(Note: Hey sweet friend! I originally posted this on a different publication I had but ran into some issues crossposting it to here. I wanted to make sure this article had its own place at Lily & Sparrow as this is the new space for my personal essays and this article is close to my heart. I apologize if you have already read this and thank you for being here 🫶🏼.)
OK, I actually did it this time; there’s no going back.
I actually deleted all short-form social media…
And I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
A few months ago, I wrote an article about feeling really overwhelmed, like there were too many voices in my head. I had so many other things I wanted to do, but I just kept ending up scrolling on social media. Then I’d hate myself for it because I wanted to be working on other creative projects. I also felt so much guilt because whenever I got overwhelmed or overstimulated, I’d hide out in the bathroom and pacify myself with TikTok video after TikTok video. Then I’d hate myself for *that*, and it just became a downward spiral. So, I deleted everything and wrote a reflection about it.
After that article, I wasn’t sure I’d stick with the deletion. I was hoping I would, but the sneaky thing about the major platforms (Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, etc.) is that they have a 30-day grace period. You can log back in anytime, and it reactivates your profile as if nothing happened, canceling the deletion process. You can’t even just straight-up delete it. I know there are reasons behind that, some valid and some silly, like making sure people come back to keep spending time on the app, but that’s what kept entrapping me.
Digital Minimalism
Around the same time, I started reading Digital Minimalism by Cal Newport. It was so helpful because it’s all about figuring out how to use the minimum amount of technology for the maximum amount of benefit, not just using tech or apps for the sake of it, but being mindful and asking, “Is this thing really giving me what I need, or is there a better alternative in physical or analog form?”
In the book, Cal Newport encourages readers stepping into this journey to take inventory of their screen time and struggles, remove as much as they can for about 30 days, and then reintroduce things back into their life. The goal is to see the difference between life without it and life with it reintroduced, and whether you truly lost any real benefit.
So, I turned my last episode of social media abstinence into a month-long experiment, abstaining from Facebook, Instagram, and TikTok. There was a little hiccup where I went on a trip with my husband and then was sick for a little over a week. During that downtime, I watched TikTok as long as I wasn’t around my kids and had nothing else to do, but I set limits to make sure I didn’t get back on when they were around. Eventually, I reintroduced Facebook and Instagram, and even when I was on TikTok, I wasn’t really posting except to drive traffic to my Substack.
The Hamster Wheel of Doom
At the time, I was really grappling with wanting to take my writing to the next level and actually build something. I’ve joked before that I don’t have a problem with doom-scrolling as much as I do with “doom-creating.” I have this dream of one day homeschooling both of my girls while running a writing business on the side. Ideally, I want to get paid for my writing, not just writing for someone else’s business, brand, or publication, but purely my own. I would love to set up a self-sustaining system while homeschooling. With one kid in school right now and another in preschool two days a week, I’ve been trying to use my time to build in the margins.
But what got me is that whether you’re a consumer or a creator, we are all on the same hamster wheel of the algorithm and validation. If you’re trying to build a business or an audience, or if you have to use social media for work, monetizing, or even just showcasing your art, it can very quickly turn into a loop of seeking validation and comparing yourself to others.
I was really struggling with that duality: on one hand, trying to “work your hobby like a job so that one day it can be a job,” and on the other hand, telling myself, “Okay, this is only a hobby.” I didn’t want to spend so much time promoting my writing that I forgot to actually write or connect with people. I spent so much energy promoting my work that I got sucked into comparison, doubt, and feelings of worthlessness when it didn’t connect.
No matter what you set out to do, even on Substack, where your goal might just be to share your story or document your life, we are all at the mercy of this wizard behind the curtain. It’s hard. We all seem to have that one particular app we struggle with most. For a lot of people, it’s Instagram. I never really struggled with Instagram, but for me, it was TikTok.
After going no-contact with a parent and going deeper into counseling to grapple with feelings of abandonment, disconnection, and isolation, I started spiraling in my real life over the summer. I disconnected from real-life friends and community and poured myself into writing online just to feel seen, heard, and worth something.
On Substack, I have found genuine friendships and connections. Honestly, sometimes more people on Substack check up on me than people in my real life. I don’t struggle with the comparison and validation game quite as much on Substack, but when I do, it’s really hard. Writing is such a vulnerable act.
When you use vulnerability to chase virality, whether knowingly or not, you inevitably reach a crucial moment where you have to choose which you want more: the fickle affections of the double-tapping thumb or the eternal love of the nail-pierced palm?
Burning the Bridge
I experimented with many different limits, but ultimately, I just wanted to build something that made me feel worthy. No matter what I tried over the last year and a half of showing up online, I never made the money, and I never went viral for the things I truly wanted to go viral for. I went viral for a few funny things, but never for things that made me feel truly seen. I started feeling so convicted that even something good, like wanting to build a writing business, was happening for all the wrong reasons.
