I deleted Instagram before solo travelling around Europe, here’s why

“After almost 10 years of curating and updating my life online for everyone I’ve ever met to see, I wanted to know what it would feel like to tap out for a while.”

I just spent the last nine months gallivanting around Europe and I didn’t share any of it on Instagram. I promise I strongly identify as an Instagram girlie, so deleting my account and rendering my travel photos practically useless was a painful decision. 

I love an unassuming photo dump: a ‘casual’ mess of all the little alleyways I’ve walked down, old film pics, my croissant from breakfast and candid wine-sipping photos. But after almost 10 years of curating and updating my life online for everyone I’ve ever met to see, I wanted to know what it would feel like to tap out for a while. 

Looking for more thought-provoking reads? Try our Life section.

Removing myself from the systems of support I have at home to solo travel was an opportunity to get to know myself better (and hopefully receive a fantastic epiphany about what to do with my life while I was at it). I thought it’d be much easier to self-reflect if I was far removed from home, both geographically and virtually, speaking. And surprise – it worked. 

Can I chalk up all of my personal growth to not having Instagram? That would be a disrespect to the trials and tribulations of solo travelling. But it did make the entire experience run more smoothly. My FOMO was cured because what you don’t know can’t hurt you. I didn’t waste any time trying to prove my holiday was fun; I was just busy enjoying it. There was no pressure to share the good or the bad; ultimately, my stories and memories belong only to me.

Obviously, nine months away from home means I missed out on a lot. It’s impossible to stay completely in the loop with your friends, no matter how hard you try. At home, I found a mindless flick through the Instagram Stories kept me, even subconsciously, involved in the lives of friends I hadn’t seen in years. Don’t we think it’s unnatural to have your foot in the (virtual) door to all of the dinners and birthdays you’re missing?

An exciting by-product of ditching Instagram was I was sending photos to my friends directly. I’d curate my silly photos and attach voice messages telling the stories behind them. Staying in touch with loved ones is important, and texting directly is so much more meaningful than a ‘like’. If you’re consuming a distant friend’s content too often, it’s easy to feel like you’re in touch when you’re not really. In a way, you’re navigating a parasocial relationship. I found my interactions were much more authentic when a friend would pop into my head organically and we’d chat, rather than vacuously replying to their Instagram Stories here and there.

In Europe, there was no more wasting time taking the perfect photo if it was just going to Mum, and no more worrying about whether I was doing Rome justice in my eight-photo carousel. There was no more posting smiling photos from a day when I really just felt lonely. While it’s trendy to post your messy unfiltered photos now (thanks Emma Chamberlain), a lot of the ugly travelling realities don’t feel cute enough for even the messiest post. 

While I’m confident skipping around Spain was an absolute ball, travelling is still your real life, just in another country. My anxiety still buzzed alongside me everywhere I went. I missed trains, I missed my friends. The highs of bar crawls and beachside hikes didn’t outweigh the pangs of loneliness felt on a 28-hour bus ride. It can feel ingenuine if you’re hiding that aspect of your reality – but if you’re sharing nothing, that’s one less worry for you.

I’ll admit there are a few downsides: When you make new friends, you’ll want to add them on Instagram because it’s the perfect way to stay in touch. When you announce that you don’t have it, you might sound like you have some sort of ‘I’m not like other internet-obsessed youth’ superiority complex, which isn’t ideal. Also, Instagram is really useful for finding good coffee spots or secret beaches.

Seven months into my Instagram hiatus, I did cave for these very reasons – but it only lasted two weeks before I deleted it again. After being logged out for so long, the onslaught of content was completely overwhelming. Honestly, I just didn’t – and don’t – want to be perceived online anymore, it’s too stressful. And of course, it has done wonders for my anxiety; there’s much less to overthink.

I felt truly relaxed when my brain space wasn’t taken up by wondering how best to share my experiences online, instead opting to ride out my life without onlookers. I’ve been home for two months now and still haven’t gotten it back. It’s created this lovely feeling that everything I’ve experienced still belongs entirely to me. 

For more on the effects of Instagram on mental health, head here.