Part 3 of a 3-part series. Part 1. Part 2. 

By Guinevere McWhorter

This morning the sun was brilliant. It’s late January and the days are noticeably longer. I strapped on my boots and headed out for a long walk through the snow. My senses trilled with the catharsis of the cold air. There is tragedy and beauty in life. The wintry death of nature always gives way to new life and the tiny buds are already forming on the naked trees.

In this impossible beauty, my mind returned to Facebook. It must be put to death so that new life could blossom. Today would be the day!

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that my sister beat me to this. She’s now two weeks Facebook sober. I asked her about her journey so far. She said, “It’s like I dropped a heavy backpack off of my shoulders or was released from prison. I feel happier. I have capacity to think about other things. I’ve started taking piano lessons and cultivated new friendships.” With her inspiring words, I soldier on through my own detoxification.

I’ve spent the last few weeks messaging connections on Facebook who still hold some irrevocable place in my heart. I didn’t want my departure to be bitter for these many wonderful people. These were some of the connections for which I joined the platform in the first place and whose relationships I cherish. Old friends. Interesting acquaintances. Certainly family. I’ve said hello, told them of my intentions of leaving, and ensured I had their contact. And then, one by one, I deleted them. I watched my friends list decline and in the days that followed, I wasn’t visited by any insufferable regret.

Over the Christmas break, I spent some time with my brother. I explained my intentions. In his matter-of-fact way, he said, “I pity the people who have Facebook.” He’s a good man and years removed from all social media. I reflected on his words as we both labored over pieces of wood in his shop. I watched him there, bringing dead wood to life with some creation. It was beautiful, and I knew that I needed to embrace that physical world more fully. 

With this memory, I commenced the 3-step process of deleting my account. When I was done, I stepped out into the sun for a walk.