What I learned from a Facebook fast

Way back in 2015 when I was writing a blog as a daily journal-of-my-thoughts kind of thing, my older son and his wife were in the Air Force, deployed to a dangerous part of the world. We didn’t know exactly where they were, and we were asked not to talk about the deployment or what they were doing publicly. Obviously we prayed for their safety, but I am a chronic worrier. It was a stressful time.

One day I saw a link on Facebook to a news report about an American military member being burned alive by jihadists, and this is the post I wrote in response, with a little commentary from 2023.

A short while ago, I saw something on Facebook that was horrific to me. So much, that I turned away looking for something to throw up in. It affected me profoundly and I instantly vowed to stay off Facebook until I knew certain family members were safely home (which will be a few months). I pray for them many times a day, and every time I wonder what I'm "missing" on Facebook, I am reminded of the brutal reality of the world today and to pray for them more. Kind of a fast.

While I was horrified at what happened, I was almost equally horrified that someone would share this on Facebook. What are people thinking? Excuse me while I dive back under my rock.

In the beginning, I found myself picking up my phone and looking at the familiar icon before I remembered not to touch it. I was surprised at how many times each day I did it. It has gradually happened less and less.

I’ve heard that it takes 30 days to form a new habit, but 90 days to break an old one. I can see this is true.

But I've made some other discoveries too. I've discovered that, although I have somewhere in the neighborhood of 350–400 "friends" on Facebook, I probably couldn't name 75 of them. And outside of Facebook, I would have no contact with them. People come and go in our lives, we move, they move, and I believe that's by design. God gives us the people we need—or those that need us—in certain seasons of life, and that's okay. We don't have to hang on to every thread of the past. Sometimes we need to let our memories be enough.

The friend count is now almost a thousand. Who are all of you? Have we ever actually met in person? Facebook is such a non-reality, it unnaturally keeps us “in touch” with people who would otherwise not be part of our lives at all. Why do we feel like this is real life?

I've discovered that I do not lack for encouragement in my life, which indicates my encouragement was not coming from Facebook. So what am I there for? I've always said it's to keep in touch with old friends, see my kids' photos, things like that. And while I think those are valid reasons, the good I get from Facebook is not equal in value to the amount of time I let it suck from my life. (At first I wrote "the amount of time it sucks from my life" but the truth is that it only gets the time I give it.)

This is still true, except my kids are mostly not on Facebook anymore.

I've discovered I have forgotten how to communicate. "Like" is not communication. I once read the headline of a post that challenged users to actually leave comments rather than just hit the "like" button, and I think that's a great idea. If we're going to make ourselves slaves to social media, let's at least remember there is a human on the other end who wants to hear words, not just count clicks. What if, instead of giving us his Word, God had just sent a giant, cosmic thumbs-up sign? It's words that give hope and help and comfort. Words that make us laugh and cry and think deeply and express love and worship and admiration. We've forgotten all this in our haste to keep scrolling. When I read the headline of that article, I did not stop to read it through; I didn't have time to stop and be challenged to be a better human, a better "friend."

In the eight years since I wrote the original post, studies have been done on the addictive power of likes. Every like you get sends your brain a hit of dopamine, the feel-good chemical. The more hits you get, the more you want. This is the number-one reason children should not have cell phones: we are creating young people who are addicted to non-reality. They are becoming actual addicts and we are facilitating it.(Off my soapbox.)

Ben told me today that tomorrow is his sister Dawn's birthday and my first thought was, "How am I going to wish her a happy birthday?"

Really? I'm embarrassed that I have fallen so far I can't even figure out how to communicate a simple message to my sister-in-law. Before Facebook we had texting. Before that we had cell phones that were on our person every moment of the day. And before that we had this once-miraculous contraption that was connected to the wall with wires that carried our voices around the earth, and long ago the handset was connected to that with the curly cord we used to sit and wind around our finger while we talked. Remember that? Sitting still while you talked to someone? Giving them your undivided attention? Not splitting your time between them and the grocery shopping?

I kind of miss those days. My mother (80 years old) and my aunt (76) still write letters to each other every week. Nothing earth-shaking or pressing, just sharing their lives and some laughs, but connecting over the miles in a tangible way. 

My mother is now 88 and my aunt 85, and they still write letters. In cursive.

My time away from Facebook will last at least another month or so, and I'm trying to decide what to do about it when I pick it up again.

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My people made it home from their hostile-fire zones safely and I eventually went back to Facebook. But my Facebook fast changed the way I look at social media.

I don’t want to be an addict. But more than that, I became very aware that words have power. They are important. And while I love a funny story as much as anyone, I am much more conscious of the effect my words have on others, and how their words affect me.

I spend a lot less time scrolling and liking, and more time trying to string together words that maybe have a chance of helping or encouraging someone, and I find infinitely more satisfaction in it.