The slowest break-up of all time, pt. 1

dissecting my deteriorating relationship with Instagram

I’ve read piece after piece after piece on social media’s impact on our mental health, our focus, our businesses, our creativity, our politics, our humanity. I’ve taken extended breaks and weekend Sabbaths away from Instagram. I’ve weighed the consequences of saying goodbye to the platform forever against the consequences of burying myself deeper in its algorithms. For now, I’m still on Instagram—but it feels like I’m procrastinating an inevitable break-up, not because I’m worried about the other party’s feelings, but because I’m worried about losing personal benefits from the relationship, like discoverability for my projects, relevance on the internet, and participation in the zeitgeist. I’m also worried about being uninformed, even though misinformation and knee-jerk sharing is seriously messing with our ability to take in global or local news.

Joan Didion said, “I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, what I’m looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear.”

This essay series is my way of finding out what I’m thinking about Instagram and what I want from the app as I move forward in my creative work. I don’t feel the need to dwell much on my early days on Instagram. I downloaded the app and started posting in earnest in 2016 because I like the creative outlet at the end of a long day of teaching. It was low effort and high reward; I liked taking photos and writing captions, and I quickly connected with hundreds, then thousands of people with similar interests. Instead of reminiscing about the glory days of the chronological feed, let’s jump ahead to when I first experienced tension in my relationship with the app.

Part One begins with my first extended break from Instagram, Part Two will cover the doom scrolling days of 2020 and early motherhood, and Part Three will bring us up to date on where I stand with Instagram now. Over the years, I’ve found immense gratification in examining my social media consumption, and I hope you’ll find this series helpful as you navigate the tricky territory of algorithm-based apps, too.

Our last home had the best window for Instagram photography (and reading).

May 2019: Distance

Remember that time I lived in a literal log cabin in the woods? 

In May 2019, my husband and I, along with our adventurous wheaten terrier, drove from Fort Sill, Oklahoma to our new duty station in Fort Drum, New York. As is often the case with military moves, we arrived at our destination with plans to tour potential rentals while staying in temporary housing. We quickly found our soon-to-be-new-home, but the current tenants weren’t moving out for another four weeks. Until then, we took up residence in a little log cabin tucked away in the nature preserves of Fort Drum. 

I don’t remember precisely what prompted me to delete Instagram from my phone before our OK to NY road trip—my hiatus announcement post from that time just said “I need the extra brain space”—but I do remember how healing it was to begin a new chapter without the crutch of constant scrolling, sharing, and comparing. Instead of staring at a tiny screen, I found new hiking paths and said hello (at a safe distance) to wild porcupines roaming the woods. I got a library card and checked out a stack of books to read on the dirt-floored front porch.

Our stay at the log cabin ended before our house was ready, so we moved to a different cottage in an adjacent campsite, where I ate cheese and crackers and watched reruns of Friends every day at noon. I interviewed for teaching jobs, but there wasn’t much for me to do until school started in August.

Sometimes, when life feels noisy, overstimulating, and overly complicated, I travel back to the log cabin in my mind. In my reminiscences, I’m peaceful, relaxed, and content—though I know I was actually anxious and craving stability. 

When I returned to Instagram in June, things had changed. I can’t recall which iteration of the app we were in then; it was post-stories and pre-reels, and I’m fairly certain the feed was now algorithm-based. My once blossoming Bookstagram account was now stagnant, even though I resumed frequent posting. Fewer people saw my posts, fewer people followed my account, and I was frustrated. It felt like I’d been punished for taking a necessary break, and motivation to restore my account to its former vibrancy weakened with each post. 

I could have stayed logged off, but the routine of reading a book, taking a photo, and sharing it online brought a comforting familiarity to my days as I learned new roads, shops, and names in a strange town. Besides, I was lonely. I’d made many online friends through Instagram over the years, and connecting with them via DMs helped ease my isolation after moving across the country. Thanks to those DM conversations, I serendipitously met up with my Bookstagram pal

Katie Male

, who lived two towns over. It wasn’t perfect, but as far as my social life was concerned, Instagram was better than nothing.

When we finally settled into our new home, I bought a vintage rug and snapped photos in the dappled morning light of the living room. Sitting on my couch with a book on my lap, I thought:

Why would I quit Instagram with such a photogenic bay window at my disposal?

It’s uncomfortable to admit that the aesthetics of my upstate New York home played a role in my return to Instagram—perhaps an even bigger role than my need for socialization, but the white walls, new-to-me rug, bright lighting, and cozy set up inspired me. I wanted to share beautiful photos in my beautiful space, especially after leaving what felt like a cardboard box in Oklahoma (the walls were the ugliest color brown, and we had almost no windows).

Over the next several months, I continued to share my reading life, my travels, and my teaching career on Instagram without much friction. I was happy to be back, and while I no longer had a growing account, I did have a consistent creative outlet. I had no plans for leaving or taking another break because, in my mind, my relationship with Instagram was now healthier than ever—refreshed, renewed, and reinvigorated by my time away.