Sometimes you need a break.
So, three months ago, I unplugged from social media, pulling back on my consumption and participation. I made no grand gesture of deleting icons and accounts. Likewise, I skipped the fanfare of announcing I’d be checking out. I just decided to stay away. As much as possible.
And, yes, I have that kind of self-control usually reserved for passing up cookies. But I surprisingly found it easier than expected to avoid the Instagram and Facebook icons.
Not that I was perfect about it, but I didn’t need to be. I just needed a break from that routine of checking several times a day.
The truth is, I’d noticed I was spending more time scrolling than the moment warranted—more time than I warranted. My Gen Z kid does this periodically — deletes the icons entirely and takes a breather. “It’s too much,” others say, and they’re right. The difference is that they make it official with a full deletion. I took the lazier route: I simply stopped opening the apps.
I wasn’t completely gone. I still needed to promote my podcast, my writing, and other ventures. So, I’d pop on, share what needed sharing, then get out before the algorithmic undertow could pull me in. No scrolling. No lingering. In and out like a surgical strike.
Whether anyone noticed my virtual absence, I don’t know. There was minor guilt — the kind that surfaces when you miss wishing your Facebook friends happy birthday or don’t comment on the big event in their lives. I got over that, too.
What I didn’t anticipate was how much better I’d feel. There’s a lightness that comes with opting out, a kind of relief I can’t fully explain. Maybe it’s because comparison is the thief of joy, even when it’s entirely unconscious. You don’t realize you’re measuring your life against others’ highlight reels until you stop looking at them altogether.
I think of it like the pedicure break my nail technician told me to take. “Your nails need to breathe,” she said. I rolled my eyes but complied. And boy, do my nails look better now. Turns out the same principle worked for my brain. Constant input — the feeds, the opinions, the updates you didn’t ask for — creates a static you don’t notice until you turn down the volume.
Three months later, I’m not evangelizing about digital detoxes or preaching about the evils of social media. I’m just saying: disconnecting feels good. Better than I expected. No announcement necessary. No dramatic exit. Just a quiet choice to reclaim a bit of your attention, your time, your peace.
And honestly. I’m in no rush to plug back in.
