Little Belle's Mama

I deleted Facebook from my phone during the first weeks of August, and I am curious how long I can keep it that way. It was not a dramatic decision. It did not come with a speech or a personal announcement on my wall. It was more of a quiet moment when I realized I simply did not have the time or the energy to keep scrolling anymore. The app was sitting there, waiting to be tapped, and most of the time I would give in without much thought. Then after ten or fifteen minutes of sliding my thumb up the screen, I would wonder what exactly I had gained from that. Nothing felt richer. Nothing in my real day felt better. So I let it go.

Part of the problem is the way I interact with Facebook. I am not the type who presses like on every post or leaves a quick reaction just to show I have seen it. I look, I read, sometimes I smile or shake my head, and then I move on. But every so often I want to type a comment. Maybe a post sparks something in me, or I want to give a thoughtful reply. And then I hesitate. Because a comment is rarely the end. Comments often open the door to replies, and replies lead to expectations. If someone answers me, do I need to answer back right away? What if I do not? What if they take it the wrong way? The tiny spark of joy in leaving a comment suddenly feels like a small responsibility I did not ask for. That alone makes me close the app more often than I actually post anything.

There is also the shift in what Facebook shows. In the beginning, it was a place where my feed was filled with updates from people I knew. Friends from school, cousins, family members I do not see often. It felt like a digital neighborhood where you could peek into someone’s life and share bits of your own. Over time, that neighborhood feeling got replaced by something else. Now the first things I see are posts from strangers because they are in professional mode or because their posts are boosted. I scroll through debates from people I have never met, jokes that have been shared a thousand times, videos I did not ask for, and polished updates from creators who want reach. In between, I might find a picture of my friend’s kid or a quick life update from someone I actually care about. The algorithm has rearranged the living room and put strangers on the couch while my family waits in the hallway.

That change is not an accident. It is how Facebook makes its money. The longer people spend inside the app, the more ads they see. The more posts from creators and businesses, the more opportunities to keep eyes on the screen. It is not about what I want to see, it is about what the system thinks will keep me from closing it. At first, I barely noticed the shift. I just scrolled a little longer, thinking maybe I had missed the posts from people I knew. Then one day it hit me that I was spending most of my time looking at updates that had nothing to do with my life at all. The more I realized this, the less sense it made to keep the app at my fingertips.

The funny part is that I still think about checking Facebook sometimes. A thought will pop up like, I wonder what my friend from college is up to. Or maybe someone shared vacation photos I would like to see. But then I catch myself before reinstalling it. Because I know what will really happen. I will open the app and within seconds be pulled into posts from random people I have never spoken to. I will see ads for things I do not need. I will be reminded of how little control I have over what I am shown. That moment of curiosity is rarely strong enough to make me want to go back to all of that.

There is also a strange relief in not being available on Facebook. If someone shares a post and wonders why I did not react, well, now they know the reason. I am simply not there. If someone expects me to comment or engage in a thread, they will not be waiting for me. My absence creates a kind of boundary without me having to say anything. It is like stepping out of a crowded room where everyone is talking at once and realizing that silence is an option. It feels calmer, less demanding, even if I do sometimes miss the updates from people who matter to me.

I am not saying I will never go back. Maybe I will reinstall it one day, scroll for a while, and decide it is not so bad. Or maybe Facebook will change again in a way that brings the focus back to friends and family. But for now, staying away feels right. It saves me time. It saves me from the tiny social calculations of who to reply to and when. It saves me from the frustration of wading through posts that do not matter to me. Most of all, it reminds me that the choice is mine.

So here I am, a few weeks into life without Facebook on my phone. No declarations, no promises, just an experiment in how it feels to live with a little less scrolling. Maybe I will go back. Maybe I will not. But right now, it feels good to look up instead of down at the screen, and that is reason enough to keep it uninstalled a little longer.