On a Quest for Fame (aka Love)

I’ve wanted to be famous since I was a little child. Yes, famous. Even admitting it feels sour on my tongue. You should never admit something like this. It’s embarrassing. It is a desire that should not be spoken out loud. You could maybe express these wishes in a diary (if you dare), only for you to see, or maybe for someone to find long after you’re gone. Then they’ll either pity you for never making it that far or say you manifested it early.

The first time the desire to be famous popped up in my life was around the age of 6 to 8. Where exactly it came from, I will never be entirely sure, but all I know is that I spent hours listening to music, dancing, and envisioning myself as the lead singer in music videos. It may have started from my own joy and satisfaction with the arts, music, and expressing myself, but it soon coupled with the exhilarating daydream of having people see me. Having people think I was cool. Envy me. Like me.

If I had to guess where this originated, I would say it was likely a combination of Victorious, iCarly, Hannah Montana, or any other Disney shows I watched. Tales of uncool and awkward girls having a glow-up or a similar breakthrough, thus becoming popular and suddenly being praised by guys and everyone around them. Even teachers weren’t immune to their charm, talent, and likability. They had the world wrapped around their fingers. They were seen. They were listened to. Their ideas were acknowledged and naturally deemed important. They woke up, and there they were, above others. And when you are above others, I assumed, that must make you immune to pain too (this becomes important in a minute). Looking back now, it makes sense that I ate that trope up from the moment I first laid eyes on it.

I don’t like sob stories. Who had a perfect childhood? Especially in our early school years, most creative, artsy people can recall their fair share of awful stories. If your creativity and weirdness were indeed celebrated in school, though, please reach out to me and share your story. You’d be one in a million for sure, and I would’ve loved to live vicariously through you.

When I was younger, I was unbelievably shy. So shy that I rarely talked to anyone. I often struggled to connect with other kids, even though I, of course, really wanted to. I managed to adapt, little by little, but a part of me always felt odd. Most of my life, I felt like an alien, but it was never as apparent as it was during my time in school. To make matters worse, I was “the chubby one.” Now, looking back, I cringe at being depicted as chubby. I wasn’t. Not one bit. But since I wasn’t practically underweight, I was considered chubby by everyone. When everyone around me started having crushes (many of them reciprocated, unlike mine), two friends and I sat down in class, and one boy, without me even asking, mockingly said, “They could never like you because you’re fat.” That shit stung. And it wasn’t the only time something like this happened. I still had many Truth or Dare games, mocking insults, and plenty more years of girl-talk about crushes ahead of me.

So, from that moment on, “boys could never like me” was engraved on my mind. My brain then did the smartest thing it could at the time. Instead of spending my time feeling sorry for myself, I channeled my energy into the arts, which happened to be my biggest passion anyway. I had fun filming creative music videos, directing short films with my class, painting, writing, and, later, heavily pursuing photography from age 14 onward. If I couldn’t be loved for who I was or what I looked like, maybe I could be loved for my creativity. For the books I could write. The movies I could direct. For my singing. The list goes on.

Of course, I didn’t start doing those things only for that reason. I think it seldom starts just because of that. Creativity, self-expression, and art come from a deep place within us that cannot be put into words, no matter how hard we try. I always knew, without a doubt, that it is what I came here to do. But the slope was slippery. It was the only thing I could hold onto in a time when my self-worth was close to breaking down entirely. Pairing that with movies and shows that sell you the shiny possibility of going from an ugly duckling to a superstar who’s loved by all was what cemented it. To be loved, liked, seen, and acknowledged, I must now be talented. I must be great at the only thing I could possibly be great at: art. It was my only shot.

What I didn’t really foresee was that my desire to be acknowledged and seen through my creations didn’t work out as wonderfully as I had hoped. Ages 12 to 15 were rough. Funnily, it wasn’t the kids in my school who were the most horrible. Teachers were much more cruel than they were. Or maybe it just hurt more because I thought they would know better than 12-year-olds. Needless to say, those years were crushing. From teachers laughing in my face when I told them I wanted to be a professional photographer, to being consistently mocked for my YouTube channel. Something fundamentally changed within me then.

I had come to terms with the fact that I could never be worthy because of my looks, and now you’re telling me not even my inner world stands a chance at being worthy? Yikes. Talk about a shitty place to be in. I truly think my brain stood at a crossroads then. And again, it chose the “smartest” possible option. One option was letting myself be crushed, succumbing to more pain than I’m sure I would’ve been able to handle at that age, as sensitive as I am. The other option was to take inspiration from my parents. I would use it as fuel. I would tell myself that they were only jealous. I would become so great, so talented, so “in their face,” that they would have no choice but to see me as worthy. Because if I managed to be above them, being unworthy wouldn’t even be an option, right?

