(On Habits) #1 Why I Deleted Instagram (And Started This Blog)

Naive and Impressionable 

Like for a TBH (to be honest). 

Hot or not?

Secret crush.

If you recognize these terms, you may have grown up, as I did, with the launch of Instagram. I downloaded Instagram in the 5th grade, two years after its initial release in 2010. I remember feeling like I had just accessed something I shouldn't have—yet the platform was too new for anyone to care. It was innocent in concept; a photography app, a way to make life look cooler. In reality, it became detrimental to my mental health and view on relationships.

As a middle schooler, my everyday usage involved sharing memes and viewing the memes others posted. I hadn't yet assimilated to the "phone eats first" mindset that often overwhelms life's otherwise ordinary experiences. My impressionable mind easily fell victim, though, to the belief that nothing was more important than my social image. 

Original Instagram logo

In its earliest stages, my profile was a true reflection of my personality. At one point, I believe my profile picture was a koala (because they are downright adorable), and my bio read something along the lines of "The Truth Hurts" (because... I was edgy on the low?). Like most others, I had an ask.fm link in my bio for "anonymous" questions that are publicly answered (that could easily be identified with context clues). Questions were often "who do you have a crush on" or something similar. You know, typical middle school behavior.

Over time, answers to social media prompts became a reflection of social status. Ask.fm was the tip of the iceberg. "Like for a TBH" was most common, and people often left TBHs on your most recent post, meaning others could see their opinion of you. "Hot or not" determined if that person thought you were attractive enough to date. "Secret crush" were accounts (managed by middle schoolers) where people direct messaged their middle school crushes so the account owner can play matchmaker. A lot of power, in the hands of a 12 year old. 

One day, when I was in the eighth grade, I got locked out of my account permanently. I forgot my password and couldn't reset it—my account was linked to an email that I no longer had access to. The only solution at the time was to create a new account, so I did. 

With over three years of conditioning to social media norms, my new account looked far different. I no longer posted memes I found on iFunny. I posted pictures of myself, with friends, doing things. I had subconsciously realized that social media was proof that I had friends, that I was liked, that I was at the events and parties that my peers were at. Going into high school, popularity seemed to be everything. 

Looking back, the things I used to care about never determined the quality of my life. My follower count; follower to following ratio; the likes/comments, or the "performance" of posts, within the first hour, day, and week; the quantity and length of Snapchat streaks I had. I used to actively manage these things, as if my social life depended on it. 

Skeptically Adherent

After I realized Instagram and related platforms were associated with my mental health, I entered college with new skepticism towards social media. I avoided downloading TikTok when it blew up in 2019-2020. I didn't maintain a "private story" on Snapchat, gave up on my streaks, and eventually deleted it altogether. Despite this, the one platform that I continued to use throughout college was Instagram. 

My first Dublin Guinness

There is something ingenious about the way Instagram is designed that makes deleting it seem unfathomable. Every social connection made in real life is supposedly reinforced, even validated, by Instagram. Instagram profiles have become synonymous with one's identity, to the point where every meaningful circumstance in life must first be shared online: every friendship verified, every romantic relationship "launched."

In college, this manifested in sharing popular campus-wide social events online. My feed became flooded with the same events, just different people: at tailgates, formals, Halloween, the bar, etc. This created an inherent pressure to keep up with the crowd—to prove that I was doing the same social things that my peers were. It was eerily similar to high school, except it followed the unique social calendar of my college.

When I studied abroad and returned for senior year, I adhered to this social pressure. When I was abroad, I shared a new carousel post for nearly every trip I took. As a senior, I posted according to the implicit social calendar. There was still a part of me that believed that my Instagram presence was inextricably bound to my self worth, as my middle school self had internalized.

Seeds of Doubt

While in high school, not having Instagram was unusual, but it became more normalized to not be an active Instagram user in college. I met many people who shared their desire to delete the platform, had deleted the platform (either permanently or temporarily) or were otherwise spiteful towards the process of constantly maintaining their online image. Each of these people inspired a curiosity in me—is life without Instagram possible?

In 2024, immediately after graduating college, I was tasked with teaching 13-14 year olds how to be leaders at the summer camp I had both grown up at and been employed by for many years. Part of the curriculum involved sharing TED Talks with associated worksheets and group discussion. One of the first TED Talks I chose was The Battle For Your Time: Exposing the Costs of Social Media by Dino Ambrosi. Dino, a family friend that I skied with when I was younger, shares how despite being free to use, the cost in social media is in the time lost online. He also identifies that social media values and rewards brief and simple content, in contrast to things like books and letters, that require complexity and depth.

