I beamed at my phone as my new Facebook profile picture reached 213 likes. A new record. In that moment, my self-esteem – or selfie-esteem, as I now describe it – was soaring, because right around then, my social media profiles weren’t just your average edited, manipulated version of a life.
No, as I stared into my smartphone at all that glorious validation, I realised that, in my case, my social media profiles had become all of my life. They formed what seemed like my whole identity. I had somehow
allowed the social network to swallow me up, suck the life out of me and, ironically, take me far away from the actual meaning of the word ‘social’.
It became embarrassingly obvious that who I was in real life didn’t really matter to me any more. What I had to offer was the way I thoughtfully conducted myself online. My personality and character lived simply through three accessible channels: Instagram, Twitter and Facebook.
As my online presence was growing stronger and more dynamic, the real-life me began to dilute itself. How I looked in reality didn’t count for anything anymore, how funny I was in a room didn’t matter, how kind I was to people, how I conducted myself in the office, none of this made a difference.
What did have meaning, however, was how successful, attractive, witty and intelligent I came across as on these platforms. And what mattered most was how pretty I looked in my recently tagged photos, how funny my status updates were and how many not-so-humble-brags I could get into an Instagram post in one day. What I needed from them was likes.
Like most addictions, it started small. I would go through bouts of being active online and then periods where I’d slow it down. Standard fare. But soon my need for this substantiation crept in and it caught me by surprise. Initially, I used social media mainly for work. As a journalist, it’s an invaluable outlet to promote work and potentially impress future employers.
But once people began complimenting me about my work, the real buzz started. Whether it was sharing a status about interviewing an A-lister or posting a photo collage of a Michelin-star meal I was reviewing, my life from the outside looked pretty good. It’s hard to resist feeling a little taste of smugness when people are saying: ‘Wow, you look like you have the best job in the world!’ I got a taste for appearing like I was smashing life.
But as my endeavours to appear witty, pretty and successful became more and more consuming – and once I realised I was placing more emphasis on how I appeared online than off – I knew I needed a serious reality check.
The idea of a social media detox filled me with apprehension, but I knew for my sanity, well-being and quality of life, I had to give it a go. I vowed no Twitter, Instagram and Facebook for a month. At first, it was like when you initially split up from someone and all of a sudden you’re faced with all this time on your hands and it’s so overwhelming that you don’t know what to do with it.
Everytime I had a spare moment, my instinct would be to check my profiles, and it took me days to break the habit. I tried to channel my energy into the simple things I once cherished. Candid conversations with friends without taking pictures of your coffee. Jogging without thinking,
‘Shall I post my fitbit results or my route?’ Cuddles with my nephew without positioning both him and myself in a way that looks the cutest for a selfie. I needed to feed, water and nourish the
real things I cared about in life, so they could flourish and blossom. I needed to forget about social media and take care of myself and the things that truly mattered.
The month felt somewhat ’90s. I told my friends about my detox and, as they picked up the phone to call me – instead of the normal host of fleeting notifications – it felt like being back at school. Of course, I was tempted to break the detox a few times.
One night I was lonely, and it was incredibly tempting to post a flattering photo of myself to try and gain some attention, the temporary high like a drug. An addiction to social media is mostly about control: when I felt my life was spiralling out of control, I had everyone fooled into thinking I was holding it all together.
But I knew that to fill the empty shell of a person I’d become, I had to translate that energy into the real-life me. It wasn’t just a fad diet, but a lifestyle choice for myself and myself only. I was starting to really rather enjoy the change. I had been so glued to my phone, checking messages and gauging how friends were doing through their Facebook and Instagram, that I’d missed how authentic and organic it was to simply speak to them. Less social media meant more time for real-life socialising.
It was incredible to see how much energy I could transfer from social media into meeting up with people for coffees, drinks and meals. Two weeks in and it was already strengthening my friendships. We weren’t interrupted by a need to self-promote on social media – just to prove how fun we were.
My focus became solely about them – seeing how they were and soaking up how much of a good time we were having together. The focus had shifted from getting a flattering photo of us checking into the latest super-cool venue and ordering the most swanky looking cocktail so I could Instagram the sh*t out of it. I could simply go back to basics and enjoy my friends’ company.
There was suddenly no pretence. The meet became blissfully private, it wasn’t something shared with the internet. We didn’t have to prove anything to anyone. I felt like I had regained some control back over my friends, my work, my love life. In my single days, I would deliberately post things I knew my crushes would see, whether it was to provoke jealousy or just a general ‘look at me’ reaction. I navigated a part of my love life through social media, acting out – in a controlled way – the person I wanted boys to see, not the actual person I was. I didn’t have to involve anybody in it. It was nobody’s business apart from my own.
As the weeks went by, I felt like I had become a better version of myself without the social media filter. Fuller. Like I wanted to give my all to the people and things I loved most in life, rather than
relying on social media to speak for me. I felt parts of my personality brighten. My self-esteem and satisfaction came from a much healthier place. I felt I got greater pleasure in the things I enjoyed, whether it was running, cycling, writing, reading or simply going for a walk, and I didn’t need to inform anyone about these plans. I could just be. I didn’t owe anything to anyone.
I had got the mystery back into my life and there was something refreshingly fulfilling about that. Am I social media teetotal now? After a month, I returned, but in a different way. It remains a great platform for work and a facility which can add to my existing social life. But will I be coming offline more often, not sharing every social outing, not checking in as frequently as possible, not relying on the ‘likes’ for affirmation and putting much more effort into the real-life me? Yes. I like the idea of that.
Have you ever been addicted to social media? Email feedback@graziamagazine.co.uk
READ MORE: Following Your Ex On Social Media Is Bad For Your Mental Health
READ MORE: The Link Between Social Media Stars, Anxiety And Depression