What Do We Do When Our Favorite Leaders Leave Social Media Behind?
What do we do when our favorite leaders leave social media behind?
A trend is once again emerging within the corners of social media—people are leaving.
This, of course, has happened numerous times throughout the years and perhaps even more so lately as we continue to reel with both the personal and collective trauma of the time we are living in.
Some leave for a few weeks to a month, some take a summer break and cross their fingers that their accounts won’t be locked out when they return. Others simply take apps off of their phones and set harsh and healthy boundaries for themselves. But others—those who have grown weary of the cycles of harm and re-setting of boundaries—are leaving for good.
Some leave quietly, a slow escape from the daily dopamine hits and retraumatization. Others leave loudly, to make sure the reasons why they are leaving are clear and may help others along the way.
One person who left a message behind is Robert Jones Jr, who has run the SonofBaldwin social media accounts for years, NYT bestselling author of The Prophets and an incredible source of influence and encouragement for many.
In a recent piece he spells out why he’s leaving, and many of us felt it deeply, because we are secretly having these conversations, too.
He writes about one reason he’s leaving:
There is something about social media that requires a performance, where we are regarded as entertainment avatars rather than people. And the audience seems to require increasingly higher levels of drama and conflict to be satiated; which I think encourages cruelty and viciousness (the more harsh and malicious the post, the more likes and shares). Not to mention the trolls, paid and unpaid, agent and individual, whose sole purpose is to cause stress and chaos.
Irish author Louise O’Neill also left parts of social media behind, and her partner now runs her Twitter account while she still uses Instagram. She writes:
My father told me to turn my phone off. It’s not real, he’d say, and I would argue that being on social media was part of my job, it was necessary. I didn’t want to admit that I was addicted to the noise. Positive or negative, every reaction gave me a jolt of adrenaline. It made me feel alive.
Then, she writes about what it felt like to finally leave:
I read more, I slept better, I felt less anxious. I was able to take my time in forming an opinion about world events rather than feeling pressured into giving a hot take, lest I be considered ignorant or uncaring. It was like my brain was healing itself, letting go of the constant worry that I was in trouble, that I had said or done the wrong thing and everyone hated me. I slowed down, and I caught my breath again.
I’m not talking here about folks who got a little uncomfortable and duck out to avoid hard conversations or accountability. I’m talking about folks like Robert who have been on social media for years and see the direction it’s heading; folks who are grasping for personal and collective healing and cannot find safe spaces for it anymore.
As authors we are told that we have to use social media. And it’s true, it can be an incredible place for connection—I’ve met some of the most incredible people because of Twitter and Instagram. It is a really helpful tool to connect with readers and audiences.
But also? I’m riddled with anxiety when I use it often, and I’m constantly re-setting personal boundaries I’ve broken.
So many of us have found social media to be anything but a safe space, and as Robert shared, we grow increasingly aware of the fact that our audiences are addicted to violence and stories of trauma without following those stories with real change or collective empathy.
Indigenous, Black, queer, trans, disabled, Asian, Latinx, immigrants, religious minorities, anyone from a marginalized identity or people—so many folks hold their social media spaces with care and still cannot be free to simply exist and heal, because, just as much of America is, these spaces are also perpetuated by violence, capitalism, racism, and colonialism.
A group of four Black men and authors I deeply admire—Joél Leon, Robert Jones, Jr., Dante Stewart and Fred Joseph— held an Instagram live recently about how to hold vulnerability and love as Black men, how to free themselves from toxic patriarchy and exist in that love and in that healing, and the challenges that come with it. These men are doing the work of asking questions of themselves and a society that does not love them or want their healing.
It was a beautiful, raw gathering, and it gave me so much hope. And yet, white women showed up, demanding where the women were in this conversation, entering DMs to push their shallow, performative opinions masked as feminism and decolonization onto the very people doing the work.
This is the social media world we’ve inherited. It is toxic and violent.
And it is why so many of us cling to one another as authors and creatives asking how we do this work of personal and collective healing, liberation and decolonization when it feels impossible to do so.
So now that you know a small bit the struggle so many of us have, the fact that we are having conversations with one another, constantly wondering how much is too much—I turn it to you, the audience, the reader, hoping you’ll ask yourself some hard questions about how you use social media.
What do you do when your favorite people leave social media? How should you respond?
I will be the first to admit, I’ve had to learn to set some serious boundaries with social media for the sake of my physical, mental, spiritual and emotional health. In other words, social media can upset my anxiety so badly that my body shows it through stress responses.
