A Heavy Plate: The Silent Impact of Social Media

I was born shortly before the 21st century: 1999. The older I get, the stranger it feels to say that number out loud. I don’t know much about technology from the 90s, however, the digital memories of the 2000s remain clear. They’ve become intertwined with my childhood. 

There were VHS tapes of Pixar films, TV show recordings with the PVR button, and silly Photo Booth videos on my family Mac computer. One Christmas, when I was still in elementary school, I opened a small rectangular present from my Opa (my grandpa). I jumped up and down in the living room. Before everyone could react, I ran to my Opa and gave him a hug. He had gifted me the newest IPod touch model. 

I mention these warm and inviting memories because technology can simply be warm and inviting. It’s not inherently evil. It’s a tool that can bring us together. 

Without Facetime, I wouldn’t have been able to grow up and communicate with relatives near and far. During my undergrad, it was Facebook and Instagram that helped me stay in touch with high school friends. Technology, specifically social media, has many upsides. However, I would be doing myself and everyone a disservice if I didn’t acknowledge the downsides. 

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Let’s fast forward two decades. It’s 2025. There’s still personal screens in our pockets, but it’s different somehow. They’re everywhere. They’re with us on morning commutes, when we study, when we watch movies with friends, and when we listen to musicians at concerts. 

Try putting your phone down for a day, or even better, a couple days (humor me). Look around. You’ll notice the blanketing effect our devices provide. Those friendly and welcoming platforms we once knew are not the same. They’ve been silently pumped with steroids, stimulants, and opioids. They’re stronger than we think, smarter even. Not only that, it’s constantly learning how to keep us hooked online. And here’s the sad irony: social media is designed to bring us together, yet the more time we spend on it, the lonelier we feel.

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Let’s briefly go back to 2007. I was eight years-old. My summer was spent venturing around my neighbourhood creek, dribbling my basketball, and playing cops and robbers. When friends visited, we’d play Super SmashBros Melee on my GameCube. On mornings before school, I would have Skype calls with my mom (she commuted to work before everyone was up, so I would carpool with neighbours). 

I mention these youthful experiences not to romanticize how life used to be. I’m painting this picture to outline one singular reality: technology has drastically changed. 

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I’ve had the priceless experience of developing a close relationship with four of my younger cousins (this will make sense shortly, I promise). They’re all between the ages of five to twelve. Some of my favourite memories from the past few years have been carrying them around, playing boardgames with them, and watching them learn how to share stories. Sometimes though, after they leave, I notice a fear emerge: How will social media influence their futures? What will technology be like when they’re my age? 

In 2007, I was eight, around their age. I can’t imagine being eight years-old in 2025. There’s countless binge-worthy streaming services, endless TikTok shorts, and bizarre AI slop. To quote the E.O. Wilson, “We are drowning in information, while starving for wisdom.”

It’s showing no signs of stopping or slowing down. Why do I have these existing fears? Because I know it’s taken a toll in my life. For several years I would start my mornings almost the same way. Checking my phone. There weren’t notification pop-ups, but I still clicked on social media apps out of – I don’t know, hope? 

If you asked me a year ago about my thoughts on social media, I would’ve replied, “I know it’s unhealthy, but it’s not that bad. I can manage my screen time.” I don’t feel this way anymore. The first word that comes to my mind when reflecting on this topic is “addiction”. 

If you search “addicted” online, you’ll most likely encounter definitions around these lines: Physically and mentally dependent, and unable to stop without incurring adverse effects. Social media may not be a normative psychological addiction in modern culture, but it is something that I mentally depend on, and here’s the scary part, I’m barely aware of its silent impact. 

Last year I tried a one-week social media detox. On day two I experienced weird mental jitters. I bounced my knee whenever I sat. Phantom buzzes from my phone emerged. Oh look Someone in the group chat must’ve replied to my question. Maybe someone liked my old Instagram post. I should check – but wait, I’m doing this social media detox. Dammit. Hang on, what the heck? My phone is on silent.

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Tristan Harris, a former Google design ethicist, has an insightful take on our current relationship with technology… 

“If something is a tool it is genuinely just sitting there, waiting, patiently. If something is not a tool, it’s demanding things from you. It’s seducing you. It’s manipulating you. And we’ve moved away from having a tools‑based technology environment to a manipulation‑and‑addiction‑based technology environment. That’s what’s changed.”

Technology is powerful. No one will deny that. However, as Harris eloquently describes, perhaps we’ve lost sight of its original function (I definitely have). 

If social media is simply a tool for enhanced global networking, then why do I feel anxious and drained after scrolling excessively? Why do I feel like my life is going nowhere every time I roam through Instagram and Linkedin? Why do I insist on watching several YouTube videos to help me fall asleep? Why is it so hard for me to put my phone down? Why?

Why? 

I don’t have all the answers to these issues (not yet atleast). Nevertheless, instead of dwelling on the problem further, meandering in my technological haze, I’m going to take action. I’m going to make a conscious effort to put my phone down. Not for a week, not for a month, but for an entire year. 

One year. No social media. I have no idea what or how this will look like when the leaves fall in 2026. There’s still plenty of points I wish to express on this subject (particularly on the specific parameters I have in mind for keeping myself in check). I’m confident that I’ll expand upon those branches in later blog posts. 

For now, I’m going to close my laptop, turn off my phone, and maybe, while it’s still warm, I’ll go for a walk.