What You Get Back When You Reclaim Your Time From Social Media
By: Crystal Marie Fleming
Tags: Social Media, Twitter, Create, Writing

Last fall, in the midst of touring for my latest book, I stepped away from the public stage that arguably made my publishing career possible.

After investing six years into growing my following on Twitter from zero to over 42,000, with millions of monthly engagements, I left the platform, at least for now. This might not sound like such a momentous decision, but it was for me. My 127,000 tweets — an average of 57 tweets per day — had dramatically raised my profile as a writer, sociologist, and scholar on race. The platform prompted countless interactions and conversations, frequent media attention, and valuable professional opportunities — such as connecting me with my literary agent and helping secure a publishing deal for the book I’m still touring with, How to Be Less Stupid About Race.

Yet at the precise moment when most writers would have redoubled their efforts to promote their work, I felt compelled to step down from my bully pulpit and shutter my most successful social media account.

This certainly wasn’t the first time that I tried to reduce the footprint of social media in my life. I’d previously discussed social media stress with my therapist, used productivity apps to limit my screen time, experimented with boundaries and a “bedtime” for my electronic devices, and deleted the Twitter app from my phone countless times — only to download it a few hours later. Nothing seemed to work. After a brief absence, I’d always return.

Most disconcertingly, even when I wasn’t tweeting, I found myself thinking in tweets — crafting pithy, retweetable observations about my life, social dynamics, and world events to share with my followers as soon as I could get my hot hands on my phone or laptop.

And then I reached a critical breaking point. Crisscrossing the nation for the book tour and connecting with readers in real life was a new, thrilling experience for me, but it was also unspeakably exhausting. A full-time professor, I had to juggle speaking engagements and readings with my teaching responsibilities in the midst of a busy semester. Bouncing between bookstores and universities from New York to Los Angeles, Nashville to Whitewater, Wisconsin, I felt simultaneously exhilarated and depleted. As exciting as it was to meet audiences across the country, I grossly underestimated the toll the tour would take on my body, mind, and soul.

There’s an inherent stress to existing and attempting to thrive as a black queer woman in a racist, sexist, and homophobic society. On tour, that was coupled with the unique pressures and the emotional labor of unapologetically and publicly denouncing white supremacy in a country where white nationalism is on the rise. While the vast majority of my interactions with folks at book events were uplifting and supportive, I never quite knew what to expect from Q&As. I felt the constant need to mentally prepare for everything from microaggressions to outright hostility.

What I faced most often, however, were the racialized and gendered expectations that I provide on-the-spot emotional processing, counseling, and strategizing for a never-ending stream of racial dilemmas and existential trauma. “How do I deal with my racist cousin?” a white woman would ask, expecting a sensible answer in 60 seconds or less, while a dozen people waited in line behind her. “What should I do about racism on my job?” a man urgently inquired as I signed a copy of the book.

Black women would come up to me in tears, recounting the heavy weight of intersectional oppression in their lives. It was with these sisters that I felt the greatest responsibility — to ensure that black women and girls felt seen, heard, and validated.

But as I struggled to give the fullness of my attention and intention to each and every person who I met on the road, I began to realize that I had little energy left for myself, and no energy at all for Twitter.

I began experiencing debilitating insomnia for the first time in my life. Anxiety became a daily concern. My wake-up call came when my Fitbit informed me, last November, that I was averaging less than five and a half hours of sleep.

Finally, I realized that a social media detox wasn’t optional — it was necessary for my health. I knew that the only way to really kick this habit and refocus on well-being was to go cold turkey. I gave my password to my girlfriend and asked her to take over my Twitter account until further notice.