I keep trying to post here—my god if you could see the amount of drafts I have saved from January alone (8). I keep waiting to feel something…else. Something that isn’t what so many of us are feeling now.
It’s beyond politics. Humanity, in so many vicious ways, feels at stake. Emotions for the past three weeks: despair, anger, delirium, denial. Rage(which rings much more lawless than anger), impending doom. The gut finding every false floor to fall through.
I am approaching 1 week of no “social” media. I use the quotes because many might consider this outlet(substack) one of social nature1. This space doesn’t fill me with venom & despondency, though so…for now I am here. I deleted facebook long ago. I never truly utilized twitter. I used to dig the harmony which instagram offered me—a visual, some words. I could post a shot of the crumbling retaining wall outside of the shelter in Middletown and know immediately, when looking back, that I had just finished teaching when it was taken. I can look at that picture and recall the emotion behind it, can hear the women in my class clamoring to read their pantoums. I didn’t need the image to mean anything to anyone but me, but I posted it because the moment was important. Maybe someone connected to me was having a moment too.
That particular platform started to feel like something else. One day I opened it and was immediately greeted with the video of Aaron Bushnell’s self-immolation in front of the Israel Embassy in D.C. No warning. I will never ever forget the vision nor the sound of it. Ever. Under this also file the footage of Palestinians burning alive. Cradling their dead children. I am aware there is a privilege in looking away. I am also aware of seeing so much that it numbs you, or you get flashes of it as you kiss your own child goodnight, or the worst—you start seeking out the info, the proof of something so terrible that you can’t even assign words to it. And there is always proof because someone always films it. Tragedy turns into a dopamine hit. I fucking hate it.
True—my back was already splintering under all of it, but the Trump presidency 2.0 is what snapped me in two. Every goddamn day it is something. Pausing the Dept of Health(at a time when Influenza A, covid AND RSV are crowding the hospitals; oh and a TB outbreak). Tariffs. Sending out “retire or be fired” notices to members of the FBI. The blatant removal of T and Q in LGBTQ on the US Department of State website. Any mention of trans or intersexed individuals is gone, denying their existence. ICE raids—including lifted restrictions on places once considered safe, such as hospitals. Gulf of America?! Tariffs. Dismantling the Dept of Education. I could go on. I don’t want to go on.
I believe in being informed. Showing up. Doing the work. These things do not have to involve followers or likes or scrolling or reposting or whatever. It doesn’t feel like “staying informed” if I feel sick when I engage with an app. I love to see what artists I love are up to, what my friends are up to…but do I love those things enough to wreck and ravage my own peace? In the past I might have said yes. In the past, tuning in to the outside noise meant I did not have to confront all of the static & commotion within myself. It was all a fantastic, harmful distraction.
How has it felt to step away? I am early in the adventure, so the answer is in progress. That said, I do feel a difference. The compulsion is fading. And yes—compulsion is the correct word here. No bullshit, here is what I’ve noticed:
less blood boiling - I support and adore the various activists and organizations I follow on the IG platform—there are so many great resources shared and knowledge gained from tuning in to them. But for me, this is a slippery slope. My version of staying informed at times becomes a rage that builds and obsesses and does me zero favors. There is nothing wrong with the anger—the problem is what I do(or do not do) with this anger. I let it turn acidic and eat away at all of the goodness. I want to learn to do better. I want to rage properly against the plethora of injustices, but I can’t do that imbalanced and at the expense of the goodness. You cannot lose sight of that while fighting for what is right.
The phone is almost a phone again - last Sunday I misplaced my phone three separate times. There have been moments when I’ve momentarily forgotten its location within my home, but this always resulted in an immediate seek and find of said device. Last Sunday I lost track of it and it took a while to realize it. I didn’t care. I had it in my hand so much less. It’s barely been a week and I already have extra time on my hands—I finished a book in a day, had more time to edit poems…had better conversation with my partner even.
