Resisting

on saying goodbye to social media

I told myself I was staying off social media on Monday, only to spend most of the day scrolling social media. I justified this to myself because I didn’t stop to actually read anything. But when I saw the posts about how I was now following Trump, I clicked through to unfollow. I did the same for Melania and for Vance. And yet, every time I logged in to instagram, I was following Trump again. The combination of the Elon Musk Hitler salute and Meta’s insistence that I follow our own dictator gave me chills. 

When I thought about leaving Facebook and Instagram, I felt both sad and also relieved. Relieved because I’ve known I was spending too much time there. Relieved because quitting platforms that condone hate speech feels like a tangible action I can take. And, at the same time— sad to leave the influencer my friend and I both follow and discuss regularly; sad to say goodbye to the memes my mom and I send back and forth all day; sad I won’t see photos of babies growing up and of the vacations through which I live vicariously. Sad to lose contact with the fantastic people I’ve met through various writing endeavors. Plus,how else will I know what my high school acquaintances, whom I haven’t seen in thirty years, are doing?! 

I posted that I was leaving, and to find me here on Substack, or on Bluesky, which I joined yesterday. When I checked my accounts in the afternoon, a debate was brewing on my Facebook page. Someone said that if we leave Meta, we let “them” silence us; that we need to stay and resist. Others commented back. And with that, I deleted my accounts. Side note- I then reinstated Facebook because I remembered I was in the midst of a DM exchange with someone about buying tickets to a play that I cannot use— but! Once that is sorted out, the deactivation will be permanent. 

The notion that it is my responsibility to stay on a platform whose owners don’t believe I should have healthcare, who don’t recognize the personhood of my daughter’s nonbinary friends, who are actively working to destroy the planet, feels like the ultimate gaslighting. Regardless of intention, the comment made me deeply exhausted. I’ve seen so many articles about how women are subdued right now; no marching, no pussy hats. 51% of the country wanted this, and that type of mobilization, of activation, feels so far away right now. Stay on Facebook so my voice is heard? No thank you. 

Three years ago this month, I ended my relationship with my dad. While that decision yielded the immediate result of allowing me to live without feeling like I was pretending every time I interacted with him, it has also taught me so much more. I am not obligated to stay in a relationship with someone (or some app, in this case) that has not treated me the way I deserve to be treated. It is not my job to fix anyone else. I can only use the information I have to make decisions that support my own wellbeing, and the wellbeing of my family. 

I have realized this week, in talking about the inauguration with my daughters, that I am, in fact, resisting, in my own small way right now. I’m going out of my way to be kind to people I encounter in public, defying the new administration’s divisive rhetoric. Last night, I baked a casserole for the breakfast my school is putting on today for the district’s custodial staff. Yesterday, when a student asked why his Learning Plan had “male” on it, I shared that it’s part of the form, and added that the form isn’t comprehensive enough, because it only allows two options: male and female. And, leaving Meta feels like another small thing I can do, both because I’m withdrawing my support of Zuckerberg, and also because it is better for my mental health. Resisting can look like arguing on social media. It can also look like reading, like texting with old friends, like creating. It can look like this.