I Broke Up With Facebook And Have Never Felt Better
Thank you, but we are both fine.
So, I called it. In one swift and — as it turns out — non-consequential life decision, I left this social media giant. We broke up, and I never returned.
My decision came after a mind-numbing deep dive into an endless scroll of photos, quotes, and one too many whingey stories. I realized I had wasted even more hours.
With that, I renounced myself from Facebook and took a very silent and unimpactful stand amongst its 2.2 billion users. Boldly I thought, I would much rather be living my own life than flicking through the pages of someone else’s.
Let the living begin!
If I’m completely honest, it’s more than just a refocus to my own life. This might seem harsh, but I realize that I don’t really care that much about ALL of everyone else’s life.
Like, all of it. All of the time.
Just like everyone doesn’t really care that much about ALL of mine. And I’m totally okay with that.
Perhaps that’s offensive. But maybe taking offense speaks to one of the dangerous and damaging side effects of social media: The pursuit for constant approval and validation.
Like many gone before me, I brazenly deleted ‘friends’ from my Facebook page. Oh, the indignity. The outrage. These disgruntled ‘friends’ demanded an explanation and for some, actually request to be reinstated as a ‘friend’.
What?
The very idea that my decision to not be ‘friends’ impacts so considerably on one’s need for validation and self-worth sits quite uncomfortably with me.
The breakup
Okay, back to the breakup. Like any jilted partner, I felt like I was putting in way more than I was getting in return. In fact, the hours upon hours of attention I gave, resulted in nothing more than wasted time, a continued decrease in productivity, and delayed bedtimes.
The conscious decision to break up is as much about not sharing my stuff as it is not becoming overly invested in other people’s stuff.
I feel uncomfortable with the feeling of voyeurism — my own included. For me, there is a fine line between intrusion and a disconcerting openness people have about their lives. This feeling, in particular, comes after their ill-thought-out moments of oversharing following too many Chardonnays.
However, I was still worried about being out of the loop. What loop, though?
But the reality is nothing changed at all. I didn’t suddenly lose friends or was uninvited to things (hmmm… that I know of). It was not this negative shift in my life that left me suddenly forgotten by those closest to me. My life appeared no different.
Facebook is a fuxking cesspool
Someone who is very active on social media said that to me recently. To be fair, the cesspool-esque qualities of social media is not just limited to Facebook. This qualifies any platform that gives rise to those who loathe others.
To those who perch on their damaged and dangerous high horse riding in the shadows of anonymity. These are those who spew their vile rants at the unassuming and the vulnerable. At children.
It’s all kinds of nasty. This same cesspool-observer recently received a barrage of death threats from one particular troll. This thug threatened the wrong person, who as it turns out, is quite proficient in research and investigation.
A few clicks, searches, scrolls through their public social media pages and putting together pieces of a very public puzzle — and voila! The trolls address was found, and they were reported — a win for the ordinary humans just going about their day. Albeit very disconcerting that literally anyone can be found, if you’re not too careful.
It’s all just noise
There’s just so much noise. So, I realized I would much rather avoid the noise. People noise — smoke and mirror kind of noise. I don’t find value in the loudness of it all.
My life seems noisier and busier as every day passes. My brain is full enough as it is, I can’t (and don’t want to) find more space for things that are just simply unimportant.
Happily, though, I went for dinner with a friend a while back. I arrived early and was waiting for her in the restaurant. Sitting and waiting, but also staring off into space a little.
My friend saw me before I saw her. After she sat down, she commented on my ability to sit without distraction, without a phone in my hand, without the need to fill space with mindlessness.
I thought to myself: How did we become so accustomed to avoiding sitting with our own thoughts? What is the fear we have of silence that we so quickly fill it with a frightening automatic reflex to pick up our phones? Is this to see what everyone else is doing? Why then are we so less keen on what WE are doing?
For a while now, I have hidden under a veil of my own reality. A place where all of my bad days are unshared and unposted. Where my good days are not filtered, exaggerated, and displayed for approval.
It is the value I hold to my privacy and what’s going on in my life. But let’s be fair, it’s also about the value I have to other people’s stuff. I value the real stuff — not the social media worthy stuff, the selfies, and the highlights reel.
Research tells us that social connections are good for our mental health and assist in easing loneliness. I’m all for that.
But the type of social media engagement that is heavily impacting mental health is not encouraging connection. This type of social media exposure is creating further disconnection through alienation, voyeurism, and through social comparison.
Limiting my exposure to anything online creates a sense of control, predictability, and ownership.
Being present is where it’s at
What I do want is to be more present. I am making more of a conscious effort to just be. To be okay, being silent. Content with being still.
I want to be okay with the stillness that I don’t reach for my phone and scroll aimlessly to avoid anything — boredom, a 2 minute wait time, awkwardness, aloneness, or simply because I am lead to believe we must all be doing.
I want to catch up in real life and ask human questions. To avoid filling in the gaps of other people’s lives through their selfies, food photos, and only their best life.
I want to hear about all the hairy bits. I want to know about the heartache, the disappointments, and those really shitty moments that warrant only a face-to-face chat. Those shitty life moments you share with a friend that have no filter-applied selfies, just shameless hangovers.
So this breakup will end well. Because actually, I am totally okay with not being one of 2.2 billion people.
