Quitting Social Media For Good

I’ve been on Instagram since 2012 and I can’t tell you how many side accounts I created for the different passions I pursued. It supported my bakery business from 2021 to 2023 and became an emotional crutch on the really bad days. But inevitably, this led to a state of cognitive dissonance, where I’d scroll through videos laughing while knowing, deep down, that it was an addiction. I wouldn’t notice the hours slipping by until my eyes burned from exhaustion. If I’m being truthful, I never thought I’d grow tired of the ridiculously funny reels or the oddly satisfying restock videos I swiped through mindlessly. But alas, the day came. And I couldn’t ignore the effects any longer. Either I stayed on the app that stole so much of my time, or I deleted it and reclaimed my life. So I chose to leave it.

I quit social media for three reasons: one spiritual, the other two for my mental and emotional wellness.

Instagram recently removed the mute function, making it much harder to consume content in a way that aligned with my values. I often scrolled with the mute button as my armor against music and vulgar audio tracks. It made me feel better about engaging with content that everyone else did, Muslim and non-Muslim alike. But when I could no longer hide behind the mute button, and my fingers grew tired of constantly adjusting the volume, I had to face reality. I used the fear of missing out on trends and jokes to justify my presence on an app filled with haram. Yes, there are accounts that share powerful reminders from beloved scholars, but they are drowned out by the overwhelming amount of degeneracy we expose ourselves to, growing desensitized in the process.

I would never sit in a room filled with men and women freely mixing, or influencers dancing to music. I would never choose to spend hours in the company of non-Muslims who love what Allah has forbidden. And yet, there I was, engaging in their content, laughing along, giving them my time. As a Muslim woman who wears niqab and avoids music and non-mahram interactions, it felt redundant—hypocritical, even. Those one or two seconds of unwanted exposure before I could mute a video had a strong effect on my concentration during prayer and ultimately, my iman. In a way, Instagram removing the mute button was the best thing that could have happened to me. It forced me to make a choice. And I chose my iman.

Motherhood is rough, especially without a village. Add in screen-free parenting, and you’re in for a storm. I found it easy to keep my daughter away from devices but struggled to lead by example. There were days when I was hanging on by a thread, seconds from combusting. I’d put her in her playpen, grab my phone, and disassociate into the realm of Instagram. I’d escape reality, even if only for a few moments, to numb my exhaustion and burnout. And in moments where I couldn’t physically leave, I’d prop up a book with my phone hidden behind the pages, content with my deception. But then it hit me—I was becoming the type of adult I despised. The kind who says, “Do as I say, not as I do.” And I vowed to change.

How could I justify maintaining my own addiction while protecting my daughter from that very same fate? What made me any different? I knew that if I didn’t change, she would grow to resent me—just like so many children today, battling screen addictions while watching the adults in their lives refuse to change.

Lastly, I hated the idea of having an addiction. Growing up in an abusive environment, I developed absurd self-soothing habits, engaging in self-destructive behaviors that harmed me in the long run. After years of therapy and finally accepting that I could lead a healthy life, I let go of nearly all my vices… except social media. I hid behind excuses, gaslighting myself over and over again:

“I have to know what’s going on.” You actually don’t need to know every trend!

“I need to socialize so I don’t become isolated.” Phones exist!

“I need the Islamic reminders.” Check out YouTube or read one of the many Islamic books available.

“It makes me happy.” No, it actually doesn’t.

A multitude of studies show that excessive time on social media (more than three hours a day) is linked to higher rates of depression and anxiety.

Social media gave me a temporary escape from my struggles, but instead of helping me, it enabled my escapist tendencies. I knew I had to face my issues head-on, but it was so much easier to scroll. But I had enough, and here I am.

I stopped posting my usual aesthetic and Cottagecore content back in September of last year. This Ramadan, I officially deleted nearly all my social media apps except YouTube and Pinterest. And it has been so eye-opening!

The first few days felt like withdrawal, which only fueled my determination. It exposed the parts of myself I had ignored for so long. And then, just like that, days turned into weeks, and I have never felt more at peace.

Moderation and balance are key, so I still indulge in video editing, creating slow-paced content for my tiny YouTube channel. I’d love it if you could subscribe! A lot of my time is also allocated to reading and writing.

I pray you can join me on this journey. We will be asked by Allah how we spent our time. Let us work toward a more fruitful afterlife—one where Allah is pleased with us, and we are living in the shade of His Throne, insha’Allah!