Monsieur Moose Le Lager III

As I shared these lessons with my "leaders in training," I began to wonder why I myself hadn't deleted Instagram. Throughout college, I made an effort to make my Instagram usage more personal and substantive, by often expressing my humor in the captions and things I posted. I temporarily maintained an account, in humor and good fun, being "run" by a stuffed moose I got on Spring Break. Subsequently, I created a "song account" where I posted my favorite songs and my reflections on them. Yet, my personal account still existed, and every time I used the platform, I felt myself drawn back to it. 

I had realized that Instagram had not mattered in the way I thought it did all those years. The follower to following ratio, the implicit social calendar, the need to live up to unrealistic expectations. Life still went on, without the attachment to a fictitious idea of what it meant to live. 

That summer, I deleted Instagram off my phone, and strictly used my laptop to access my profile. In fall 2024, after realizing that graduate school would keep me plenty busy, I stopped checking my profile altogether. After briefly redownloading the app in the beginning of 2025, I deleted it again, and my account remained unchecked for the entire year. 

The Ultimatum

Not checking Instagram for 11 months undeniably changed my life. As Dino shared, removing scrolling from my day-to-day freed up more time to pursue things I never felt I had time for. I started running consistently in May 2025. I bought a guitar around the same time and began to learn a few chords. I became an avid reader, as I had been before conforming to the social norms of middle school. Ultimately, I began to pursue things that mattered to me, without worrying about what my followers might think of me. 

My social media use didn't end with Instagram, although I became far more intentional how I used it. I use LinkedIn to provide professional updates and build my network. I use Reddit to scour updates and news about the communities I am interested in. I use Facebook to keep in touch with the happenings of friends and family. I have trialed deleting all of these apps off my phone, but I consider my relationship with these apps to be far healthier. 

With the success of my time off of Instagram, I gave myself an ultimatum—on New Year's Day in 2026, I will redownload the app, look through my profile, and decide whether I delete it permanently. Time passed, the day came, and I logged in through my laptop after my 11 month hiatus. 

It was interesting to see what had changed—the real life friends I had made who requested to follow me, the direct messages from familiar friends, the substantial drop in my follower count. As I reviewed my profile, I was struck by what hadn't changed. I went back to my earliest active post, which I made with two friends at the local fair during my freshman year of high school. It was captioned "just tryna ball with my bros." 

just tryna ball with my bros

While this sentiment rings true today, it also encapsulates the inherent social conformity that Instagram had instilled in me. I looked at the comments on the post and others I made as a high school freshman, and found TBHs from people I haven't seen since high school. I began to see the humor in it, that I had once found their "honest" opinion of me so important, felt it bore the weight of the world. 

My decision, then, became simple. Release the weight of the world, or continue to let others opinions of me dictate my life. I finished one, final pass, and completed the permanent account deletion process.

A Professional Purpose

Those who follow this blog on my Instagram account may be wondering—wait, what? You still have Instagram...

When I permanently deleted my personal account, I thought it would delete all accounts that were "linked" to it. However, my song account had survived, which I had maintained for a short while. 

In my time away from the platform, I realized something critical—having an Instagram account was never the problem, it was how I used it and what I associated with it. My history of creating it as a middle schooler and tying it to my self worth was my experience, not necessarily everyone's experience. I knew this was common, anecdotally, and through research I have read in graduate school. Deleting my account had freed me from holding on to those memories, but it didn't mean I had to let go of social media use.

In fact, I spent my first two years of graduate school in a professional role that involved creating social media content and strategy for Instagram. During that time, I learned more about how Instagram actually measures content. Likes/comments (or engagement) factor in, but other things, like accounts reached, views, and time per view became important data to analyze. 

After I ran my first marathon, I wanted to write an article that related my experience to the professional growth I had concurrently experienced. Originally, I was going to do this as a one-off article in Google Docs or Microsoft Word. I had entertained, though, the idea of starting a blog, and figured there was no better time than the present. I came up with the theme of reflections because of my natural tendency to look inward, and to find insights that improve my way of life. It also is all-encompassing, meaning I can write about the things that truly matter to me at every stage of life. Only one problem remained—how would I share my experiences with others already in my network?

I decided to share my first post on LinkedIn. Then, I remembered my song account. I redownloaded the Instagram app, and spent some time reforming my account to serve a new purpose: a digital scrapbook of my blog posts, or reflections, that I have since been writing.

Throughout my time off Instagram, I had been reminded of a core message in Dino's TED Talk: the complexity of letters, books, and other long-form content. He concludes his talk by citing the power social media holds to share ideas, even sparking social movements. By maintaining this blog and promoting it on Instagram, I hope that others find resonance with the ideas I share and that it inspires them to pursue their dreams. My younger self would have been too self-conscious to consider writing and promoting a blog, but my mindset towards social media has shifted. It can be a powerful tool, in moderation. To derive self worth from internal measures rather than social media messaging is to redefine the bounds of life, making space for the hobbies, relationships, and experiences that truly matter in the end. 

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Ryan K. Beck can be reached at rkbeck.writing@gmail.com