Instagram: My COVID Life Raft
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Happy 1st Birthday, Dispatches from a Digital Life!
Photo by Mohammad Danish from Pexels
I haven’t consistently used social media since 2017, when I took a yearlong sabbatical that broke me of my habit. My social media addiction got particularly bad after the 2016 election, when my use of social media—specifically Facebook—sky-rocketed. It was as if I was clinging to Facebook like a life raft after having lost my boat in a hurricane, using it as a tool to connect with others and organize ourselves politically. A lot of good came from it; I became much more involved in my community and a lot more politically aware than ever before. (Too bad it took such an event to turn many of us into more engaged citizens.)
But my social media addiction also meant that I was drowning in information, swimming in collective grief and anxiety. Overall, I didn’t feel great and my overuse of social media was at least part of the problem. This is how I got the idea to take a yearlong sabbatical from all social media—and I loved it! (I’ve also written quite a bit about it, including how the experience made my friendships stronger.)
After my sabbatical was over, I didn’t re-activate my accounts right away, but eventually I did re-enter the world of social networks (under the auspices of work, networking, etc). The truth is, as an extremely extroverted person, I gravitate towards all things social, and it’s very easy for me to fall into the rabbit hole of social media addiction. Since my sabbatical, I’ve developed other practices to stymie my use of social media, like minimizing my time on the internet by not having Wi-Fi at home and never downloading social media apps onto my phone.
But now we’re living through a global pandemic and, like after the 2016 election, I’m reaching for a life raft—and finding comfort in social media. I learned at the onset of this whole thing that I needed to stay very, very far away from Facebook; after being on there a few minutes, I noticed a visceral change in my body, a heightened state of anxiety that overtook my thoughts and stole my serenity. I’m proud of myself for listening to what my body and mind were telling me and steering clear of this social network that wasn’t providing the comfort that I was seeking.
Instead, I’ve been finding comfort on Instagram. I’m normally a sporadic user, not someone who’s super familiar with the world of hashtags and insta-stories. Often when I check my account, I have several missed messages from friends alerting me to stories that have long disappeared from the ether. From time to time, I’d post a picture of something random—and then forget all about it. Mainly, though, I used Instagram to (attempt) to promote this newsletter and (more importantly) keep up with cute baby pictures from a best friend living in NYC.
But lately, I’ve been leaning into Instagram. Maybe reading this Atlantic article—"You Have A Moral Responsibility to Post Your Boring Life on Instagram"—gave me the green light to dive in, thinking I was doing society a service by posting daily photos for my “followers” during this difficult time. (Isn’t it odd to think that we all have followers now? Followers used to be reserved for Jesus and such… Now we’re all prophets!)
Throughout my COVID-19 isolation experience, my Instagram posts have become increasingly more frequent—and more personal. First, it was a dancing pregnant lady video—you know, to make the masses smile amidst the confusion and unease that’s become our reality. But it’s pretty much gone downhill from there. I rarely post pics of my face (or my partner’s) on Insta, but during coronavirus, that suddenly seemed kosher. Basically, I’ve devolved into your average Instagram addict (minus the breakfast pics), although I have been known to post some sourdough bread eye candy... I just couldn’t resist!
As I reflect on the black Instagram hole I’ve been falling deeper into, I’ve noticed the effects of the feedback loop on my psyche; essentially, the more I post, the more engaged I become with the app—even when I’m not scrolling through it. Thoughts about Instagram start to creep insidiously into my brain while I’m trying to concentrate on my work or having a conversation with my partner. How many people have liked my beach pic? Who commented on the video of me dancing? And should I really have posted a video of me dancing with a big pregnant belly on the internet?
It’s been a slow slide, but my brain’s officially high-jacked by Instagram. This got especially bad when I recently decided to use Instagram in a way that I’ve never used it before—as an outlet to express emotion (not just the emotion of unbridled excitement about my beautiful bread loaves, but something a lot personal than that). Eventually, what started innocently enough transformed into this: me reaching out into the Insta void for emotional comfort. And did I receive the comfort that I desired? Of course not! Because social media isn’t the place to find true comfort; perhaps quick dopamine hits of consolation, but not the deeper soothing that I was seeking.
I remember a friend telling me about a tweet she posted to Twitter regarding her family’s dog who was dying. When she logged back on an hour later, no one had reacted to her tweet and she felt even more terrible than before. I know the feeling—and maybe you do, too.
It’s been a good reminder for me that social media has its benefits, but it also has its limitations. As I wrote about a few months ago, scrolling through social media can be likened to snacking on Doritos instead of an apple—and sometimes, like during a global pandemic, we just want some freaking Doritos. But just don’t delude yourself into believing that you’ll get the nutrients your body needs to be strong and healthy by stuffing your face with *unhealthy snack of choice.*
I now realize what I should have done when I felt overwhelmed with emotion about being trapped in the concrete postage stamp where I live. A far more positive reaction than posting about it on social media would have been to reach out to a friend, someone that I could be truly vulnerable with and trust that I would be treated with tenderness, compassion, and love.
Tip of the Week
To celebrate the one-year anniversary of this newsletter, PLEASE FORWARD THIS EMAIL TO A FRIEND! <3
ALSO, I challenge you all to engage in a social media diet (or fast), which is different from an all-out sabbatical. For example, when my husband and I do juice fasts, we cut out solid foods for a week.
So, what could YOU cut out of your digital diet this week? Perhaps you decide to delete the Twitter app from your phone and text a friend whatever brilliant thoughts you would be tweeting. Or you might decide to cut out social media completely for a week and send snail mail instead. (Yes, the US Postal Service is still working!)
Whatever you decide to do, I’d love to hear about it! Please feel free to shoot me an email next weekend to let me know how it went!
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