What happened when I logged onto Facebook for the first time in 5 years
Plus the PERFECT HUNGER Link-Up, featuring provocative listens and reads, current obsessions, and the occasional rabbit hole
Dearest Reader,
The other day, as part of our ongoing house search, I logged onto Facebook for the first time in nearly five years.1 My departure had been charged and impulsive—the sudden culmination of cognitive dissonance long in the making.
I knew being there made me feel awful, yet somehow I kept returning. Day after day, throughout the day. Posting, checking, scrolling. Numbing, distracting, performing.
Then one day, sick of being sick in the specific way Facebook made me sick, I stopped. I left a brief final post saying I was leaving for a while—maybe a long while. I gave no explanation. I never looked back.
About a year later, I quit Instagram for much the same reason. That time, I deleted my entire account without notice. Somewhere in between, I also ditched Medium.
Each time, it was abrupt and final, without a big to-do or much warning. And yet, internally, leaving each platform felt too long in coming. Given all the squandered presence and energy—given the addiction leading up to that moment—there was only ever one choice. Afterwards, the proof was immediate: without exception, it felt like relief.
Which brings us to the other day, when I logged back onto Facebook full of unease, like knocking on an ex’s door, not knowing what I was in for.
First, I was surprised I could even get in. I’d deactivated my account when I left and figured it might not exist anymore. But it took mere minutes to regain access. Mere minutes to go back in time.
One moment I had a sketchy, totally sneaky idea to infiltrate Facebook Groups and find my dream home… the next I was lying on my bedroom floor, lost in my outdated profile and posts from what feels like a lifetime ago—locked down in Victoria in 2020, living alone, working as a college dean and instructor, my first year of sobriety.
I’m still sorting through what this brief foray brought up for me—what it’s still bringing up, several days later. For now, a shortlist:
It’s wild and disturbing that it’s still there. The selfies, pictures of my many homes across countries and continents, photo after photo of my Siamese cats. That part’s actually pretty sweet to revisit. But what made me want to cover my face with my hands were the disembodied quotes and overused hashtags, the teasers for now-shuttered websites and blogs, so much outrage, that viral Trudeau song. Like a time capsule, undisturbed, buried right where I left it.
How online I was. How vital that felt—both to my sense of self, belonging, and to figuring out how to make ends meet. Buying hope on credit. Playing a slot machine only a few (not me) will win. Thinking if I just keep at it, things will be different.
Scrolling through years of my personal feed, I was reminded of beautiful moments and some really dark times. Being left. The Winter of Divorce. Living in a tiny, unwinterized cabin next to Kootenay Lake, where the pipes kept freezing and I had to wear a tuque to bed but still shivered. The landlord, when I texted him in tears about the pipes freezing (again), replying: “Why don’t you live with your husband?” Reuniting. Being left (again). Etc.
It gave me an ice-water-to-the-face perspective on Substack, my last social media holdout. It reminded me why Substack Notes never quite works for me. It even had me thinking about quitting the platform entirely—or, more likely, paywalling everything to make it feel less like a stage, more like a living room. Blatant plagiarism has me leaning that way too—more on that below in the link-up, including why I think it goes beyond one lifted essay.
Most of all, it was humbling. Humbling to see how hard I was trying to be relevant and cool, smart enough and good enough, recognized and liked. Humbling to see, so clearly, the ways I’m still doing those things—just with way less delusion and a little more polish. The wiser part of me knows there’s no shame in it—that the cringe I’m referencing is quintessentially human. And yet, I’ll be honest with you: embodied, actual me still feels the shame.
Meanwhile…
Is my return to Facebook official? No! When I landed on my profile, all plans to use Facebook Groups for house hunting quickly derailed. Instead, I spent over an hour furiously, obsessively, frantically deleting posts promoting blogs, websites, and side gigs that no longer exist. You know rage cleaning? After a breakup? It was like that.
I only made it through 2019. I left the photos of my cats and past houses. I toggled on as many privacy settings as I could find. I avoided the home feed entirely.
So the question now is: do I continue Operation Pare Down My Online Past to Cat Pics, then log out again—reburying the time capsule for my sixty-something self to discover ten years from now? Or do I use that time to grab all the photos I want to keep, then figure out how to actually delete my Facebook persona forever? (Based on my quick attempts yesterday, it seems that’s gotten more complicated.)
What would you do? What are you doing if you’ve quit Facebook (or Instagram, etc.)? I’d love to hear in the comments.
I’d also love to know what you think of this month’s links. As I pulled them together, a clear theme emerged—no surprise, really, since it mirrors what’s been on my heart and mind, both online and off:
I’m hungry for presence, not pretense. For setting the surface aside and connecting with Source.
Below you’ll find the latest PERFECT HUNGER Link-Up, featuring:
the only freelance and marketing strategy newsletter I’m reading right now
what a board-certified pediatrician and women’s health specialist tells her patients when they ask her opinion on alcohol
the easeful, aspirational lifestyle content I read over lunch
my charged, personal thoughts about Substack’s plagiarism problem
why labels and titles are where pretense begins
Gaza, oh Gaza.
For access, upgrade your subscription.