I’ve had to learn what works for me and what doesn’t work for me. And I’m hearing that a number of other “influencers” are learning the same hard lessons.
Because we know, as Robert mentions in his message, our audiences want the shock and awe posts about our oppression and trauma, not our flourishing. That’s what social media thrives on— the toxicity, the negativity, the pain.
And it’s absolutely exhausting.
And while it’s exhausting, we are told that the only way, the best way to sell our books or art and get our products out there is to earn followers, make more reels, keep up with the newsletters, give and give and give no matter what it takes.
So, to the audience, the consumers, those on the other side: what can you do?
Here are 5 things to pay attention to when it comes to social media:
Examine the voices you're paying attention to in your social media feeds. Who do you learn from? Do you shy away from posts that speak the truth or call attention to injustice? At the same time, are you also learning about healing and care from marginalized voices and not just white ones?
Boost marginalized voices, not just their trauma but celebrating who they are. We have lots of months meant to “celebrate” people, so ask yourself when these months show up what you can do to boost other’s voices AND show support! For Black History Month, can you tell the truth and support Black artists? For Pride Month, can you learn about the resistance of queer and trans folks and support their healing and thriving?
If you follow authors, buy their books! Social media is part of the package deal of marketing, but it takes a lot of time and energy to run a social media page, let alone 3-4. Do you follow authors that you really appreciate? Let them know. Tag their work, post photos of their books, and buy copies to read with friends and family. It means a lot to us.
Follow them where they go. When your favorite authors, leaders and creatives leave social media, follow them to their next destination with all your support. Are they on Substack? Do they have another email newsletter, or do they actively write or create on Patreon? Continue supporting their work so they know that it matters out in the world.
Honor the people you continue to follow as people—not a brand, not an influencer, but a real human being finding and healing their way in the world. As you learn from others who are different than you, loosen your grip on your beliefs and ask what unlearning can happen in your own life. Can you interrogate your reactions to others’ work in your own circles instead of entering their DMs and private spaces to force your reactions on them? Can you honor their stories and experiences as valid and worthy of love and healing without seeing them as a commodity? Can you honor the work of kinship even on social media?
Just to be clear, this isn’t a goodbye message. I’ll still be on social media, uplifting the work of others, talking about healing, and demanding a better world for all of us. And you’re here reading these words because you believe in me, and I’m so grateful. The Liminality Journal is a safe haven, a space where questions and liminality are welcome to exist, where poetry feeds us, because words and community are medicine.
I’ll still be here and on social media, learning from others about what kinship truly means and asking difficult questions. I’m still there, trusting my own healing along the way.
And I’m hoping you’ll be there doing the same. That’s the only way any of this gets any better.
And now, all I can say is onward.
We go onward into a world that is deeply hurting, deeply unjust, full of in-person and online spaces that aren’t centered on care and healing.
We go onward into real practices of solidarity that create and sustain healing.
We go onward to do the work we are called to in these spaces, and encourage others to do the same.
We go onward into every unknown holding onto hope that there will be others there holding on, too.
Onward.
This article resonated with me as well. I am fortunate that I really have never been harassed on social media. But I rarely post to social media because I found it unhealthy for me in other ways. I confess I didn’t always share links to my blog posts on social media because I didn’t have the courage to risk people ridiculing my views which are at times religious and radical. But even when I shared light, non-controversial posts, I would find that I checked social media obsessively, eager for likes and comments, which sometimes didn’t come. I would take this lack of interest personally, but then later became aware that social media manipulated what people see in their news feeds. My posts were not sensational, violent, divisive, so my friends most likely would not have seen them unless they intentionally clicked on my page. I have found I write better, and feel healthier mentally when I write just for me and let readers discover me on their own. If there is a particular post I feel would resonate with a friend, I tell them about it in-person. But I recognize that although I am disadvantaged in a way since I am blind, I am privileged in that I am a white suburban woman who does not have to depend on writing for my livelihood.
Thank you for writing this. As I've been working on my first book manuscript (and working full-time, and recovering from surgery, and, and...) I've stopped posting as much online - and I've had that nagging doubt in the back of my mind the whole time - while still trying to maintain a cadence here on Substack. Do you know the work of danah boyd (they lowercase their name)? They (along with some other internet researchers) use the term "networked publics" to describe social media - and that framework has been such a help to me.