Why I am breaking up with my phone

I’m sitting in one of my favourite haunts, drinking a large frothy cappuccino, on Oliver Plunkett Street. On my table sits said beverage, my book Glennon Doyle’s Untamed, and my smartphone.

My eyes switch from side to side, as I look between my phone and the book. I sigh, decide on neither, and take a sip of my cappuccino instead.

While I clear the froth from my upper lip, I gaze around the coffee shop. There’s 15-20 customers here and roughly 95% of them are looking at their phones. I watch them scroll, and notice a certain smile on their faces. I used to have that smile, not anymore though, because I am breaking up with my phone.

I have been a prolific user of social media, posting content like original ink drawings, and the random antics I get myself into. I’ll take time to decide on the best narrative to accompany my work, press share, and wait. Then the eagerly anticipated pings begin, and the likes come flooding in. I bask in the glory of my popularity, and issue ‘thank-you’s’ to my followers.

Things had been going really well, until I realised, that while I have been rich in interactions, I have been poor in mind.

Lately, I have been bombarded with videos of women in their homes, wearing only knickers and bras, giving advice about life. If it’s not that, it’s videos of young men telling me how to manage my menopause or women selling cortisol tablets to help remove my ‘apron’ belly.

These invariably give me cause to feel unattractive, lacking in worth, and more importantly, watched!

I try my best to consider the effects being online has on my mental health, while I continue to produce content and grow my followers, but it has all become a bit of a struggle.

The final nail in the ‘social media coffin’, was discovering my artwork on another social media page. It had been copied, and re-shared, not as mine, but as theirs! I was absolutely disgusted, and decided to cease this posting nonsense.

But as I pulled back from social media, a strange thing happened. I had zero interest in doing anything anymore. I didn’t write. I didn’t paint. I simply froze. My whole reason for existing had suddenly disappeared.

Without the influx of digital hearts or instant gratification, what was the point of doing anything anyway?

My life became alien to me and I began lamenting the years I’d wasted online. I tried to be more ‘proactive’. I read more. I decided to ‘get fit’. I began the long list of chores I’d been avoiding for years. I was doing OK. I was starting to feel good about myself. I thought, ‘Sarah 1 - Phone nil’. But then another strange thing happened...

My phone appeared to know I was breaking up with it. It sensed my absence, and didn’t seem to want to lose my attention. So, instead of the scantily dressed women, I received videos of influencers discussing the dangers of social media, and ways to reduce one’s screen time. So there I was, consuming videos telling me how to get off my phone, while being glued to my phone!

On Monday mornings, I get statistics from an app. It tells me how much time I’ve spent looking at my screen. I had been using my phone less and less each week, and was feeling rather chuffed with myself, but on this particular Monday my delight came crashing down. My phone informed me I had spent 23+ hours on Instagram the previous week! 23 hours!

I was horrified. What kind of a slob had I become? But then it hit me. I’m not a slob. I am addicted to social media.

This realisation was a shock to me as I speak so strongly against the use of smartphones. I involve myself with anti-social media campaigns! I had just become my very worst nightmare. A bloody hypocrite!

So, what could I do about this mess? For I can’t meddle in the middle, I have tried that, and it would appear I have no self-control.

That leaves me with only one option. I must remove myself from social media entirely! But what will become of me? I can’t shake the fear of becoming a nobody, and wasting all the years I have spent trying to be a somebody...

Suddenly, my attention is back at my table, and I look at my phone. How can something so small hold such power over me? Should I do what feels right, and risk suffering whatever consequences quitting social media may bring? Or should I give into the monster, in the hope of advancing in my career as an artist and journalist?

Panic washes over me, I instinctively pick up my phone and scroll straight to Instagram. I immediately feel a sense of calm, and decide I don’t need to make any decisions right now. My concerns become a distant memory as a familiar smile returns to my face. Tomorrow is, after all, another...

I’ll awaken from my Instagram trance, but not before I run out of time to complete my list of ‘Things to Do’. I’ll run for the bus, nearly missing it again. I’ll think of excuses to give my husband for my failed missions. Then I’ll argue with myself that ‘this needs to stop!’, all while fighting the itch to scroll again.

I can’t be the only person whose life has been affected so negatively by social media. I have witnessed enough breakdowns in families, and heard enough social media horror stories, to be sure I can’t be alone in this turmoil.

But what can we do about it? Or more to the point, can we do anything about it?

I can’t shake the feeling something is amiss. If my social media addiction is anything to go by, it would appear to me that we are turning into zombies. These devices, in my opinion, are having detrimental effects to our mental health, and our society, yet the issues they bring appear to be swept under the carpet.

But why? Surely if we continue on this zombie-like trajectory, the implications will have catastrophic effects, not only to our mental health, but our ability to do what would have been assumed ‘simple everyday tasks’.

I don’t know, and I don’t know about you, but I, for one, am one very worried woman.