What does Facebook mean to Me?
Like many people, I hate facebook, but I can't seem to stay off of it. I disapprove of Zuckerberg's decisions for the company, the privacy issues, and much more, which I won't discuss at length here.
What I do want to discuss here is what meaning posting in an almost blog style format to Facebook day in, and day out has for me, despite the constant algorithm suppression, being ignored by my fakebook pals, and having people completely miss the point and snark at me just because an article is "too old" for them to consider valid. (Spoiler alert, there's been very few new studies coming out since that article).
Now I have a handful of people I have enjoyed voyeuring in on their lives, but that's all it is. We don't have chats on messenger, we barely comment on each others' posts, and quite frankly, I feel like I am just one of the blurry features of their doom scroll.
I have had multiple facebook accounts (always deactivating and then making a new one to escape the memories in my photos from lives long past). This last round, I made one just for my HCW pals and to network. Then I started my own medical practice. Facebook was an essential tool to get my peers to know what I was doing, what I was about, and what I needed.
I got some support through that app, but when it came to difficult things, not relating to money or success, or helping others.. when it came time for me to need help for me, and my needs… well -- crickets! Not always, but very often, and it's a repeat pattern of social media.
Everyone wants you when you're golden and shiny.
Nobody wants you when you're dull and depressed.
And yet, they're secretly watching your trauma recovery journey and eating popcorn. When you finally run into them, they're telling you how much of an "inspiration" you are, and how "brave" you are. That they are in "awe" of you and your "resiliency".
I smile and nod, but I want to really tell them that I just want them in my life more. That I want more in person conversations. That I want more connection that isn't centered around doom scrolling and voyeurism. I can't tell them that, however. I never could.
Facebook, like many other social media platforms, polarizes others to extremes. It creates distance from others you once respected and loved, while simultaneously surrounding you with confirmation bias. It's a form of glass-walled segregation.
To me, facebook had different meanings, and I, almost daily, posted an update on my life, maybe some photos, commented on other people, and had some chats in messenger. But as time wore on, the pandemic wore on, I realized that who I was surrounding myself with, were either people I wanted only in my daily life, or who I did not want in my life at all.
I was giving too much access to my thoughts, emotional labor, and time.
I like to write, and I was feeding that need by constant updates and interaction in facebook groups. Now I have decided to shift Facebook's meaning to me.
I run a couple groups on there and am part of a few select community groups, so deactivating facebook isn't wise. I would miss the involvement there. So I decided I would do something unconventional.
While it's not really personal, I'm unfriending all 77 people (Yes 77! I once had over 500 friends on FB on an old account, and now just went to 77 from 94) on Wednesday. I'm nervous to do so. I've written a couple of posts that have largely gone unseen, explaining my reasoning, and how it's not personal. I fear that someone will be so upset they won't see the value in still having the option to see me in real time.
I simply don't want to give access to myself anymore, and I'm tired of listening in on lives that I actually am not apart of. I find the Facebook Doom Scroll to be a distraction. Groups require more intention and thought, so, I am going to still be apart of that.
While I think I will miss some of the scrolling through people's pictures, the reminder that Facebook has Pidgeon-holed me in a way in which others are not seeing me, is a burning resentment of how technology has created these glass walls.