My finger hovered over the “deactivate account” tab, as if it was trying to tell me to slow down and think. What should I say to someone if they ask me why I deactivated my Instagram account? Should I tell them the truth? That I deleted my account because every time there was a school dance, a birthday, a prom, a party, the morning after was filled with confusing envy and depression? That every time I went onto someone’s Instagram account I saw a life that appeared to be overflowing with perfection, creativity and happiness, whereas my life felt like it was brimming with self-consciousness and the desire to get more than 250 likes on a photo?
Memories of my past posts flashed through my mind. I recalled myself glancing at my phone a million times a minute in the hopes of more “likes”, the justification I needed to confirm that my post was considered “cool.” I remember scrolling through the pictures from some of my peers that garnered more than 450 likes, wondering how I could ever live up to the expectations of the average popular Simsbury teen Instagram post. I remember hating how I could not talk to my parents about the crushing weight of the social pressure that would refuse to lift from my shoulders. My mom said social media networks didn’t matter, but that was easy for her to say, since she didn’t grow up with the constant presence of social media.
Hastily, I slammed the “deactivate account” button after realizing that the suffocating pressure would probably never alleviate, and I immediately tensed. I felt my stomach muscles tighten as I began to comprehend my swift actions. Not only did I separate myself from my peers by being one of the few without an Instagram account, I also faced a few unknown effects. What would my classmates think? Would they completely ostracize me? Would they ask questions about my username’s disappearance from the search results? As I contemplated the consequences of my decision, I realized that I would no longer be emotionally weighed down by my classmates’ seemingly flawless posts. I started to relax when I thought about the benefits of not having an Instagram account, and I just knew that everything would be okay.
And everything was okay. Because I was no longer actively looking for a good opportunity to post a picture on Instagram, I was able to fully immerse myself in all of my unique experiences, such as my once-in-a-lifetime school trip to China. I wasn’t worried about finding the best angle to take a picture of the Great Wall or the Muslim Quarter because I didn’t have a myriad of followers to impress. My main concern was to enjoy the moment, so that’s what I did while in China and upon my return home. I was able to appreciate silly moments with my friends – rehearsing for speech projects using a broken music stand, reading hilarious personal essays to each other around a campfire, laughing hysterically at the stupidity of eating raw cookie dough and not caring – because I wasn’t consumed by a need to check Instagram every five minutes.
My admittedly impulsive decision to delete my account couldn’t have been more beneficial for me. I walked the halls of Simsbury High School with a newfound sense of independence and confidence, which I wouldn’t trade for anything. I’m no longer influenced by what I see in the perfectly-produced pictures of my peers, but by my own desires and outgoing personality. In a society where it’s so easy to compare oneself to others, it’s comforting to know that the people in my life value me as the person that I am, and not through the filters and captions of an Instagram post.