One year ago today, I deleted my Facebook account. (I laid out my reasoning in this post.) I haven’t gone back, and I’ve had little temptation to return. Since it’s been a full year, I thought I’d take a moment to reflect on my decision and share what I’ve learned over my last year without Facebook.

I’m still in the ecosystem—much like Amazon or Google, it’s hard to remove yourself from Facebooks grasping tentacles completely. Instagram (from Facebook™) is still in my life, and I share work there frequently. I also use WhatsApp to connect with friends outside of the US. But, if alternatives rose up or if these apps no longer brought me value, I’d consider leaving either of them. Instagram, in particular, hasn’t gotten better.

Much of my suspicions from a year ago were proven correct, and I’m in a better headspace because I’ve left. I don’t have to read cruel, insipid, bigoted, or racist diatribes that were disappointingly common. I’m no longer marketed products I don’t want. My work isn’t walled off in strange little corners. I don’t have Facebook hounding my wallet in a vain attempt to “boost” posts for my “audience.” I don’t have to worry about my private information being stolen or sold. (Not just a Facebook problem, I realize.) Succinctly: I no longer have to engage with nothing for the sake of nothing.

“I no longer have to engage with nothing for the sake of nothing.”

The wicked trick of social media is convincing you that it’s essential. That you’ll lose contact with friends, colleagues, and loved ones if it’s removed from your life. That you’re somehow missing out if you’re not engaged. It sows FOMO to encouraging engagement. Reality couldn’t be further from Facebook’s “truth.” If anything I found the opposite is true. Facebook isn’t essential. This has been the best year on my blog since I started doing this eight years ago. My audience is still here, and I don’t have to wonder if my readers see what I share. It’s all visible. Nothing is hidden. Likewise, I’ve made time for the important things. I’ve stayed connected with relationships that matter. My interests have expanded.

What one chooses in regards to their social media presence is personal. My path might not be right for you. If Facebook brings you joy, then stay on Facebook. But if it doesn’t, then why are you wasting your time? As for me, I’m glad I left. Happy even. It was a big step in decoupling the behaviors built into social media. (Something I wrote about a few weeks ago.) Now, when I sit down to work, the old muscle memory isn’t betraying me by sending me into a path of wasted time and squandered emotional energy.

As I said a year ago: things can always change. Perhaps with a shift in leadership Facebook could turn itself around. Companies change, ten years from now, it’ll be different than it is today. Who knows what the future holds? I have no regrets in leaving, and honestly, I wish I had taken this step sooner. It’s been a good year.

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3 Comments

  1. “I no longer have to engage in nothing for the sake of nothing.” Beautiful.

    Facebook brought me nothing but high anxiety and insomnia. I deleted mine and wrote a post about it too, somewhere on my blog, called “The End of an Era.” Recently I had to open a Facebook account in order to start a Facebook business page. But I decided never to post to my timeline, and I fixed it so no one else can post to my timeline. If people could get a glimpse of how they appear when they’re slinging useless words back and forth on the timeline, they would understand that it’s not that much different than a bunch of drunks sitting on bar stool in a bar. I’m glad you posted this.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks, A.P.!

      The metaphor of drunks arguing at a bar has stuck with me. It’s an apt comparison—especially since Facebook tends to strip away context, and most users read intense emotion into posts whether intended or not. (And then respond in kind.)

      Liked by 1 person

      1. That describes the experience exactly. Who needs it? What does it do for the state of humanity? I’m with you all the way, K.M.

        Like

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