I deleted my personal Instagram account in December 2024. And when I say deleted, I mean completely deleted. Like, no recovering it at all—gone from all public search domains and free from any attempts to reverse the decision. It was not a decision I made lightly.
I’d had an Instagram since I was fourteen, and five years later I used my account for everything: staying connected with friends, finding fashion advice, even sending my mom hilarious reels at 11:56 p.m. on a school night. I’d been documenting my life at university through posts, making sure everyone knew my political stance through stories, and texting my friends more through Instagram’s in-app messaging than through iMessage.
So, if I had all that and more going for me, what changed?
I don’t know if we actually talk enough about social media addiction and its effects, but it’s real.
A 2024 National Institutes of Health study defines social media addiction as “characterized by excessive screen time, compulsive checking, and detrimental effects on real-life relationships and responsibilities.” For me, it manifested in countless hours doomscrolling on Instagram, wasting precious time staring into the metal box of my phone when I could have been sleeping or studying.
I ate meals while scrolling Instagram. I watched movies while scrolling Instagram. You’d even find me at a red light, in my car, scrolling. I felt the need to see what my friends were up to, to know about their lives, and to put mine on display just as vividly. And yet, I felt empty inside.
Books I borrowed from the library went unread, and articles I wanted to write went unwritten. All because I spent so much time on my phone comparing my life to someone else’s.
Months before December, I started to get a nagging feeling that I should delete my Instagram. There was a firm feeling in the back of my mind that I should get rid of Instagram, and with it, my addiction.
So, on a late night in December, I screen-recorded the posts I couldn’t live without, and I deleted my account. And wow, my life immediately became ten times better, and I felt alive and connected with Mother Nature!
Just kidding. That didn’t happen. At least not right away.
The most immediate change was that my sense of privacy got redefined. I used to plan pictures around what would look best on my profile page. In the months after deleting my account, I realized I actually enjoy photography for the fun of it. I take pictures of myself and the world around me when I feel like it, and if I’m trying to impress anyone, it’s me. The people who followed me on Instagram—some I hadn’t seen in two years, some I’d never even met—don’t need to see my life as intimately as I do. I like documenting the little moments in life, and I’ve realized those moments don’t need to be handed out like party favors to everyone scrolling by my name.
I spend less time on my phone. I still have YouTube and Pinterest for my “social media,” but they’re less attention-grabbing than Instagram ever was. Books have made their way back into my life, and so have podcasts. It’s easier now to disconnect from my phone for a few hours, even a whole day, without obsessing over who’s liking my story or sending me reels.
Now for the title question: am I actually happier since deleting Instagram? I think the short answer is yes.
I think I’m happier without Instagram because I’ve regained freedom in my life. Freedom from social media addiction is something most people either take for granted or don’t think about—but in an increasingly digital world, having analog moments will be key to building real community with others. Everyone can make their own decisions about social media use, but if you’re looking for a sign to disconnect, even for a short time, let this be it.