So… does anyone else feel like they’re trying to replace the pure feeling of human connection that they so desperately miss by overusing social media apps in order to fill a void?
Same.
Let’s start with this: forgive yourself for the amount of seemingly unprompted anxiety and reliance on social media you may have. We are still in a global pandemic under a less than impressive “leader” (WOW that last part may be the kindest I have ever been) and yes, it still feels like a twisted dream land where nothing feels tangible. I have to remind myself of this often. I also have to remind myself that it is okay to be online more than usual because we are social creatures, and this is the social aspect of our lives at the moment.
I have also been paying far more attention to how social media is making me feel. Why am I posting, who is it for, how the things I see make me feel, etc. I’ll admit, social media has always made me feel kind of dirty. I think it has to do with the constant comparison, empty validations and quick feelings of pretend brilliance that are forgotten a week later. Don’t get me wrong, I could write an entire blog about how incredible social media is, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t overwhelmed right now.
I will say, one thing do I love about the way my social media pans out is that my timeline is as mixed as I am. Half of my twitter is black twitter and the other half isn’t! This past week though, I, along with most people, read and grieved about Ahmaud Arbery, Sean Reed, and Breonna Taylor. If you don’t recognize any of their names, I suggest you do some research.
I scrolled. Black people were mourning. White people were laughing at tik toks. I scrolled.
Black people were pleading to be heard. White people were crying about having to wear a mask to the grocery store. I scrolled. Black people stumbled upon a video of one of their own being murdered. This was shown to me back to back.
My mind is never right after I hear of another modern-day lynching, but this time my screen of selfies, tik toks, and “bringing light to the world” singing videos felt so pointless to me. Upsetting, even. I couldn’t seek the joy. I couldn’t laugh at the silly things the internet has to offer. If I did, I felt a pang of guilt. I still feel guilty almost anytime I post, like I am not doing enough or saying something meaningful enough to erase the dirt of the world. We are forced to watch the murder of our own people. To grieve them. White people don’t have to do that.
Of course, these acts of violence are nothing new, but now thanks to modern day news at our fingertips, the stories are inescapable. Awareness is an incredible thing, but watching your people get hunted over and over again is indescribably painful. Yes, I realize seeing violence online is unsettling for anyone, but let me put this simply. Most white people don’t have the constant fear of waking up one morning and seeing their loved one’s police brutality story plastered all over their screens. Waking up and seeing my father’s name as a hashtag always haunts the back of my mind. You know, one of the endless names we have to urge the world to say because they were slaughtered and society wanted us to forget? Maybe that sounds like an outlandish fear, but since I could provide you with more uneasy stories about racist police interactions with my black father than I wish I had, some from just the past year, how ridiculous can I really say that fear is?
It is safe to say social media takes a toll on all of our mental health, but social media is not the same for your black friends.
I’ll leave you with this. See what happens when you check in on your people by means other than liking their picture on Instagram. I urge you to consider what social media does to your own mental health, and then on top of that consider the livelihoods of your black friends online – specifically black men.
Take care of yourselves, unfollow accounts that make you feel bad, and I’ll hang in there if you do too.