I know I’m not alone in this “walk away” movement. A quick google search revealed top tech executives living by the mantra not to “get high on their own supply,” of the “sticky product” they developed and push, or let their kids near it. Millennials burned and hollowed out on the constant barrage of advertising and being manipulated are opting out, as if “real life” was a new kind of novelty. I’m almost forty, so I’m not moving to another platform like Snapchat or Twitter. Facebook was pretty much it for me. And now that it’s gone, I’m left wondering what to do next. Reading books? Handwritten letters? Watching sunsets? It seems ridiculous that simply getting back to zero can feel like such an epic accomplishment.
A quick search online indicated that people who were doing social media detoxes were waking up to a life of color and smells they never experienced before. The scales falling from their eyes, they claimed to be more productive, had more energy, less depression, and were more present to their surroundings.
None of that happened with me.
Prior to quitting social media, I was very productive. I would get up very early and write, or catch up on projects that I didn’t have time for after work. I was motivated and upbeat, energized by the rush of all the things I had going on. I had a small audience, and I was motivated by sharing things with people who were interested in reading what I had to share.
For the first week after deactivating my Facebook account, I was lethargic. Whereas I would get up multiple times in the night (usually to check notifications or continue conversations on a thread), now I slept straight through. I was going to bed earlier (around 8pm) and sleeping pretty much through til 6am, when I would get up for work. With three young kids, I can’t remember the last time I slept 10 hours straight through the night.
My mood also seemed to be, let’s say, dampened...somewhere between a lobotomy and normalcy. I suspect this was due to the change in dopamine levels that were caused by my fairly intense use of social media. The likes felt good. The interaction with others was encouraging. I looked forward to hearing from people via Messenger and in comments. My brain chemistry in particular is pretty sensitive, and I have a tendency to latch on to those feel-good triggers that are inherent in addiction. Facebook feed scrolling is said to have the same effect on our brain as cocaine use. Every notification was a little surge of dopamine.
When I left, all that stopped, and pretty abruptly, and I was left with a bit of a crater-in-the-ground feeling. Disillusionment set in, a kind of Matrix-like disorientation. What was real? How had I gotten so hoodwinked and roped into something that didn’t seem to have my ultimate well being at heart? Who were my friends? When I started to engage more with Catholic friends online, I heard from my secular friends less and less. I don’t have too many Catholic friends in real life, so I was initially happy to be making connections in this way. After I stepped off the social media train, there didn’t seem to be a platform to support those types of connections anymore. So, they stopped too for the most part. Isolation began to creep in...if I had no friends that I interacted with in real life--secular, Catholic or otherwise--and I had no online medium in which to pseudo-connect...well, what did I have?
The worst thing is, the things I felt most abandoned in were the very things I probably had no regard for when someone I was connected with stepped off the social media platform. It was like they just simple ceased to exist, and I rarely thought about them again. I felt cheated, like I had traded something of value for something counterfeit. It was like an artificial sweetener. I guess I should have read the signs, should have known better, the way someone who trades their virginity for the promise of love must feel in the wake. You feel robbed.
I’d like to say I had more energy and focus to devote to worthwhile things, got more creative, but I just kind of retreated into myself. I was praying less, writing less, creating less, and talking less. My wife noticed the change, and we both recognized that things were probably recalibrating, and though it was hard now, it would be good in the long run. I was blinded to the depths of my vanity and self-esteem. With less stimulus (that I largely gathered from my newsfeed), I was left with less ideas and topics to write about, as these were typically the digital marinade that I steeped in. And why write about anything anyway without an audience? My ego was taking a severe beating on the ropes. Again, I knew it would be good in the long run, but I was getting pummeled while waiting to come up for air.
The withdrawal pangs were diffused rather than acute--that is, my loneliness didn’t stab like a knife in the gut, but was spread out over a few hectares of spiritual and mental acreage. I became lonely but simultaneously didn’t want to see anyone. I think I underestimated the power of not only the receptors in my brain responsible for anticipatory response and corresponding pleasure, but also the reliance on others for my sense of self. I was as honest and authentic as I could be online, and that honesty and authenticity itself was a kind of caricature of my own creation. It wasn’t inauthentic, but it was a kind of shell. I didn’t like what I was recognizing, things I were largely blinded to while immersed in social media.
The worst part is just feeling like a fish on a hook. These guys knew what they were doing when they designed these sites. Granted, using social media was a way for me to relax, to play with other adults in the digital romper room. I made a choice, and though it was “free” to use, I paid for it with my privacy and my attention that could have been better spent on other things, including my family. It’s made me resentful and distrustful, and while the withdrawal is not chemical in nature as with drugs or alcohol, it is still painful. I should have known--anything that felt as good and was as habit forming as Facebook couldn’t have been ultimately as good for us as it claimed to be. It was like hiding processed sugar in every meal we eat.
I don’t want to be one of those annoying people trying to be better-than and advocate for a wholesale exodus, or that anyone who uses these sites are worse off. This was a personal choice, I’ve paid for it and am paying for it still, just to get back to baseline. There were some upsides, some positives, but they did not outweigh the costs in my estimation. I am hoping my brain and attention span can heal from the binging scroll-fest I’ve been engaging in for the past decade. Casinos are sad places, in my opinion, places of isolation and synthesized compulsion. I was starting to feel the same way about my life as a Facebook addict. I am praying for healing now, and hoping I can find a new normal, some real life friends, and a reason to write again in the wake of this mini desert experience. I’m lonely...but I know I’m ultimately not alone.