I’ve already written about my addiction to Facebook “likes” for this site. At the time I suspected I might have a bit of a Facebook compulsion, but I certainly never thought I was addicted to the site as a whole or needed to take some time off.
I have been hearing about social media detoxes for the past year or so, and more than a few of my pals online have announced to everyone via a status update that “I’m taking a break from Facebook. I’ll be back in a month.” Some of these friends temporarily deactivated their accounts while others simply logged out for thirty days. Every time they did this I always thought it was a bit silly—for someone who drank herself into homelessness and smoked herself into asthmatic breathing, scrolling through your Facebook feed to get the latest news on the circus that is the current presidential election seems rather innocuous.
However, that over the past few months, Facebook really started having a negative effect on me, mainly because my feed was crammed only with tragic news about bombings, racist police killings, how the oligarchy is fucking up American democracy, plus big rants about the election accompanied by Donald Trump’s stupid face. I’ve got nothing against fighting for racial justice, economic justice and, forgive me, the exile of Donald Trump from political life in the US. But the raging and negative tone of all the posts kept bringing down my energy. And let’s be real—in these times liberals are squabbling among liberals and conservatives and attacking conservatives, so no matter what anyone says an argument seems to erupt.
Then came the Trump tape. Once the recording of Trump gloating about sexual assault went viral, Facebook exploded. Everyone had something to say about it, and since I have not one conservative among my 777 friends (or so it appears), I thankfully didn’t see one post excusing his filthy words and “locker room talk.” I did, however, get attacked by my friends when I posted an article condemning him along with little blurb with my own opinion.
I wrote a bit about how I did not think the talk between Trump and Billy Bush was all that uncommon, but in no way was I intending to dismiss their disgusting conduct. Instead, I was trying to emphasize that this is the bullshit we women have to put up with all the time. Along with unwanted sexual advances from men all over the place, on the street, at the office, at the frat house and yes, in AA meetings, too. I hypothesized that many of the Republican and Democrat politicians who went on record to piously decry Trump’s talk, going on and on and on about how astonished they were, couldn’t possibly be telling the whole truth. Surely they’d heard this smut too, and some of them probably partook in it.
Unfortunately, many women found my post offensive because I didn’t blather on and on about how inexcusable the language was, even though I thought this was implicit in my rant. So this pack of commenters ripped me up one side and down the next, claiming that I had dismissed the language when I mentioned that it wasn’t uncommon. Following this, I saw posts saying that what we should be focusing on was the 1,000 dead in Haiti from Hurricane Matthew, not Trump’s tape. Though I kind of agree with that, this imperative from friends got on my last nerve. Since the release of Trump’s tape truly opened some trauma from the past, I found it appropriate that a lot of us were online buzzing about it.
So, I committed Facebook suicide. After messaging a few close Facebook pals who I didn’t keep in touch with via phone or email, I deactivated completely, deleting all apps on my phone. After doing so, I realized how reliant I’d been on the platform, how many hours I’d wasted scrolling through my feed daily. Every spare moment, I realized, I’d hop on my phone or computer to stare at my feed. At least it seemed like every spare moment—sometimes I would actually pick up a book or hit the home pages of my favorite media outlets to get the news from them instead of whatever the Facebook algorithms served me. Still, if I ever laid down on my bed to just relax or take a nap, or plopped down on the comfy chair in the living room, I’d find my hand instinctively going for my phone ready to open the Facebook app.
What I gathered was that Facebook was my default mode. If I wasn’t writing or running an errand or reading a book, which happened less and less thanks to trolling the feed, I was on Facebook. Equally humorous is that I had a chunk of friends, maybe four or five, who were also always online. Those guys made me feel better about myself. In fact, it was comfortable knowing they were there, their tiny little heads showing on the chat sidebar even in the wee hours of morning.
Though awkward at first, a few days after my detox, I stopped instinctively typing in Facebook when I’d wake up in the morning. Instead, I stayed on my homepage—the New York Times—and perused the news. When I felt like sharing an article, which was typically every damn one, I just shared it on Twitter, where I’m rarely active. (I don’t really understand Twitter. It’s kind of like gambling or playing the lottery. All three can be addictive for some people, but for some reason they just don’t appeal to me.)
For a good four or five days I wanted to post every thought that popped into my head that I thought was clever. Then I’d bemoan that I couldn’t post it as a status update. When I slaved to make a three layer chocolate birthday cake for my best friend, I lamented that I couldn’t post the pic onto Facebook. But there was some serious freedom in this. Why did I feel obligated to share a photo of the chocolate cake I made with 777 people, most of them strangers I met online? Why did I feel the need to share every single thought that came into my head? Every complaint? Every fear? Certainly every political beef?
Not only have I saved much time by getting off Facebook, but I’m also more present in my life in general. No longer am I scrolling through that feed when I’m out to breakfast with my family. No longer am I taking photos at a friend’s place as we cook homemade pasta and immediately uploading them to Facebook to show off our skills. I’m not sure why I always felt compelled to upload a shareable picture immediately upon snapping it. It’s very compulsive.
I will be returning to Facebook after the election is over, maybe waiting a week or so for all the drama to die down. It’s important for me to remain active to promote my work as a writer. If I didn’t write for a living, chances are I’d bail altogether. Unfortunately, soon enough, I’ll have to go back to it and discipline myself to moderate, and moderating isn’t something I do well. Hell, I can’t even have a Netflix account, because I’ll just binge on all the shows. (When Making a Murderer came out I stopped my whole life for two days to finish the season.) Too bad I can’t place parental controls on myself. Maybe one day there will be a way.
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