INTROSPECTION
I broke up with Instagram 5 years ago. Here’s how my life changed.
I eased out of the shower and accidentally glanced at my body in the mirror, hesitant but hopeful. My eyes narrowed.
I didn’t trust my initial reaction to the image. That innocent glance in the mirror, historically loaded with accusations and tortuous ridicule, was fueled by radical acceptance and undeniable positivity.
That moment will forever be etched in my memory.
For the first time in 30+ years, I stared at my body and immediately accepted it as beautiful. For the first time, in this lifetime, I didn’t want to label and taunt it with someone else’s definition of healthy. I didn’t want to compare it to an IG model post-BBL (Brazilian butt-lift).
I leaned in and whispered, “Damn. I’m sexy?!”
There was a mild hint of confusion in my tone. Because-
- I’d never heard an adult woman compliment her body. I didn’t know if I was doing it right.
- I wasn’t sure I was allowed to offer myself that level of praise without someone else in the room to serve as a notary and witness.
- The adjective sexy is illusive. It’s slippery. In a society that worships fast fashion and contorts the ideal body image to fit the moment, I wasn’t even certain if I qualified to be sexy just standing there in my own skin, with my original curves.
I broke up with Instagram 5 years ago.
Years before aggressive talks of mental health deterioration correlated with social media use, I logged off for the last time. I didn’t announce an exit. I didn’t warn any followers or friends.
My exits are usually silent. I didn’t want the fanfare, the tug-o-war between ego and spirit.Once I’ve decided a season is over, it’s over.
Before that last log-off, there was an incessant need to cuff myself to social media because I was managing accounts for clients and promoting a new book. I’d been clinging to online platforms, hooked to them like IVs keeping me hydrated, for years.
One morning, as I moved through a monotonous routine preparing for client calls and the day’s demands, I felt a nudge. The nudge manifested itself as a question. An almost audible voice asked me-
“Who are you when nobody is watching?”
That nudge was a moment of reconciliation. I had no idea who I was outside of my jobs. I’d never gotten around to doing my life’s work (writing consistently) because I’d been so busy trying to be important. I thought important people could avoid loneliness. I was allergic to loneliness.
Months later, in a hostile moment of self-reflection, I accepted that Instagram had become a god in my life.
I valued the opinions shared, the likes, the praise over my own measure of worth. I determined the validity of my existence by staring at stats and inhaling comments.
If nobody called me brilliant, I felt like an idiot.
If nobody commented, “gorgeous!” I felt like a gargoyle.
If nobody said, “well done”, well- I felt like a failure.
There was something about the algorithm that was puppeteering my daily moods and emotional reactions. For a sensitive person who’d been hunting approval for a lifetime, the side effects were almost deadly.
Every day, of the first six months without Instagram, was absurdly lonely.
Birds stopped chirping on my window sills. Neighbors stopped waving as I passed their porches on morning walks. Starbucks baristas stopped smiling at me when I picked up caramel macchiatos.
I knew total isolation for the first time and it was a version of hell I still can’t summarize.
Am I being dramatic? Absolutely. Always.
I just want to emphasize how unrealistic it is to walk away from norms and major communication platforms and feel peaceful. Feeling peaceful isn’t an automated reaction to quitting an addiction. It isn’t the default, immediate outcome of making major life changes.
I went through withdrawals. I questioned my purpose. I lost clients.
It took years to start referring to silence as a seductive stillness that I can sit with for hours.
It took years to rehabilitate lost connections by incorporating meaningful phone calls and letter writing.
I believe the perks of walking away from Instagram outweigh the severity of growing pains. When I look into a mirror- I don’t see a pre-surgery body, nappy hair begging to be corrected with a wig, or a nose that needs contouring.
I just see myself.
Some days- I’m body positive. Most days- I’m body neutral.
What matters most is that I’m not considering suicide because I don’t look, feel, show up, act, speak, twerk, and dress- like an influencer.
I’m not suggesting everybody delete Instagram. I am not sponsored by any meditation or therapy apps. All opinions are my own. I am not an activist. The only revolution I’m leading is a commitment to saying no to the things that do not serve me. The choice to be less visible and less accessible saved my life.
You do you.
