One Year Without Instagram (And What I See Now)

Photo by Karsten Winegeart on Unsplash

Last fall, I wrote about my growing discomfort with Instagram. Last January, I made it official. I didn’t dramatically delete my account while clutching my pearls. I just… left. Completely. No app. No scrolling. No “just checking real quick.”

It’s been a year now, and I can say this with more clarity, and far less defensiveness, than I could back then:

Instagram doesn’t just invite mindless consumption. It trains us for it.

And then it consumes us right back.

Our attention.
Our interests.
Our time.
Our energy.
Our motivation.
Our autonomy.

That sounds dramatic until you’ve lived without it long enough to notice the difference. Within just a couple of weeks of no IG, I could feel something shifting.

Here’s what I’ve learned, a year later:

Instagram Is Not Neutral

We like to tell ourselves that social media is just a tool. That it’s all about how you use it. I don’t believe that anymore.

Instagram is engineered, brilliantly, to keep you scrolling. Reels aren’t an accident. Infinite content isn’t generosity. The platform exists to hold your attention as long as possible so it can sell that attention to advertisers. Full stop.

Which means you are the customer. And you are the product.

When you’re immersed in that environment day after day, something subtle but real happens: you begin to relate to the world primarily as a consumer. Not a person who creates, tends, rests, prays, or notices, but someone who reacts, clicks, compares, and buys.

It Consumes More Than Time

Yes, I have more time without Instagram. That part is obvious.

But what surprised me was what else came back.

My interests feel like mine again.
My thoughts don’t constantly fragment.
My motivation is quieter, but sturdier.
My attention can last longer than 12 seconds.
My desires feel less frantic and more honest.

When I was on Instagram, I didn’t realize how often my inner life was being interrupted and redirected. A reel here. An ad there. Someone else’s life, body, kitchen, vacation, productivity system, skincare routine. Something else to want.

All of it subtly whispering: You’re behind. You’re missing something. You should want this instead.

When you step away, the volume drops. And in that quiet, something important happens: You start wanting your own real life again. You might even start to love it.

The Consumer Illusion

One of the strangest experiences I’ve had this year is briefly popping back onto social media and seeing it with fresh eyes.

It’s… a lot.

So much selling. So much “content.” So much carefully engineered dissatisfaction followed immediately by a solution you can buy in two clicks.

When you’re not immersed in it daily, the spell breaks.

If I put my phone down, the problem disappears.
If I don’t see the ad, I don’t need the thing.
If I’m not constantly comparing, my life feels… fine.

Good, even.

Contentment is hard to monetize, so you won’t see much of it on Instagram.

Reclaiming Agency (Quietly)

I used to joke about standing before God and seeing a giant screen showing the number of hours I spent on Instagram, with absolutely nothing to show for it.

That joke stopped being funny once I realized how close it was to the truth.

I want to choose how I spend my time. I want my attention to belong to my life, my work, my family, my friends, my prayer.

I want to be present for what’s actually in front of me.

Social media doesn’t get to decide that.

And here’s the good news: If you want to try this, you can! You don’t have to delete everything tomorrow or make a dramatic statement to reclaim your autonomy. You can start quietly. Softly. With curiosity instead of guilt.

Take it off your phone for a week.
Notice how often you reach for it without thinking.
Sit through the discomfort and pay attention to what fills the space instead.

You might be surprised by the freedom you find waiting there.

With grace,