Fighting my FOMO

I didn’t realise how much of a FOMO I was until I wrote a post recently about slowing down and being okay with missing out on things. My fear of missing out is strong. I hate missing out on a gathering, a party, a drink, a film or a conversation. This realisation got me thinking about where this fear comes from. Thinking about what has happened to make me like this. Sometimes, working out the initial cause of why we are the way we are, is part of turning things around and overcoming things. And I think I have worked this one out.

I have an older brother and older sister. We are all two years apart. Being the third child and the youngest for a long time I was not allowed to do a lot of things they could when I was a little kid. I was too young. Too little. And, no doubt, there began my fear of missing out. My need to be part of everything. My longing to belong. To be one of the big kids. At the ages of 5 and 7, my older sister and brother were at school. At the age of 3, I wasn’t. I had to stay home alone, without them. Outside of school we hung out together, playing at home, all three of us really close. Suddenly after a lovely school break, or weekend, Monday would come around and they would get dressed in their uniforms, take their packed lunches in their lunchboxes, sling their TAA school bags over their shoulders, and then they would disappear for hours on end. I would walk them to their classroom with mum, wave goodbye from the classroom door, my little hand forlornly dropping by my side as mum took my other hand and walked me back to the car, where I sat in the back seat and was taken home, all alone. Often during these stints of loneliness I filled the time playing ‘school.’ Pretending to be the teacher, my students all my teddy bears and rabbits, all my stuffed toys. Lined up on the couch, each with a crayon and paper. Me, in front of the fireplace, barking orders and using the Fisher and Price blackboard to teach my class. Somehow this made it feel less like I was missing out.

And it wasn’t just school that I missed out on. It was weekend of week night fun beyond the boundaries of our yard, which I was ‘too little’ to partake in. I remember this one particular time, I am not sure how old I was, maybe 4 years old, young enough to still be on a three-wheeler trike. Mum was doing the ironing, so it must have been a Sunday night. My brother and sister were going for a bike ride around ‘the block’ - we lived on an avenue and if you travelled around the avenue and then along the street which joined either end, it was affectionately known as ‘the block’. Anyway, my brother and sister were riding their bikes around the block with the kids across the road. And I was not allowed to go. I was too little. Too young. I wasn’t allowed to go because I would be too slow, probably ruin their fun. No doubt, they just wanted a break from their little sister. From looking after her. Mum and I argued about me not being allowed to go. So I decided, I would run away. Run away, around the block. Getting to be with the big kids after all.

It probably didn’t help when, as adults, my older sister laughed as she shared that when we were young, she and her childhood bestie, our next door neighbour’s daughter who was the same age as her, would deliberately make the games we were playing extra boring so I would get tired with the game and go home. Leaving them to have fun to then do whatever they wanted to do without me. I remember countless times coming home and mum asking what was up, and explaining to her that the girls were boring and not much fun. And off I would go, to ride my bike again and again around the house. Or I would get my dolls or barbies out and try seek company in their plastic selves and glass eyes.

Yes, I would say that is where it started. My fear of missing out. And it got worse as I got older. My parents too strict to let me have some of the latest fashions. Too strict to let me go to a Blue Light Disco. And being the youngest in the class, not having my license at the same time as all my peers. Not being able to go out to nightclubs (legally) with all my friends. All this, no doubt, reinforced this fear of missing out.

And as I suspected, it has helped me by working out where this fear stemmed from. And although I have called this post ‘Fighting my FOMO’ (yes I did use an acronym even though I hate them) I have realised that rather than fighting it, I just need to make peace with it and it will go away. And if it doesn’t go away, I might at least be a bit more aware of it. Which I am. One of the reasons I am writing this post, is because yesterday we had two things to go to. Two parties to be at. And I really wanted to go to both, even though it was impossible to do so. I hated that I was missing out. But then I realised perhaps it was time to make peace with this feeling. To become mates with my FOMO, learn to live with it and let it go. And I did yesterday, I let the feeling of missing out go, the disappointment I usually feel about not being able to make something disappeared, and it felt good. I felt much lighter all day. I didn’t miss my FOMO at all.