Maybe there are people for whom this works great; they get their motivation from this for a little while and then return to a healthy balance. If there’s one thing you need to know about me, though, it’s that I’ve never been great at balance. I’m passionate, I’m intense, and I’m ambitious if I want to be. And believe me, as you can see, I had reason enough to be ambitious. My entire self-worth depended on it, which, for a 12-year-old brain, quite literally meant my life depended on it.

I already told you about my little hobby of listening to songs while daydreaming. Well, it became more and more of an escape then. It was Pop songs and visualizing myself on stage all day long, baby. Just like Hannah Montana, I thought I could go through school misunderstood and unnoticed, but then, one day, my fame would change everything. It was my way out. My new North Star.

To say that this all got out of hand would be an understatement, but let me power through these next paragraphs.

When I was 13, I started posting on social media. When my first attempt to be famous on Musical.ly and Vine didn’t work out, I started sharing my photography online. The goal was modest: I only made up my mind to become the world’s greatest photographer. Easy. Simple. Even when many expressed their doubts and criticism, I soaked it up as fuel and kept going. Fast forward: I had built a moderately large following across multiple accounts by the time I was 17. At the time, I had around 40k on Instagram with multiple videos hitting the million mark, plus 40k+ people following my work on TikTok.

I wish I could put this period of time into words. I worked my ass off and got rewarded for it. I posted relentlessly. I did 4–6 shoots weekly while (badly, might I add) balancing schoolwork. I had taught myself photography, edited for hours on end, organized shoots, and got out of my comfort zone time after time to meet total strangers across the city. Three years went by without so much as a flicker of recognition, but for some reason, I stayed consistent. Then, for about two years, everything I had daydreamed about became true. I have never taken drugs in my life, but this is what I imagine it must feel like. I was hungry, practically starving, empty inside, and then suddenly, there it was. The light at the end of the tunnel. Thousands of comments praising my work. Telling me how great I am. Begging to get their pictures taken by me. Some said that everything I touch turns to gold. My DMs flooded. I had dropped out of school to pursue photography full-time (another story for another time), and it was around then that kids from my old class reached out to me, telling me they had doubted my abilities but were happy to see me thrive. It feels so silly and embarrassing now. I was far from “famous,” but to me, it felt like I was on top of the world. I wish I could go back, hug that girl, and hold her close to steady her for the inevitable fall. But knowing me, there was nothing I could’ve said to change my course. I probably would’ve pushed myself off just to get to my next shoot.

My goal by then was to become the youngest person to ever shoot a Vogue cover. Oh, and I almost forgot to mention: the daydreaming continued. Of course it did. Nothing will ever be as powerful as music to me; nothing has the power to transport me into a different world the way music does. I always used it to my advantage. When the high I got from an influx of followers or praise decreased, the headphones came out. It was then that I noticed the promising light at the end of the tunnel wasn’t what I hoped it would be. I imagined eternal paradise. But it was more of a flickering lamp that revealed a cold room. So when the loneliness, feelings of unworthiness, or god forbid, a negative comment came to the surface, it was showtime. I escaped into daydreams that felt bigger than life itself.

I visualized my photos plastered on magazine covers, seen by people from my past. I visualized myself making it big in Hollywood and my art being beloved by many. Notice how the latter doesn’t even sound too bad? Everybody (even if secretly) wants their art to be loved. People want to be praised and seen as valuable. It’s normal. It does not mean you are broken. I think at the end of the day, it mostly comes down to intention and intensity. My desire to be validated and seen wasn’t healthy. I was compensating.

As it took more daydreaming and, most importantly, more hustling to avoid the uncomfortable, nagging pain within, everything sped up. It was around that time that I spent a lot of time in LA, just a few steps away from actually moving there. I spent all of my days glued to my computer, waiting for the next video to go viral and checking how many people viewed my story. Most days, I put in my earphones to daydream for 1 to 2 hours. At that time, I was doing quite well from the outside. I worked my way up and shot with established brands and clients. I made plans for the future. Big ones. The hustling wasn’t going to stop on my watch. I had places to be. Especially since, somehow, not a single milestone actually led to inner fulfillment for more than an hour. The next achievement would make me happy though, I was sure of it. And if that one didn’t, it had to be the one after that.

I remember a talk I had with my mom at the time. She asked me why I didn’t pursue my passions for mindfulness and spirituality instead of photography. I found this incredibly offensive, but a part of me thought about it for a second. I told her I’d think about it and maybe I’d pursue it after I was 40 and had reached all of my other photography goals. I think about this conversation a lot. I now see the universe (God, Source, whoever) gently and lovingly laughing at me. Not mischievously, but because it had slightly different plans for me.

