Social Media Messed with My Head—But I Keep Coming Back

I don’t remember the exact moment it happened.
The shift.
The quiet, sneaky way social media crawled into my brain, rearranged my self-worth, and set up camp.

Maybe it was the first time I filtered a photo before posting. Or the first time I deleted one because it didn’t get “enough” likes. Or maybe it was when I realized I couldn’t go a full hour without checking my phone like it held the answer to all of life’s questions.

All I know is: it happened.
And now I’m stuck in the loop.

Scroll. Compare. Doubt. Repeat.

We’re all in it. This glittery, dopamine-drenched carnival of perfectly staged breakfasts, abs you can bounce quarters off, and vacation photos that look like magazine ads. You’d think everyone but you is living their best life—while you’re sitting there in mismatched socks eating toast over the sink.

It didn’t always feel this bad.

There was a time when social media felt fun. Silly. Casual. Back when filters were for laughs, not self-worth. When a blurry photo with friends was cool because you were having a good time, not because it was aesthetic. But now? Now it’s like you need a degree in branding just to post a picture of your lunch.

I tell myself it’s fine. I’m fine. That I don’t care about likes or views or shares.

And then I post something and immediately check the stats like I’m tracking the stock market. Two likes in ten minutes? Did the algorithm bury me? Do people hate me now? Should I have added a dog?

It’s embarrassing. But it’s true.

And don’t even get me started on Reels. I watch one video about a morning routine, and suddenly I’m being told that if I don’t wake up at 5 a.m., meditate, oil pull, journal, do yoga, drink water from a copper cup, and read three books before breakfast—I’m a failure.

I just wanted to check on my cousin’s wedding photos.

Now I’m spiraling about my entire existence because an influencer named “GlowWithGina” told me I need to quit caffeine and take cold showers to manifest my dream life.

Social media is like that friend who makes you feel good for five minutes, then bad for the next fifty. You open the app to pass the time, maybe smile at a meme or two, and next thing you know you’re comparing your real life to someone’s filtered highlights. And you lose every time.

I’ve tried to set boundaries. I’ve deleted the apps. Turned off notifications. Told myself, “No scrolling after 9 p.m.” But then I blink and it’s 2 a.m. and I’m deep in a rabbit hole of strangers organizing their pantries and calling it therapy.

I’ll admit, some days are better. Some days I can scroll with a healthy level of detachment. I can laugh, like, move on.

But other days? It hits different.

Like when I’m already feeling low and I see someone casually announcing their engagement, new job, international move, and six-figure side hustle—all in one carousel post with perfect lighting and heartfelt captions.

Meanwhile, I’m just trying to get through the week without reheating the same leftovers three nights in a row.

It’s not envy. It’s something murkier—this subtle erosion of confidence. A whisper that says, “You should be doing more. Being more. Posting more.”

And yet, I stay.

Because sometimes, it’s beautiful. I’ve seen people be vulnerable. Talk about loss, healing, mental health, growth. I’ve found art, poetry, stories that moved me. I’ve connected with strangers in comment sections and cried at reels of dogs being reunited with their humans.

There is good there.
But it’s buried under a mountain of pressure, performance, and perfection.

I keep asking myself: Why do I come back?
If it messes with my head, why not walk away?

Because it’s not just an app anymore.
It’s a habit. A culture. A lifeline. A stage.

We live in it, whether we want to or not. Our jobs, our friendships, our memories—they’re all tied to these glowing rectangles. We scroll to escape boredom, but we stay because we’re afraid of falling behind. Of becoming invisible.

And yet… I’m tired.

Tired of measuring moments by engagement.
Tired of pretending every day is content-worthy.
Tired of wondering if the version of me online is someone I’d even recognize offline.

So what now?

I don’t know. Maybe I’ll log off for a bit. Touch some grass. Call a friend. Maybe I’ll go outside without taking a picture of it first. Maybe I’ll let a good moment just be a good moment—not a story, not a post, just… mine.

But let’s be honest.
I’ll probably be back.

Because like any toxic relationship, social media knows how to reel me back in—with soft music, a trending sound, and a caption that says “POV: You’re healing.”

And I’ll tap. I’ll like. I’ll scroll.
And maybe I’ll feel a little better.
Or maybe I’ll feel worse.

Either way, I’ll be back tomorrow.