I would check myself, get to a better place, and then essentially relapse. So finally, I created a burner email address. I updated my Facebook, Instagram, and TikTok accounts with this new burner email as the primary login, scheduled all those profiles for deletion, and then permanently deleted the burner email account itself. Now, even if I wanted to regain access, I couldn’t.
It carried a real sense of grief. I’ve had my Facebook account since high school. My online presence started back on MySpace in middle school, organizing my friends into a “Top 8” and wanting the best pictures to show off my friendships. Since I was 12, I have known nothing but chasing validation and affirmation online. It was strange to realize that something I grew up with, profiles containing so much history, memories, old messages, and even past work, was coming to an end.
Even if I created new profiles right now and hopped back on, it wouldn’t be the same. It wouldn’t be the profiles I had since I was a teenager. Yet I spent so much time building something just to prove my hobby was worth the time I spent on it, that my time was worth it, that I was worth it.
I noticed that during periods when I felt especially lonely, my cries for attention online got even louder. Conversely, when I was in a healthy place, I could do the most work, stay off those platforms, and refrain from trying to force something to happen.
I also wanted to use social media to glorify God and reach people, and I was even monetized on Facebook, so it was hard to leave. But as I’ve added more friction to my digital habits over the past year, it’s gotten easier to find things I would rather do than chase validation on short-form platforms. I realized I was trying to crank out articles, podcasts, or videos with the same frantic energy I used on TikTok or Instagram. I was exhausting myself, feeling frustrated, and constantly comparing myself to people who could do more or were favored by the algorithm.
Honestly, it felt similar to high school or college when I would pray, “Lord, just let this guy like me. Let him give me what I want.” It almost felt like God was protecting me from myself, saying, “I have something better for you.”
I kept trying to force it to work, and I’m honestly glad it didn’t. With counseling, I’m realizing that if I were to become massively successful online right now, it would eat me alive. It would pull me further away from my family, further away from healing, and further away from God.
What Now?
I still want to write and show up on Substack for genuine connections. I want to focus on creating the digital magazine I launched last month, collaborating with other writers, and building out longer-form content projects.
What’s funny is that I had an entire three-part article series planned about social media as a “mission field.” I had talked with wonderful mom friends here on Substack about how so many people are going offline, but if all the Christians leave social media, a dark place is only going to get darker. Interestingly, one of those friends has since realized she doesn’t have the capacity to be on Instagram right now either, while another friend is doing an absolutely wonderful job showing up missionally there. I am so glad I didn’t pursue writing that series, because my own relationship with social media was actively changing right before my eyes.
I hadn’t realized just how deep these digital habits went. It’s not just that we’re fighting literal teams of scientists, psychologists, and engineers trying to monetize and capture our attention. It’s not just that it’s so ingrained in our culture that, even at 33, the only part of my life safe from the digital era was my early childhood. It goes deeper than what social media is truly promising.
There is always something tugging at our desires, our sin nature, our flesh, and our anger. I didn’t realize until a counseling session a week ago that there are endless ways of getting lost online while pursuing something “good” that ultimately turns into something only God can provide.
Right now, I want to focus on my in-person relationships and use the internet strictly for creative projects. I just can’t be someone who has social media where I am now mentally and emotionally. I am admitting defeat, but it honestly feels like a victory.
They say the devil is in the details…
Well, I have personally found that the devil is in the distraction.
So now he has one less door to access my attention.
For you, sweet friend
If you are having a hard time grappling with these things, you are not alone. It is so much deeper than just switching to a flip phone or deactivating an app; for many of us, it tugs at deep spiritual and psychological roots. I know many people in my life who can maintain it just fine; they have Instagram or TikTok and don’t struggle. But for me, it just wasn’t possible, and I really did try. My peace of mind is worth more, and so is yours. Experiment with different limits, move slowly in your changes, find joy in your offline life, and overall have grace with yourself and ask God to equip you to do what you feel He is leading you to change.
I didn’t think I could actually delete everything. But I did. And now I also know that if the time ever comes, I could leave Substack too.
Substack will probably change eventually; it might become more money-driven or algorithm-focused in the future, because that’s how these things go, and I don’t pretend to think it won’t. For now, it’s a sweet space, but knowing I can quit the other platforms gives me peace that I could give this up too if I needed to. Because what is it good for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul? (Mark 8:36)
In the words of one of my favorite worship songs:
In all my sorrows, Jesus is better
Make my heart believe
In every victory, Jesus is better
Make my heart believe
Than any comfort, Jesus is better
Make my heart believe
More than all riches, Jesus is better
Make my heart believe
Our souls declaring, Jesus is better
Make my heart believe
Our song eternal, Jesus is better
Make my heart believe
That is my prayer for myself today and now for you.
Much love,
Sarah