Social media, what a rollercoaster it's been. Remember the early days? That buzz of connecting, the idea that everyone could have their say? The reality is sadly somewhat different, and turned into a swamp of trolls, keyboard warriors, and enough hate to sink a ship.
My first taste was MySpace, like loads of us, fiddling with layouts, picking the perfect song. It feels so innocent now compared to the shouting matches online. And while Tom automatically became your mate, it didn't feel as… forced as Elon's default follow on Twitter. Still Twitter to me, always will be. X? hmm.
I’ve dabbled in most of them over the years – Snapchat, Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn – but swerved TikTok. Deliberately. Didn't fancy getting sucked into that.
But now i'm only on LinkedIn. And I'm feeling all the better for it.
I'm not saying all social media is the awful, but it should come with a massive health warning plastered all over it. Twitter, even before Elon's takeover, was a prime example of how toxic things could get.
Slowly but surely, I found myself logging in less and less. Down to three: Twitter, Facebook, LinkedIn. Mostly just scrolling, soaking it all in, rarely posting. But even then, it felt like a doom-scroll obligation. I had to keep up, be up to date. I didn't want to be out of date.
Thing is, it's just too much. Our brains aren't built for that constant firehose of information. I'd try to unfollow and keep it to a minimum, but the platforms would sneak in "suggested" posts, trying to hook me into new rabbit holes. Inevitably, I'd stumble across some absolute bile, people tearing strips off each other just because they could, hidden behind a screen. Nothing useful, nothing real, just people letting rip with no consequences.
It started affecting me mentally. Seeing that much anger and blatant lies dressed up as truth was just overwhelming. So, I closed my Twitter and Facebook accounts. LinkedIn stayed because I actually use it for work.
The Quiet Joy of Missing Out
Initially, there was a a little FOMO. But it faded quicker than I thought. The biggest win? My brain suddenly had room to think. That constant digital chatter had gone. Ideas started bubbling up, connections formed easier, and my focus felt like it was coming back.
The time that I used doom scrolling were available to me again. I had time for running, seeing real people, thinking of new ideas, and actually being present in conversations without that nagging urge to check my phone.
But ditching the noise got me thinking: was I just building myself an echo chamber?
Shutting out those messy, often contradictory, online spaces could mean less exposure to different viewpoints. So, I've been making a conscious effort to seek out people that challenge my beliefs and thoughts, but do so in a way that is respectful and open.
Funny thing is, while the online screaming matches have stopped, I'm still getting my opinions challenged, but in a good way. Now it's through proper discussions, thoughtful arguments, a genuine attempt to understand each other, not just point fingers from behind a keyboard.
Logging off hasn't been about hiding. It's been about creating a bit of mental breathing room, reclaiming my time, and engaging with the world in a way that feels healthier. That endless scroll might feel like connection, but sometimes, stepping back is the most connecting thing you can do for yourself.
Think about it, until 15 years ago our friendship circles were limited by where we lived and went to school. We knew maybe, 20 people well, if we didn't want to speak to someone we could just walk away. The level of information was limited and managable, now we're bombarded with more information than we can handle. How were we ever meant to handle it all?
I grew up through the transition from having 20 local friends to having 2000 online friends. We were taken on a bit of a journey over that time, but the next generation have known nothing but the online world. How do they cope with it? How do we manage it as parents?
Parent Head On: A Whole New Level of Worry
That adds a whole other layer of worry to the social media chaos. Even though my kids are currently only using WhatsApp, purely for keeping in touch with their mates, the potential pitfalls lurking just around the corner are constantly on my mind.
The sheer volume of extreme information swirling around online is terrifying. It feels like you can't scroll for five minutes without stumbling across something deeply disturbing or harmful.
How do you shield young, impressionable minds from that constant barrage?
Then there are the insidious groups, the ones preying on young boys like those surrounding Andrew Tate. The aggressive masculinity, the skewed worldview, it's a toxic stew that can so easily warp a child's perception of themselves and the world. Knowing that this kind of content is out there, just a few clicks away, is deeply worrying.
That leads to another big concern: the skewing of what the world actually is. Social media often presents a highly curated, often negative, and frequently inaccurate picture of reality. How do you ensure your kids develop a balanced understanding when their peers are constantly bombarded with filtered realities and online drama? It feels like trying to teach them about a healthy diet while they're surrounded by junk food ads.
The peer pressure is another hurdle I dread. Even now, with just WhatsApp, there's the occasional nudge to join other platforms, the fear of missing out on what "everyone else" is doing. As they get older, this pressure will only intensify. How do you navigate that line between protecting them and isolating them? It's a constant tightrope walk.
And of course, the ever-present topic of bullying. Online bullying can be relentless and insidious, following kids into their safe spaces. Even on a platform supposedly just for communication, the potential for negativity and hurtful interactions is always there. It can happen quietly as well, and you as a parent have no idea.
So, while I've found a sense of peace stepping back from the main social media fray, the parental anxieties remain. WhatsApp, for now, feels like a controlled environment, a basic communication tool. But it's a constant vigilance, a quiet worry about what the future holds and how to equip my kids to navigate the complex and often treacherous waters of the online world. It reinforces my own decision to keep my distance; if I find it overwhelming, how much more so for young minds still figuring things out?