Fear of missing out is a myth - what am I missing if I am right here? What am I missing if I am truly present in the moment, feeling whatever I am feeling without being influenced by social imagery or cascade of opinion? I’m not missing anything, and yes that was a sincere worry of mine. What if I miss someone else’s milestone; what if I’m out of the loop on events? What if, indeed. What if nothing. I am right here and this is where my life requires me to be—present. I am not distracted by comparison or sucked into judgement. The “fear of missing something” is built into the purpose of social media outlets. It keeps you on them.
I peeked on reddit once, and it sucked—the local Columbus thread managed to make me anxious in under a minute. More than the induction of anxiety, I felt extremely weirded out by the rush I felt when I opened the reddit app. No kidding. This was a distinct dopamine hit, and it felt gross to get excited about clicking on an app. I didn’t feel that rush when I was doing it all the time. And why? Why did I feel an actual rush when doing it? What conditioned me to have that physical reaction to such a…mundane thing?
And maybe it is silly to list things I’m noticing in just under a week, but I never considered how much I reach for my phone until I stopped. It’s kind of wild that I already feel a touch lighter in my chest, less tangly in my head. It is difficult to maintain what little control I have. Time is currency, especially as I get older. Social media took time that is mine, time that I am now choosing to do something else with. Hey, I’m reading book #5 of 2025 already. I’m editing a collection of sonnets that I aim to release in May. I’m coming up with the most oddball little games and imaginative scenarios with my daughter. The other day we genuinely cracked up at the same thing—we looked at each other open-mouthed, and laughed harder. Yeah, no scrolling means more time with my rad little Naomi. Nothing beats cooking up some dessert and soup(is it soup if it includes grapes & hot dogs?) for Cookie Monster.
Curious to see how this continues to feel. Permanent? Maybe. Right now it is too much, and right now is what I can do something about.
More soon—I’ve been reading so so much, and visiting the library much more often. God I love that place. I owe it a love letter.
~peace
It is social in the means of sharing ideas and receiving what is shared from others, but I view this outlet more writing-related for me than social behavior. Ha—and this right here is why social media weirds me out—I’m in a footnote feeling like I have to subtly defend my post. Dumb.
I'm right here with you Nikki. About a week ago, I sent my phone off to have a free battery replacement from Google (I figured it was more sustainable than getting a new device). I have since been using an old Nokia flip phone which does calls and ancient style txting. I have also noticed changes in my behaviour. I actually kind of dread the moment I receive the notification that my smartphone is ready to collect. During the past week, I permantly deleted Facebook, which I've had since its inception - around 2008. I hadn't used it in a long time so it felt like a small thing. Like you, I never got into Twitter. But I've had issues with Instagram for a while, for reasons similar to yours, and also the addictive nature of reels. I haven't allowed the app to be on my phone in a while, but I made a Blue Sky account to eventually migrate over from Insta and felt powerful in this decision. Something bigger - Since being immediately unavailable to people on WhatsApp, which again, I've had since highschool (2008 ish), I've noticed a newfound sense of freedom. I am liberated from responding. I didn't actually realise how distracting that app was until it was gone. Same with Email. I'd check my Email A LOT. And sometimes I'd receive things I wasn't necessarily in the head space to deal with, like an old debt coming back to haunt my ass, or a rejection from a publisher I was rooting for when I was already in a chaos spiral. My biggest change, is that I no longer feel like I NEED to check them as soon as I wake up, or at any point throughout the day, either. I'll check them when I check them, and it's usually always junk - and never anything time sensitive. This is just a lie I told myself so I could continue to be available and respond immediately. I've been trying so hard to teach my teen girls how to be safe on the internet and how to have healthy relationships with their devices, when I know I could have been modeling this better. I feel like I am finally doing that now. I am reading more, I am having more conversations, I feel more content in silence. One of the books I'm reading is called The Wayward Writer by Ariel Gore - which is in perfect tune with opting out of systems which seek to profit from us and cause harm. I recommend it with my whole heart. Something I thought whilst reading your post was how much I wanted to hang out with you. I started to imagine a utopia, where writers get together and create community outside of social media. Do you wanna do that some time and share writing? I'm sick to death of hearing that Book Tok is the only way to be successful, that we need platforms to be published. Sally Rooney doesn't use social media. I opt out.