I Deleted Social Media for My Mental Health– Here’s Why

Published on 26 July 2025 at 11:54

Happy Saturday! I sincerely apologize for being MIA last weekend and for the absence of a post. The past few weeks have been incredibly busy, and I needed to take some time to focus on personal matters. I'm happy to be back today, bringing you a normally scheduled update. I've realized that my posting schedule isn't always consistent, and things can get a little unpredictable at times. Life's a wild ride, and sometimes priorities simply change, which is perfectly normal. Despite this, I love writing content and always aim to share new material as often as I can. To make sure you don't miss anything, please sign up for email notifications on the resource links page.

 

Lately, I have had to download social media platforms so I can start trying to reach a larger audience with my blog content and store products. It is 2025 after all, so social media is the way people connect with resources, people, and products. I guess that is what brings me to today's topic: why I deleted my social media to help improve my mental health. 

 

Being in my mid-twenties means I grew up with social media and technology shaping my world. I would spend hours, days, months, and ultimately years with my eyes glued to a screen; I was completely absorbed by it. Why wouldn't I be? Everyone else my age was glued to their screens, and the last thing I wanted was to stand out. The constant connectivity came at a steep price. I'd regularly spiral into dark places, consumed by comparison, desperate to flaunt an image, and perpetually seeking validation from people I'd never met offline. My digital presence was comprehensive, spanning Twitter, Pinterest, Instagram, Facebook, Snapchat, and TikTok (back when some of them had different names).

 

In 2022, I was in deep, only living on social media. Every facet of my life was public knowledge; privacy was a foreign concept, and boundaries did not exist. Any shift in my mood, every fleeting emotion, was immediately broadcast. I'd post a cryptic quote on my story, scrutinize the toxic people who populated my life, and even stoop to bullying those who were bullying me. It feels as though the social media world is littered with individuals who, in their quest for acceptance, ironically begin to resent themselves, flaunting versions of their lives simply because the internet dictates it. We become desperate for any bit of validation, from anyone willing to offer it. I understand this deeply because I was that person – so incredibly insecure that I sought affirmation from anonymous faces behind screens. This relentless digital toxicity poisoned my mind, leading to an unhealthy obsession with things beyond my control.

 

The moment I arrived at rehab, my focus wasn't on getting better or recovery; it was on damage control. The very idea of being exposed, of being seen by the internet as "an addict" – weak, broken, and incapable of pulling myself out – filled me with an unbearable shame, embarrassment, and disgust. I refused to let anyone see an ounce of vulnerability. Instead, I meticulously created a facade online. My feed became a highlights reel of a sun-drenched vacation: photos of me smiling on the beach in cute outfits, videos enjoying the tourist hubs of Orange County. I genuinely believed this performance, this facade of carefree enjoyment, would somehow make me popular again, or at least deflect any suspicion. I told no one where I truly was, burying my secret under layers of fabricated joy. It was this profound, unacknowledged shame, not just the addiction itself, that was consuming me, slowly eroding any chance I had at real connection or genuine recovery, effectively ruining my own life from the inside out.

Approximately twenty days into my treatment journey, I made the difficult decision to end my relationship. It had nothing to do with my boyfriend, who was truly a wonderful person; rather, the issues stemmed entirely from my internal toxicity. Our relationship, lived for social media views, was a desperate attempt to provide the image of perfection and convince everyone, even ourselves, that we were destined to be. Though the breakup undeniably broke my heart, I felt there wasn't much left to shatter; I was already a hollowed-out version of myself who was not even able to love myself, let alone another person. Following discussions with my fellow treatment residents and my therapist, a solution became clear: a social media detox was essential. My strategy involved a gradual deactivation of each online account, a commitment to disconnect until I completed my treatment and returned home.

 

My attempt to disengage was less than successful. Knowing I could always reactivate my account, I found myself periodically checking in, unable to sever ties completely. I wasn't taking my new situation seriously yet. It was during this period that I learned a family member back home had disclosed my location and activities to multiple people, despite my explicit request for discretion. It wasn't their story to tell, of course – but that breach of trust is a topic for another post.

 

 

The flood of questions, accusations, fake pride, and judgmental comments on my social media platforms led to a significant backslide in my treatment program. I will not blame this for my relapse, but it was a contributor to my setback. This was the moment I knew it was time to quit cold turkey. I permanently deleted every account, uninstalled the apps, and vowed never to re-enter the digital spaces that were tearing me down. At just 22 years old, this felt impossible. Each day was a battle, a constant urge to log back on and defend myself. But with each passing day, it became easier. I relieved the pressure of comparison, the need to prove something I wasn't, and the internal bullying that had become so ingrained slowed. It was then that I truly understood that my recovery had begun. My phone time drastically diminished, now primarily reserved for listening to music or podcasts, or connecting with the small, supportive circle in my life. Now, three and a half years out of rehab, I remain free of personal social media accounts.

 

The initial step into the blogging world was genuinely anxiety-provoking, primarily because I knew it would eventually demand that I reenter the vast world of social media to truly promote my healing safe space. Now, I've created a dedicated presence on TikTok, Instagram, and Facebook, each serving the purpose of this blog. The aspect of this setup is the absolute autonomy it grants me. I am fully in control of the content I engage with, what I choose to post, and how I wish to be perceived by my audience. Crucially, there’s no turning back to personal social media use for me. I vividly recall the toxic hold it once had, and protecting my well-being means maintaining this clear, purposeful separation.

 

I want to leave you with this understanding: my journey away from the intense world of social media platforms is not a declaration of perfection. On the flip side, I often look with genuine admiration upon those who navigate the digital world with ease, finding joy and connection there is truly inspiring. It might surprise you, but I even dabbled back into it a few months ago with a personal TikTok. However, I've learned my boundaries, guarding my space from anything toxic. Social media, in its essence, is not evil; it serves wonderful purposes for many, bringing joy and community. Yet, for the sake of my mental peace and process of continued healing, detachment was not just a choice, but a necessity.

 

As always, thank you for reading. Remember you matter and you are not alone.

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