I’ve said this before, but I am addicted to Instagram.
I’ve gone on instagram ‘cleanses’ before.
Once for a month. Once for a week. Once for three months.
I always end up going back, though. There’s something about it. Mindless scrolling. Satisfaction… for what? I don’t post anything and I don’t get high off ‘likes’ (because there are no ‘likes’ because I am not posting anything!). I like to see the pages I follow for ‘inspiration’.
Homeschooling ideas, activities for my kids, cleaning inspiration, workout inspiration.
The thing is, though, the people who make this content also post a lot about their personal lives, so you’re subjected to that too.
And it’s just so much of it, so monotonous, so tedious.
Yet I still scroll.
There is a science behind it, why you keep scrolling even though you don’t want to. They’ve researched it thoroughly and have programmed their apps to hit your dopamine right on target.
So anyway. I deleted instagram again for a month, ending 25th August. During that time I read three books, bought and made a start on a planner (very colourful and I thoroughly enjoyed decorating it with stickers and whatnot), went out a lot with my babies, hosted family over for three weeks…
Not to say I wouldn’t have done those things if I had instagram on my phone readily available to me.. I WOULD have still hosted and gone out and read things…
I don’t really know how to describe it to you.
There is a word in arabic and it’s ‘ikti’aab’. It literally means depression. But in your bones. Deep exhaustion.
It’s like the monochrome videos everybody makes now. They’re all doing something with their fists, some kind of weird dance, and words pop up on the screen as they fist pump and wriggle around like worms on camera. It’s the same thing, just done by different people. Eagerly eyeing the like button. Faces filtered beyond recognition.
It felt weird opening instagram again after this hiatus.
It felt like peering into a world of narcissistic aliens, and they all harp on about not being narcissistic and being ‘real’ but their ‘real’ footage is scripted, because they look so perfect and are angling their cameras just so… just so their boobs are looking their best… just so their hair is at the perfect angle… just so their faces are tilted just right….
Being raw and vulnerable …
All the comments… ‘you’re so brave! you’re so strong! you’re so raw! omg!’
And I look out of that fakery into my reality and realise with a painful thump that this curated world I am peering into is an illusion.
I still feel shitty about myself though. My parenting. My ability to school my kids. What I feed them. What they wear. How our house looks.
And so. One of these days. I am deleting social media for good.