I still vividly remember my last trip to LA, which was a chaotic experience. The only good thing I remember about it was my best friend at the time, us living together in her tiny apartment. I had already experienced many health issues that seemed to only get worse in the years prior (which I cleverly ignored). But by then, my body had really caught up with me. I had never felt as weak as I did then. I shouldn’t even have boarded the flight. For some reason, my health issues affected my gut and my nervous system, which resulted in me having multiple panic attacks daily. On top of that, my energy was so low that I sometimes felt like I couldn’t breathe. During my time there, it slowly got worse. But I still planned shoots, edited photos, and worked on plans to accelerate my career. I think I hit a breaking point after one of my last shoots there. It was with someone I was really excited to work with. I knew it would look good on my portfolio, and even better on my Instagram Stories.

And that was exactly what I thought about the entire shoot. I felt terrible. Weak. Fed up. Burnt out. I already started resenting my camera. But I kept putting myself aside and kept clicking the shutter to get as many good pictures as possible. The only thought that kept me going was getting to post these pictures for people to see later. Maybe someone from my past would see them, and they’d feel awful for what they used to say about me. Maybe guys who used to ignore me would get my reels suggested to them. I wondered if they would suddenly realize that I actually am worthy of their admiration now.

I didn’t do any more shoots after that, and when the state of my health got so bad that I didn’t want to leave the house, I flew home early. I remember the flight being the worst 20+ hours I had ever experienced. I was shaking, close to passing out and alone. The following year was far from easy, too. I barely left my house. Doctors didn’t know what was wrong with me at first; I got my blood tests done five times in just one month. Walking up stairs felt like a full workout. I couldn’t even drive my car without having a panic attack. At the time, I still held tightly onto the belief that it was just a phase, one that would pass, so I could go back to my familiar lifestyle. My health journey, even though it is closely connected to this story, is something I can talk about in more depth in another post.

During my time at home, a lot changed. My life was put on hold and, thank God, my mostly positive brain made the best of the situation. Instead of feeling like a victim of my own body, I asked what it wanted to communicate to me. Often, the answers to those sorts of questions don’t immediately hit us in the face. It takes time, patience, and silence. Our intuition never leaves us, but it does get quieter every time it feels ignored. And boy, are we good at ignoring the innate wisdom within us. I noticed how I had ignored dozens of symptoms that eventually led to my ultimate breakdown. My body was screaming for me to stop running and to face myself long before it had to hit the brakes. It took me a bit to realize that my health breakdown was not a punishment; it was protection. Protection from slipping away from my true nature and an aligned way of living even more than I already had.

During that time, I questioned everything. I meditated daily, changed my diet, and decluttered my life in all areas. I felt immensely pulled between two sides. The one that still wanted to run, even at the expense of my health. A sense of self-worth doesn’t heal with just awareness, so it makes sense that it still felt like something was missing. Then there was the other part of me that just wanted peace. I started to understand the difference between quick dopamine that you get from validation and real, soul-deep joy. One gives you life; one tricks you into thinking it does while it strips it away from you.

I’m a firm believer that God, the Universe, Source, or Life itself will reveal the right things at the right time. Each book, each person, each encounter, each song that has ever changed my life has found me at the right time and place. And since I was open to synchronicity and slowed down enough to acknowledge it, the most magical things happened. I found resources that made me question my obsessive drive to achieve. I meditated more. Journaled more. Sat with myself. This wasn’t easy. Writing it down makes it seem linear, but it wasn’t. One day I felt like I was peaceful and healed. The next, I was nervously searching my room for my headphones while looking at Instagram and imagining more followers, all while ignoring my phone’s “volume should be turned down” warnings.

Although I had started a second Instagram at that time to post about my healing journey, I stepped away from social media more and more. I cannot deny the role social media has played in my life so far, for better and for worse. As a creative, I love the internet for its possibilities, but social media and I, we do have a tricky relationship. Likes, followers, and the algorithm had already caused much havoc in my life. The less I used it, the better I felt. I felt less controlled by metrics. Without external noise, I was left to face my creativity alone. It was the best thing that could’ve happened.

I strongly believe that our passions can be seen as relationships. So often we view our pursuits as just, well,…pursuits. Everything changed the moment I considered my passion for photography to be a friend. A soul connection. A relationship. And relationships need to be nurtured and listened to. Most importantly, no one in a relationship deserves to be exploited. I found this to be silly at first, but I ended up journaling with my passion for photography. I asked it questions and, without censoring myself, I answered. It made sense that I felt burnt out. I hadn’t treated my passions well. I took and took. I had abandoned the divine purity that comes with art and traded it for “more, more, more.” By doing this, I had abandoned myself.

