Can We REALLY Quit the Internet?

A look into my week-long social media cleanse.

Recently, I deleted Instagram and TikTok off my phone for a whole week.

I was facing a deadline (for my book, because I think I forgot to tell you I wrote a book, but more on that later), and kept catching myself avoid-scrolling instead of writing (my book*). There have been times where I successfully thumbed my way through my feeds and left the experience feeling a little more relaxed, inspired, even refreshed, but this avoid-scrolling felt like waking up from a nap that was supposed to be one hour but turned out to be three.

Plus, I kept getting TikTok songs stuck in my head.

My relationship with social media is weird, because, as much as it opens my mind to comparison, over-thinking, hating my body, wishing I had more money, and feeling insecure that I haven’t become a wife, mother, and/or CEO … it changed my life. In fact, it might be why you’re here with me right now.

From 2012-2019, making videos for the internet was my thing. It became a huge part of my career and my identity. And, because I didn’t know better, my personal life. I consistently roped in and - once I had a budget - hired my friends and my then-boyfriend to help me keep churning out content. I would write Instagram captions about how important it is to make boundaries while bulldozing any I had in my real life.

The false urgency of “content creation” started out as exhilarating but slowly became exhausting. Social media was at high-tide; I’d publish a video and within a few days, no matter how many millions of views it racked up, the Facebook algorithms washed it away. I compared all of my work to Buzzfeed, where video creators had teams of interns and a big, fancy studio in Hollywood. When they uploaded fifteen videos during the time it took me to edit one, I took it personally.

It didn’t help that the small, women-run company I worked for was bought by a giant corporation, full of people who meant well but didn’t fully understand how to collaborate with a super sensitive, anxious creative person who equally wanted to make art and get a steady paycheck without caring about money … somehow. They asked for more, they asked for the secret, they asked me to assist on a shoot with Nina Dobrev where I misunderstood the food budget and accidentally bought 30 smoothie bowls for like three people. (Nina, who was extremely cool, walked in with her own green smoothie, saw the 27 melting bowls, and asked, “oh god, I didn’t pay for this did I?”)

Don’t get me wrong: a lot of the time I was living the dream.

Making people laugh? Wearing wigs regularly? I’d pitch my videos to some of the smartest, most talented women I’ve ever met and THEY WOULD THINK THE IDEAS WERE FUNNY. I got to see them REACT in REAL TIME. Sometimes we got coffee or had hour-long meetings to discuss what summer meant to us or stayed late to write extra stories about celebrity outfits at the MET Ball.

I think I expected it to last forever.

But the algorithm changes, people leave Buzzfeed, Saturn returns, and people break up with you over FaceTime.

All of this looms over my delicate little kitten-mind every time I open Instagram. I should be doing more!! If I could just put makeup on. Keep up with the TikTok trends. Post my videos on YouTube shorts. Get filler in my cheeks again. Do pilates more. Go vegan. Train my cat to be funny so he can get sponsored by Petsmart.

Maybe I could claw my way back to how things used to be, even though how things used to be wasn’t always that great.

So, even though I still earn money on social media, I deleted it. For a week.

I finished my book and turned it in. “Maybe I should extend the break for another week,” I thought. Another week became two. Then six.

Even though I had no access to IG posts about which black cat looks like my Capricorn Moon, I picked up my phone all the freaking time. I mean, I still missed texts almost every day, but I swear my hands alone were interacting with the phone, not my brain.

Because it was the only scolly-type app left, I started mindlessly opening Pinterest. Somehow, I managed to find hours of TikToks hidden away in there and, almost as in a trance, watched video after video of people painting in 15 second increments.

The painting videos didn’t slosh me in the same dread I often felt watching fellow thirty-somethings bragging about their six-figure business selling feminist finger puppets on Etsy or a dermatologist explaining how Vaseline will absolutely not prevent skin cancer or whatever other bonkers videos TikTok serves me every day. Instead, I felt … positive? INSPIRED EVEN?!

I came across an etherial angel of an artist named Erin Kate Archer and watched every single video she’s ever posted on Pinterest. She used color in a way I couldn’t comprehend - neon blue and mustard yellow and pink that was both blinding and calming. Eventually, I found her painting class, and for the first time in Y E A R S, sat my butt down and was a student for a few hours. My heart was so happy.

Meanwhile, I lost track of the “outside” world. My boyfriend gently broke news of the Queen’s failing health over breakfast. Later, he told me about her death and hugged me. We lit a candle in front of a picture of her. It was very different than seeing 18 different publications sharing the news with slightly varying headlines or noticing that #TheQueen was trending on Twitter.

But there were people I missed. Internet friends and old buddies. After moving from DC to LA to New Mexico to Portland, I have full circles of friends I mostly keep up with through Instagram. We don’t even message, just observe each other. It helps when the time comes that we are in the same room; we can skip the surface stuff and catch up on a deeper level.

Plus, I started to get nervous about brands seeing how long it’d been since I last posted. What if I was losing out on work?

So I downloaded Instagram again and posted one photo.

But I got sucked into the app for half an hour before I realized what was even happening! A skincare company CHANGED their packaging? So and so got ENGAGED? This cat is INSIDE OF A BOWL?!

I guess the moral of the story is that when it comes to losing chunks of time, I’d like to at least be in control of the activity.

Painting until the sun sets and feeling surprised I have to get up to turn on the lights sounds infinitely better than looking up from my phone to see my computer’s clock saying three hours of scrolling have passed. I wish I could say I’ve been sleeping better, I’m less anxious, I’m happier. But I’m exactly the same. There will always be something to worry about, there will always be something taking more time than it should have.

Plus, as you could probably tell from the above paragraphs concerning my time as a viral video producer, I have a lot of stuff to work through in therapy.

My current social media solution is thus: I dug up an old phone, charged it, and am using it on WiFi. I’m calling it my ~work phone~ because doesn’t that sound important? It’s the only device (except my laptop, where I can search for literally anything all of the time) where I can access Instagram and TikTok. It hasn’t inspired me to make a lot more internet content, but it’s given me a little peace of mind.

So can we REALLY quit the internet? It’s too late for me, folks. But maybe you can save yourselves. If you’ve ever come up with a solution to sad-scrolling, let me know in a comment?

Love Always,
Christina

*Not sure why I haven’t shouted this from the rooftops yet, but I am publishing a humor/mental health book with Penguin next year. I think next year feels so far away that it’s not real yet. But it’s real. So prepare yourselves. 10/3/23