I deactivated my Facebook account in March. It’s July now, and I’m so much happier without it. I thought I should write a post detailing why I quit Facebook, and what happened when I did.

I’ve always had a love-hate relationship with Facebook. Growing up at the time I did, it was a major part of my social development. I’ve had Facebook since I was 13, and I’m 24 now.

I’ve received good news and bad news on Facebook. I’ve been in great photos, terrible photos, embarrassing photos, and ridiculous, happy, joyful photos. I connected with members of communities I belonged to on Facebook. I’ve conceived, gestated, and lived out entire romantic relationships on Facebook.

I posted a status when I got in to UofT, and another one when I graduated 5 and a half years later. As a young teen provocateur, I posted my thoughts and poetry to my status.

I’ve been in my fair share of Facebook debates. It’s something about that low agreeableness trait I have that makes an argument irresistible. I think every debate has been developmental in some way, but the valence of these interactions has been growing to the point where I’m not sure there is a net benefit anymore. I think our culture is heated right now, and it’s hard to engage in earnest wholehearted communication through Facebook.

People have even deleted me on Facebook for stating my opinions. When I posted my reaction to Dr. Peterson’s first controversial video, I received vitriol from several acquaintances. I knew it was controversial, but I believed strongly that I needed to speak my mind.

Nonetheless, it was a painful experience. I didn’t sleep well that night. I was worried I would be witch-hunted or labelled something I was not.

I think there’s something about the way people read Facebook arguments that leads them to lose their nuance. I’ve had words put in my mouth too many times now, and I hate that feeling. Authenticity is one of my most highly-valued virtues.

And those are not even the main reasons I quit. Mainly, I hated the feeling of comparing myself to others. I think some people are more sensitive to this than others, but over the past few years I realized I felt physically sick when I was scrolling on Facebook — though it was punctuated with the odd excitement that kept me coming back for more.

Overwhelmingly, Facebook was an unpleasant experience for me. It exacerbated symptoms of mental illness for me: social anxiety, depression, even low self-confidence. When I lived alone, I tried to use Facebook to avoid feeling lonely.

Every time I posted a picture or a status I felt this pit in my stomach, realizing what a vulnerable thing I’d done. I was terrified of people, but simultaneously so drawn to earning their respect.

I wish I could have realized sooner: likes are not respect. Likes don’t mean anything. Those people who get 100 likes just know a lot of people. They’re not necessarily better than anyone else. But to a person who’s lived half their young life in a culture where likes are a currency, it certainly feels that way.

I always hated the newsfeed, I knew it made me feel bad. But like a junkie, I’d scroll on through anyway. About 2 years ago I got a browser extension that blocked the newsfeed. Like a bandaid, it kept me feeling a little better on there, but I soon realized even the parts of Facebook I clicked on myself still made me feel rotten.

Put simply, Facebook wasn’t adding any value to my life. In fact, it was harming me.

Why didn’t I delete Facebook sooner? What held me back? It was fear. I was afraid that I would fade away.

It’s now been 4 months, and maybe I’m fading slowly, but I feel fine. I’m sure I’ve missed a party or two, and I have to accept that. But many people have remembered to message me and invite me out.

I also had a successful birthday party without having a Facebook event. In fact, I had the best turnout ever. I invited something like 18 people, and 16 showed up. People responded to the personal invitation.

Now, I am still using Facebook’s messenger. I guess that’s easy mode or something, but I don’t see the harm in keeping what is essentially a texting app.

When I deleted Facebook, I didn’t really intend to. I didn’t post a status saying I was leaving or anything like that. I just deactivated it to try it, and I haven’t looked back since.

A few people contacted me, concerned. They’d thought I’d deleted them. But once I explained myself, there were no issues. And like I mentioned, I’m still being invited to hang out with people. In the real world.

And that’s the best part about it. I live my life in the real world now. I’m not worried about taking a good picture of an experience to post it on social media (yes, I’ve been avoiding Instagram as well). I just live.

I’m more grounded, and using my computer is a more pleasant experience. I don’t do that strung-out Facebook junkie “f + enter” shuffle in my search bar. But it’s scary how those compulsions follow you. Every couple of weeks I’ll find myself spaced out on the computer and start typing in the Facebook address. Creepy.

Things are good this way, and I don’t feel like going back yet. At the same time, I don’t foreclose the possibility. All I know is I’ve been more relaxed and comfortable this way.

Of course, Facebook has some utility. It’s one of the most popular websites in the world. Some people have a positive relationship with the website, and it adds value to their life.

But if you’re thinking of deleting Facebook, I would wholeheartedly recommend it. You won’t fall off the face of the earth. Your real friends will still contact you. And you might feel a lot better for it.