When we spend our lives trying to find our worth in external things, we overlook everything that has already been waiting to be witnessed within. It is painful when we stop and turn to face it. God, it really is. We think we’ll look in the mirror and succumb to our unworthiness forever. But our brain is terrible at predicting possibilities, especially when it cannot even come close to explaining the magic that occurs when we step into the unknown. When you face the void that feels like a black hole, it does not kill you. It is then that you encounter the part of you that has always been bigger than the pain itself. It is then that you get to feel, release, and parent yourself. You will find that all along, your resistance to pain was so much worse than the pain itself.

I’m not where I want to be yet. I’m so young and I still find myself needing to pause and question my motives before I embark on a new creative journey. Not because seeking validation is “wrong,” but because I have now tasted the other side and have grown to like it much better.

But before that new way of living cemented itself, something else had to happen. After confronting my shadow self, I entirely (almost out of protest) stopped going after any pursuits that were fueled by the need for validation, even if I initially loved those things. Over the years, those pursuits had come to entail almost everything I spent my days doing. It might seem extreme, but by then I had seen past the illusion. Everything in my life became about achieving, which secretly meant that everything I did was a quest for love. And knew love would not be found at the end of my achievements. It felt like a big hoax. I spent years running toward a big nothing with the promise of finding gold, only to never find it. I slowly began to understand that the gold I had been looking for was within, but before I could feel the joy of that realization, I became apathetic for a while. Aside from my physical health struggles, this was the hardest thing I ever went through emotionally.

I had known nothing but blazing wildfires since I was 12. It sustained me. A fire that told me to “run, run, run” and maybe I’d be loved. A wildfire within, and suddenly, poof, the firefighting planes arrived and extinguished it. I had nothing to strive for anymore. I still loved to be creative, but I didn’t even want to do anything for a while. What was the point? I had arrived in unknown territory and I was terrified. I even tried to push myself back into old ways just for a sliver of certainty. I was miserable, but at least I had a sense of aim before. Now, I felt aimless. Floating in space.

The magical thing is, though, that when you find yourself floating in space — knowing deep down there is no past to return to and no secure future to step into yet — you find yourself in that funny, remarkable, unexplainable realm where you do not only get to connect deeply to the core of who you are, but it is also the place where things can be born. A certain kind of nothingness that reveals everything and allows for anything to be created. When you are brave enough to let yourself float there without forcing, pushing or controlling, but simply surrendering to that nothingness, the right portal opens as gently as a flower does in spring. A flower usually grows for months without opening its petals. And then one day it does.

Just like a flower blooms, a new fire lit within me, slowly and softly. It was nothing like the wildfire. It was an energy that came from a place that felt eternal. Much bigger than me, yet also like stepping back into my childhood bedroom. It now seemed obvious, a truth I had long forgotten: to create from love, not for it. I started to focus on what it felt like to click the shutter button and look through the viewfinder. What it felt like to express myself through photos I never shared. What it was like to write without censoring myself. I focused on the people around me, but most importantly, I focused on the child within me and listened to her troubles and joys. The things I used to chase as if my life depended on it were now just a bonus if they came naturally.

The things meant for you will find you anyway, whether you suffer or play your way there.

And that’s what I started doing. I started playing. Genuinely, joyfully, and freely. Because what else is there to do when you suddenly awake from the slumber and notice that you were worthy all along? That the love you sought had been patiently waiting for years to embrace you right where you are, with your two feet on the ground?

With a foundation like that, life turns into an expression of joy. We start to create for the joy of it: to express, to connect, or simply because it feels good in our body.

This is the innate wisdom we carry from the moment we are born. The moment we stop searching and start reconnecting, our entire life changes.

Mine certainly did. And I couldn’t be happier.

Love, Amelie x

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‘‘There is original pain, pain of loss, loneliness, sorrow, fear. And there is the pain you create to distract yourself from feeling loss, loneliness, sorrow, and fear. There is pain and there is pain on top of pain. Healing is about opening the wound and letting it heal from the inside out, exposing it to wind and sun and time, not piling bandages on it and screaming each time your skin gets caught in the adhesive tape.’’ - Geneen Roth

Resources:

→ The Real Reason You Want Fame by Fuzz Culture (YouTube Video)

→ Do you fantasise about being great? By David Mcdonald (Short Video Series)

→ Status Anxiety by Alain de Botton (Book)

→ Look at Me!: The Fame Motive from Childhood to Death (Book)