A life less algorithm
On being out of the 'Insta' loop
I haven’t really posted on Instagram properly for a few years now, but somehow I still found myself lurking behind the scenes, a seasoned observer, endlessly scrolling, constantly consuming. Procrastinating over just about everything.
I’ve worked for myself for over 13 years, so it kind of took its place as a busy work colleague that was out there living a life I simply didn’t have the energy for. And there I was, following along for the ride, convincing myself that it didn’t matter if I wasn’t actively contributing; what harm was there in just being present? A quick hit here, a small dose there. Little did I know that ‘lurking’ is its own special kind of nervous-system drain; a low-level hum of hypervigilance disguised as “just staying in the loop.”
I realised that every scroll has been a tiny dopamine hit on a very frazzled nervous system. Draining and depleting in endless ways. Unlike reading a book, cleaning the house, or meeting a deadline, you can’t complete Instagram. It’s never a ‘done’ thing. So, for me, it fast became a bottomless content pit that feeds me but never quite fills me - digital junk food at its finest, never truly satiated. And despite consuming everything it served me, I was always starving for more.
And, with a head full of Insta-junk, quietly losing hours of my life to the abyss of other people’s highlight reels, I realised I was no longer the keeper of my own thoughts.
So over the festive period, I finally pulled the Meta plug and made a quiet vow to see how long I could go before reinstalling the app.*
*Side note: I have reinstalled it. Several times. But by the time it’s loaded, I’ve lost the urge to scroll.
Life on the outside? Turns out, there’s a lot of real-life living out here.
1. I remember what my own voice sounds like (in my head).
Without a stream of perfectly packaged opinions and endless notifications, I’ve reconnected with the sound of my own thoughts. Turns out that when you're not constantly inhaling other people’s opinions, aesthetics, and unsolicited advice on how to dress, when to eat, what to buy, how to maximise productivity and make multiple six-figures (I still don’t actually know what that means), your own thoughts start to feel a little more... yours. And my headspace is a lot less crowded now.
2. Books: The original scroll
With a content feed that had no ending, my ever-growing book collection didn’t stand the chance it thought it had. But without that heart-thumping pull of mindless scrolling, I’m picking up even more books (and my Kindle) to help in the fight against my phone. Books will forever be my first love.
3. Boredom, probably, won’t kill you
In the past, boredom meant mindlessly scrolling to fill the void. We don’t like to sit with our discomfort and pain, really. But in an attempt to sit and tolerate myself a little more, I’m trying to turn my phone into a tool, not a distraction, and my mind is slowly finding some much-needed peace away from the endless scroll. Turns out, boredom isn’t something that needs fixing. It’s actually where a lot of creativity lives. It’s also something that a recent trip to see a hormone specialist actually advised for women in their 40s - more time staring blankly out of windows and less time staring down at a screen (more on that another day).
4. Bum notes
Because my fingers now have something better to do than double-tap random holiday photos. Dusting off the piano keys after 20 years has been both therapeutic and a reminder of a passion I’d almost forgotten. It’s also been hideously humbling. Remember those hobbies you had as a kid, just because? Every off-key note is a small victory in the battle against the perfectionism bred by social media. Embracing imperfection has never been a strong point of mine, but it’s starting to sound better than it did (my long-suffering husband may disagree with that last point).
5. Something is better than nothing
If you’ve time to scroll, you’ve got time to (insert, quite literally, anything else). Turns out doing the boring and the mundane is the original antidote to the doom scroll. Whether it’s housework to the sounds of BBCR6, bird watching, cooking, or simply doing nothing, something really is better than a whole lot of Insta-fuelled nothing.
6. Mild ignorance is a touch of bliss
For years, I think I’ve been hooked on the need (that I didn’t even know I had) to know mundane details of the lives of people I have never, and never will, meet. Now, I find contentment in not being in the loop. It’s liberating to realise that life’s best moments are often those you aren’t constantly live-streaming. They also happen to be your own and not ones you’re vicariously living through someone else’s.
7. I finally hit publish
After over two years of procrastination (thanks, social media, for fueling the comparison trap and convincing me I had nothing of value to say), I finally took the plunge and launched this very Substack. If you’re reading this, consider it proof that social media may be robbing your creativity. Somewhere in between reels and algorithm changes, I lost my voice and forgot that writing should be fun. And that I don’t need an algorithm to approve my thoughts.
8. Picture, not perfect
There was a time when every breathtaking view demanded a photo, then a post, and finally a flurry of likes. Now, I savour these moments for their own sake. The scenery isn’t just a backdrop for my next hit; it’s a reminder to live in the moment. Groundbreaking, I know. But it’s nice to stand in front of a pretty view, or be at a gig and actually take it in, all of it.
9. Silence truly is golden.
It’s amazing how much clarity and creativity can flourish in the absence of constant digital noise. Silence isn’t empty, it’s loaded with opportunity for reflection, creativity, and, dare I say, a bit of rebellious introspection. Without the background hum of curated chaos, I’ve realised that not every moment needs a soundtrack (although most of my life does come with an in-head soundtrack), a caption, or a quick check to see what everyone else is doing. Some things (most things in fact) can just be.
10. My messy, uncurated life is fine, just the way it is. Even if social media tells me otherwise.
Instagram taught me that every moment had to be a certain way, but the truth is, life is messy, like, really fucking messy. And that messiness? It’s all mine. Painful yet incredibly beautiful. I’m learning to embrace the chaos, even if it defies the pristine world out there. In fact, it’s the very thing that led me here.
My antidote to a filtered life. A slow return to something more analogue, less algorithm. An experiment in a life less digital…