I Was a Social Media Addict. Then I Tied Myself to the Mast.

Hi, I’m Chloe Markham, and I’m a former social media addict.

I remember one of the final posts I got tangled in before I left. A woman wearing a bikini on the beach with visible armpit hair. She was having a nice time. Not sure her caption even mentioned her armpit hair. But the comments. The comments! And the outrage I felt that so many (men, mostly) felt it necessary to comment so viciously on her body.

That rage was one of the final straws and I quit not long after. Now, a year and a half later, I’m safe in the knowledge that social media rotted my brain. That rot I’m still healing from. 

Perhaps we should all be tied to our masts.

The algorithm is our modern-day Siren — luring us in with its sweet song before tearing us limb from limb. Odysseus in Homer's The Odyssey is warned of the Sirens, and instructs his crew — who had beeswax in their ears — to tie him to his mast so he doesn’t meet that fate.

Our Siren song is the cute puppy videos, the helpful gardening tips, the insights you can spill at parties so you have something intelligent to say. Before long, the constant turbulence, the attention-span destruction, and the endless comparisons between you — with crumbs on your shirt and your weird nose — and everyone else living their best and most beautiful lives, ruins us. 

Our modern-day sirens have us hooked on their song, while delivering us daily pockets of shit we didn’t invite into our lives making us furious at the state of the world.

When I was enthralled, I couldn’t sit down for even 15 minutes and read a book without picking up my phone. I couldn’t stand in line without reaching for it. Boredom no longer existed — every 2 or 3 seconds I had a fresh reel, a fresh post, a new thing to be wooed by or outraged at.

I was comparing myself to Kate who’d swanned off to the south of France and posted endlessly about it. Was I that happy? Having as good a time as Kate? There’s not a human alive who’s having as good a time as Kate is on her feed. Not even Kate. But I got sucked in anyway.

My body was never good enough. My yoga practice wasn’t good enough. I was never pretty enough, rich enough, successful enough, and I never had any of the right outfits. A constant, low-level drip of I’m-not-good-enough every single time I dropped in.

Then there’s the adverts. Selling me things that would solve all my problems, making me feel like I was constantly on a treadmill of need. Not only blatant ads, but sneaky ones by ‘influencers’, all telling you you’re not good enough unless you have this or that. Keeping us working hard, spending hard, and wondering why our souls have disappeared.

A friend of mine recently ran an experiment on his Instagram feed: what if he posts more divisive content? You guessed it — a significant uptick in engagement.

If everyone’s creating for the algorithm, it all becomes more dulled down, more divisive, less thoughtful or creative or world-bettering. The manosphere was born from men wanting to be as divisive as possible for ultimate levels of engagement. Before long, they’re believing their own ‘content’ and the world’s a darker place for it.

I actually can’t read the word ‘content’ any more without feeling physically ill. For a while it made me believe, since I’m self-employed, that content was all I needed to create — vacuous tosh that got me in front of more people so my business would grow. I tried this for the best part of a decade. Not only did I feel like a sell-out, but it didn’t work all that well.

When I removed the apps from my phone, used blockers or time-limits, I’d still find a way. I got around them. I knew my logins too well. I used my laptop instead of my phone. I was still hearing the call — I just needed someone to tie me to my mast.

I didn’t realise it until I was out, but I was experiencing exactly what science tells us: depression, anxiety, shitty sleep, and reduced life satisfaction. Thankfully I got out before the increased blood pressure, terrible posture, and carpal tunnel. 

This pervasive Siren in our pockets is giving our children depression and reducing the life satisfaction of a significant number of the 5.4 billion people who use it. Still not a big deal?

Unlike the Sirens of Greek myth, though, we’re not doomed just because they’ve caught us. There’s a way out, and life is better on the other side.

And here’s what I found on the other side

I watched as my big bro scrolled Facebook at a recent family event. I leaned over to see what he was scrolling past: underwear ads, people raging about politicians, a dash of interesting news to keep us justifying it all… I briefly became entangled again. Ooh, something interesting! Wait, scroll back up? Why are you getting so many women’s underwear ads…? Until I broke the spell, looked around, and started talking to my uncle instead about his trip to France.

I’m now present for events. I’m never scrolling when I should be paying attention. I’m even realising the art of paying attention, and finding there’s so much to pay attention to outside of this weird, digital vacuum.

I’ve found more space, a slower tempo, and a better view of reality. My nervous system is healing. My attention span is on her way back to me. I’m reading more books than ever, and movies are a single-screened delight.

Sure, we still have emotionally-stunted chumps in power, and sure, the manosphere exists, but without socials, I get to decide when I watch the docs or the news. And life is sweeter on the other side.

The Sirens make us feel like we can’t leave them — how else will we keep track of our ex? Or get inspo for the thing? — but we can. Our version of mast-tying and beeswax are as simple as deleting the apps, removing the temptation, and rebuilding our attention-span. The Sirens are still there, but we’re no longer listening.

Hopefully one day, if I’m lucky, I’ll be that old lady needing help in the supermarket or messing up the TV settings.

In the meantime I ask myself: do I really want to waste my days doomscrolling in a capitalist black hole? Or do I want to slow my tempo down and get my attention span back?

I know what that old lady would tell me to do.

With love,

Chloe

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