I grew up at a very unique point in time. I suspect historians will one day describe it as the takeover of social media. Instagram and Facebook defined the formative years of millions of kids looking to grow up in a world ruled by technology. However in December of 2018, I deleted my Instagram and Facebook accounts, and quite honestly think it was this decision that allowed me to attain the biggest achievement of my climbing career to date – the podium at Canadian Open Boulder Nationals.
History
I was an early adopter to Instagram. I vividly remember being on the bus in grade 5 when my friend showed me her Instagram account for the first time. I downloaded the app that day and spent the next few months discovering what an online presence was. Cat photos were about all my 10 followers got every week, but when I discovered climbing a few years later, my Instagram became something I really cared about. Now there was something meaningful to post. Now I had a story.
Projecting videos turned to competition photos turned to a daily output of content. My climbing career progressed and with every incremental step forward, there was my Instagram account following along with me. I developed a sizable little following and spent hours a day scrolling through my feed commenting, liking photos, and exploring. As I thought popularity demanded, I put in place every possible tool to nurture engagement with my account. I had a business profile which allowed me to see statistics on my following. I had a separate phone for social media. I could see what demographics my followers belonged to, when they’re typically online, for how long, and what the ideal time of day is to post. I had a content calendar synced to my Google account to keep me consistent. I put aside days to generate content for later use. I had it dialed.
Competition posts got the most engagement. I would treat the caption as an opportunity to relay some wisdom to my audience, while subtly throwing in a hint about my placement. People say such nice things after you excel in competitions. They give you validation for looking strong and trying hard. I remember how elated I was when I checked my phone after one competition. @cdnclimbingnews mentioned you in their story! @grippedmagazinecomps commented on your post! 200 likes, 30 comments, 5 mentions, 4 tags, it was the best part of the weekend… I wanted the congratulations. I wanted admiration. I wanted my follower count to grow. I wanted everyone to envy my life and achievements. I wanted, no, needed people to tell me I was going places.
And in this confession I saw the problem. The problem that didn’t look like a problem. The problem I didn’t want to be a problem. The problem that needed to be addressed.
I was addicted to social media.
But you can’t blame me. It’s so easy, so stimulating. It’s not even a statement that you have Instagram, it’s assumed. Everyone’s doing it.
Props to you, Instagram. You really got me, and the rest of the world for that matter. You allowed me to play celebrity for over a year, and I was unaware of the destruction you were silently perpetrating.
Identifying the problem meant the floodgate of reality came pouring into the light. I began to take notice of how social media influenced me and my climbing goals. I saw that I was intimidated by training posts from my competitors, it made me doubt my own program. I felt my drive to succeed was the positive-reinforcement, not self-satisfaction or personal growth. I was paranoid about my dynamic follower count. Was there a reason people unfollowed me? I felt as if there was a secondary competition taking place between myself and my competitors over who had the biggest, most popular Instagram profile – and I was losing. I was upset over any dry-spell in post likes or views. I spent too much time on Instagram, even on my own profile, admiring my feed like a wall of trophies. My content was misleading, I’d often post items to my profile claiming they were taken that day when in fact I stockpiled them months prior. I caught myself being exceedingly judgmental of people. I edited pictures beyond recognition. Need I go on?
Yes. Let’s not dismiss that obvious egotism I was demonstrating. I cared so much about what everyone thought of me that it became outsourced confidence. I told the story of Madison in the brightest light possible and the reception to this augmented reality was, or course, quite positive. What’s worse is that I started believing this narrative of a girl who goes competition to competition with her head held high, steadily progressing without an end in sight, and living the dream travelling around the world to compete while finding the time for school, work, and a relationship. This story blinded me to the many mistakes I had along the way. I couldn’t step out of the reputation I forged online so I lived in a world of entitlement. Pride in my accomplishments made me content, and contentedness is poison to a young athlete who has to stay hungry if she wants to stay competitive.
Recovery
I knew something had to change. Admitting there was a problem wasn’t enough for me. It couldn’t be. So for the next six months, I phased out Instagram and Facebook until one day last December when I finally clicked, “Delete account”.
My first move was simply unfollowing people I knew would produce content that would hinder my mentality for the day. These were competitors and accounts that would post about them. This worked well for a while, until I found myself on the Explore page, and there they were again. And so, I deleted the app. Instagram was still installed on my social media phone so not having it on my everyday phone meant I was on it less but could still post. This may seem like a huge step forward, but it was really just a hoop to jump through because I cheated. A lot. Whether it was by googling “Instagram” and scrolling on the online version, re-downloading the app, or going onto my social media phone without the intention of posting, I was still constantly on Instagram. But you have to understand, I needed to check in on Instagram. Maybe someone commented something. Maybe I got a direct message.
Maybe there was something useless to look at. Maybe I needed to indulge my ego. Maybe I wanted to keep sabotaging myself. That’s definitely worth it.
So I tried something new. In September, I went to the profile of each account I was following and muted their posts and stories. This meant my feed was nothing but a white screen. Not seeing the people I was following transformed the app experience. I compare it to the act of buying something with a card opposed to cash. With cash, you see your money depleting, you feel the loss of funds. However with a card, it’s easy to be detached and spend money without even noticing it’s depletion. With money, this can be a drawback, but with social media I’m all for it. I didn’t see the impact of contributions when it felt like no one was there. I just posted. It was so easy to get the job done without playing too hard into my ego or getting caught battling for popularity because it was just me on Instagram.
At this point, as detached as I was from the app, I still felt chained to it. I had to post. I felt obligated to stay social for my sponsors, but at least the enjoyment was fading. As more and more time elapsed between my last check ins on Instagram, I felt more apathetic towards everything. My routine of posting became a chore – consistency was the only thing that kept me looking active. Comments were flattering, but monotonous, and my dispassion began to come through in my captions.
The last ties I had to Instagram were my sponsors. I thought I needed to be online for them. I thought I needed to continue indulging my ego with every tedious post and wear hashtags at the end of each caption like badges of honour. I thought the only way to stay relevant, stay supported, was to stay online. But then a friend of mine forwarded me an email by Cal Newport “On Bryce Harper and the Impact of Social Media on Athletes”. One line particularly caught my attention:
“At the elite level, athletes differentiate themselves by maximizing every physical and cognitive advantage”
If ‘elite athlete’ was a label I hoped to categorize myself under, then why the hell was I letting social media hold me back? Was I not willing to do everything it takes to achieve my highest potential in this sport? That thought didn’t sit right with me. With that reading, I realized I was ready to differentiate myself. Social media is a hindrance, and doing something in this sport requires pulling out all the stops and implementing everything in my power to achieve my goals. In Ben Bergeron’s Chasing Excellence, this idea is highlighted. Bergeron asks any athletes looking to achieve such a status to pose this question to themselves:
Has anybody deleted Social Media Accounts permanently IE Facebook, Tik Tok, Twitter, Discord, Snapchat, Myspace, Instagram and how did that work out for you in the long term?
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Originally Posted by bowieluva
