As I set out on my Instagram abstinence journey, I imagined a quick and beautiful reset: in a matter of days, I would let go of my scrolling habit of 10+ years to simply become more present, spend more quality time with friends, perhaps practice painting.
I hate to report, this has not been the case. I am on Day 4 since I quit Instagram, and it has felt like weeks have gone by.
The good news is I am learning a lot and debunking the myths I started out with.
Myth #1: Being more present will feel good. Period.
Without my biggest distraction, I knew I would have more attention, more presence and thought this would be a good thing. Quickly, I realized this is a double-edged sword. While I became more attuned to the small changes in my environment, like the way the golden light casts through my bedroom window in the morning—something I had not paid much attention previously due to my wake and scroll routine— I also became more attuned to human dynamics, including my own.
Two days in, after another attempt to use the app only to realize it is still not there, I write a note in my phone. It reads, I feel agitated. It is becoming clear: I use Instagram as a coping mechanism, as a tool to numb myself, to check out.
I use it in the morning, I use it while in transit, I use it on class break, I use it when I get home from a long day, on the toilet (no, there are no sacred spaces), and before I go to bed. Now, in these moments I am just left with my thoughts. My feelings. My noticing of others’ feelings. With no fictional realm to escape to, I feel stuck and overwhelmed.
At one point, I decide to download the NYT games app. I play a few before losing interest. I look around the room and think of something else I can do. I notice the spaciousness in this. The opportunity. My mind feels quiet, present, and desperate for an escape.
I’ll share the other important piece of information here, which is that I am also doing Dry January. For me, this means no weed or alcohol. In these moments of agitation, I think why am I doing all three at once? The truth is, there are only 31 days in January. I can do anything for that long. The truth is, I’m learning a lot. The truth is, if I fail, that’s ok.
I look at my friend’s vape with new interest, and ask to hit it. The nicotine buzz feels good for a moment, but I know this isn’t my answer either.
This is the difficulty of an addiction. We use because it does something positive for us. Our shared language around addiction highlights the negative impacts in detail, but rarely do we ask, what is this drug or behavioral addiction helping me with? And what will be the difficult side effects from quitting?
I’m calling this period a time of growing pains. Slowly, I am building resilience as to not drown in this sea of feelings. To learn new coping mechanisms. I look at the waves, and imagine my worries being pulled out to sea, transformed, curled into a lip, then hurled against the rocky shore.
I revel in the gifts my new awareness has given me. The tiny paw print in the sand. The fluffy ice crystals scattered along the beach. I breathe out my overwhelm and inhale the cool morning air. I am grateful to be here, to feel at all.