyched on it. So it was time to make a move.

I have a photo of me and Mike at my cousin’s wedding last weekend which was sure to get lots of mom likes, family and friend likes, and people who just love to like love. But after I committed to posting, to my horror, the photo was blurry. Now everyone saw that I posted a photo I thought I looked good in, even though it was blurry (many people do this and I do not condone it). So I immediately deleted it and hid it from my timeline, although I’m not sure which one of these erases it faster or if both are even necessary, but I  knew that whatever I did it was already out there and someone saw it. I also knew that someone would now see the posting madness that was about to unfold. I tried posting it again, cropping it in hopes of less blur, but nope. Now I had put the same blurry photo out there in the social universe twice with a different crop. Oh crop.

I was that person. That person who was trying too hard. That person I wanted to seem not to be but there I was frantically being that person. I always picture that person as recklessly updating their profile picture naive that people are watching them in their conquest for a picture perfect profile. I was having a public profile meltdown. Delete, hide, erase. OK it was gone, but now I was just the default shadow girl with her overgrown bowl haircut. What now? I had no other photo on deck. I felt the time flying by as my vacant profile sat there mocking me, showing the world  I had no great photo, no life event, no elephant I fed in Africa. I had nothing to share.

Finally, I found of photo of my best friends and clung on to them, like I was in the photo, and I posted. This photo was also blurry but it wasn’t the “I think I looked good in that crowd so I cropped out my blurry face” blurry, but the “we’re at a bar at night having fun” blurry so I committed. Now I can’t help but feel like I should be committed. At least I look fun in my profile pic.