As a member of Generation Z, I came of age during the formative era of social media—a time when the digital landscape was still defining itself and platforms were constantly emerging, shaping the way we connected, communicated, and expressed our identities. My early experiences online were filled with playful experimentation: I followed fleeting internet trends with enthusiasm, recording lighthearted videos with my sister on Vine long before TikTok became the cultural phenomenon it is today. I remember classic social media rituals that defined that period—posing for duck-face selfies, experimenting with Snapchat’s dog-ear filters, and trying my best to craft the ‘perfect’ post that fit the aesthetic standards of the moment. Everything from the white borders that surrounded photos to meticulously crafted photo collages and the nostalgic ritual of Throwback Thursdays felt like part of an intricate performance of belonging.
Back then, my mornings often began with mirror selfies capturing my #OOTD before school, and afternoons usually included snapping an artfully composed photo of my mocha latte at the most popular coffee shop in town. The VSCO app was almost an extension of my identity, offering a creative yet self-critical space where I layered heavy filters, adjusted lighting, and erased every microscopic blemish that I believed everyone noticed, though they were likely invisible to anyone but me. Social media wasn’t merely a pastime—it became an unspoken competition and a delicate art form of projecting an idealized version of myself.
As I’ve grown older and more self-aware, I’ve begun carving out deliberate time away from the digital universe to focus on real activities that bring me joy and fulfillment. During my teenage years, however, that balance seemed unimaginable. I was so consumed by my virtual self-image that it began to overshadow my real sense of self-worth. The number of followers, likes, and comments felt like daily evaluations of my value as a person, and I wasn’t alone in that mindset—many of my classmates were caught in the same loop of seeking constant online validation. I can vividly recall the anxious rush of posting a photo, staring at the screen in anticipation, and feeling disheartened if it didn’t get a like within the first few minutes. More often than not, I would delete the post and try again, messaging friends to ask for support in the form of a ‘like’ or a short comment. Each follower lost felt personal, and I used apps to track who had unfollowed me, scrolling endlessly in hopes that my numbers would rise. When I failed to reach one hundred likes in an hour, frustration and self-doubt would take over. It was exhausting—a digital obsession that ran in cycles of comparison and self-critique.
Much of my teenage life revolved around these apps. They became windows into social realities that often excluded me: discovering who was hanging out without me, seeing the parties I wasn’t invited to, or trying to figure out where everyone would go after school dances. Every scroll through my feed offered both connection and alienation, often leading to lonely nights spent wondering why others seemed to live more vibrant, enviable lives. The constant pressure to perform—to look a certain way, to appear popular, to seem effortlessly happy—was unrelenting. And all of it, I now realize, revolved around intangible metrics: the fleeting satisfaction of virtual approval.
Yet those early pressures have not completely disappeared. They’ve simply evolved alongside the platforms themselves. In adulthood, as social media continues to expand and integrate into nearly every aspect of daily life, those same feelings of comparison still persist, though they now present themselves differently. Instead of tracking likes, I sometimes find myself lost in endless scrolling sessions, observing peers who seem to be moving ahead in life—getting engaged, buying homes, landing dream jobs, or traveling to luxurious destinations. It’s easy to internalize those images and silently question what I might be doing wrong, even though deep down I know that each person’s journey unfolds at its own pace. Social media, however, thrives on comparison; it blurs reality and makes one’s individual path seem less remarkable in light of others’ highlight reels.
To combat that subtle but pervasive pressure, I have made a conscious effort to establish healthier boundaries with my devices. The evolution of social media algorithms, designed to capture more of our attention, has forced me to critically examine my own habits and set limits that align with my well-being. During the workweek, I deliberately carve out technology-free time dedicated to hobbies and experiences that nurture me physically and mentally. After work, I make it a point to attend energizing group exercise classes at the gym—spaces that help me connect with community in a tangible way—before taking quiet, grounding walks in the park. These walks have become small sanctuaries where I allow myself to simply exist, using my phone only for music, avoiding the temptation to scroll or photograph every view.
Writing has also become one of my favorite ways to reclaim stillness from digital noise. When I sit down to write, I silence notifications, turn my phone face down or stash it out of reach, and let my thoughts flow uninterrupted. The absence of constant pings feels liberating, transforming silence into a kind of creative freedom. When spending time with friends and family, I practice being deliberately present—choosing to engage in genuine conversations and build lasting memories instead of obsessively documenting moments for my Instagram story. I’ve learned that a few meaningful shared experiences are infinitely more valuable than thousands of passive views from strangers.
Of course, I’m far from perfect, and I wouldn’t claim to have mastered the art of balance. Yet the shift in my mindset has been profound. Where I once sought validation from others through likes and comments, I now focus on sharing content that genuinely reflects who I am and what I care about. I post what feels meaningful to me, not what will perform well. This new approach has allowed me to foster authentic relationships in my professional community, using social platforms as tools for connection and dialogue rather than as stages for self-promotion. I celebrate my achievements openly, without letting the fear of others’ judgment dictate my expression.
Ironically, my full-time career as a social media and marketing manager makes these boundaries even more crucial. Managing online platforms professionally has heightened my awareness of how easily one can slip back into cycles of comparison and mental fatigue. I still experience moments of doomscrolling, losing track of time while jumping from post to post. And yes, I still love capturing a beautifully colored sunset or sharing a photo of an exquisite meal—there’s simple pleasure in that. But now I do so with intention, understanding that my value doesn’t hinge on the number of likes or impressions. Instead, maintaining a grounded mindset and employing mindful digital habits has become my quiet rebellion against a system built to monopolize attention. Every moment I reclaim for myself affirms that my worth cannot be quantified by engagement metrics—it resides in the experiences and connections that exist beyond the screen.
Sourse: https://www.businessinsider.com/grew-up-with-early-social-media-still-learning-to-unplug-2025-10
