The way we engage with apps and social media, the wider internet, and the devices in our lives, is having a real-world negative effect on our bodies and minds...

Being online is as painful as it is joyful because we’re contorting our bodies, we’re boring ourselves, we’re losing brain power, we’re haemorrhaging empathy and we’re witnessing the micro-horrors that live in our world – and we’re expected not to flinch. 

Because there are memes, feeds and shiny little distractions, it’s easy to forget about this stuff. The anger, the obscenity, the greed and the shamelessness. And while there’s enough good online to keep us happy, all that other stuff is still going somewhere. 

In any one day, a person with a social media account is extremely likely to read about and/or watch death, deep-seated corruption, state-sanctioned violence, war and famine, discrimination, the failures of the government and the failures of everyday people. We read about people losing jobs, losing homes, losing family, losing faith. We watch people argue proven truths and dehumanise the experiences of our lives and our friends’ and families' lives … and then we respond by sharing some bits, donating some money, maybe shouting at a stranger, and going back to work or dinner or TV like nothing has happened. And that’s on a regular day. 

Too much information is a real thing. And living with what you witness online and not having any coping mechanisms sometimes feels like a new, very toxic, norm. There are plenty of critics of the ‘too much information’ argument, mainly people in your Instagram and TikTok feeds, telling you not to look away from the internet just because it’s upsetting. And they have their points. Should we really be able to feel carefree in a world this gruesome? Should we really be able to see all that and then lock our devices and switch off? Tune into another episode of Outback Opal Hunters? If the internet connects us, then maybe it should connect us; wake us up each morning with a blunt and chilling reminder that people are suffering and there’s a lot we don’t know. Is it time to accept that being horrified and confused is part and parcel of being online? That we don’t just get to take the memes and run?

Maybe this kind of assault on our everyday peace is the tipping point, what it takes to mobilise the people privileged enough to do something about the squillions of global atrocities so many of us comfortably ignore. 

It’s important to remember that just being witness to the horror is not necessarily helping. Reposting and liking and commenting and sharing isn’t detrimental; it’s supportive and educational. But exposure can’t be the end game. Part of finding satisfaction beyond our online worlds means taking what we do there offline and trying it on for size, making it fit or benefit the real world. Do we live what we post? Do our day-to-day actions stack up against our stories? Are we changing the world for the better, really? Are we really being radicalised to finally act? Or are we throwing content at the problem and calling it a day? 

Being constantly online can also be painful because we’re often exposing ourselves to being bullied by our ‘betters’; people with more money, more friends, more self-love, more personalised Louis Vuitton luggage. And whether our Higher Selves mean to or not, we compare what we’ve got with what we see. We probably spend more time than we’d like to admit watching these other lives that live in our screens, stacking them up against our own. Cooler, smarter, funnier, more privileged. More employed, more organised, more tidy, more snatched, more desired. We save posts and screenshots in the hopes that, one day, we’ll have something a little closer to what they have; that these bits of content will somehow make us different. One thing that sets social media and internet envy apart from regular, everyday envy is that there’s so much more to feel inferior about. And it’s so much more frequent. In a world without our phones or computers, we might envy a few friends or a disgustingly blessed person we went to school with. We might envy our siblings because people are always complimenting them on their impressive job or sports game at family get-togethers. We’d maybe think of this resentment occasionally and complain to a friend about it over drinks, but it probably wouldn’t consume us, or even live inside us all the time, because we’d only be reminded about it now and then, and there’d be thousands of opportunities to be distracted from it and be swept up in our own lives. 

On Instagram, most of us follow a mix of people we know, people we almost know, Instagram celebrities, real celebrities and a bunch of accounts that post ‘80s bathrooms or fields of cows. When we first get online and sign up for an account somewhere, we’re likely to start out following a few people we know in real life. Over time, that following list becomes more about who you want to see more of, which naturally tends to be things we’re attracted to or impressed by. 

Being exposed to the everyday lifestyle of somebody like Kylie Jenner – whether because you follow her or because she’s unavoidable – is an experience most sane people would struggle to walk away from without at least a tinge of bitterness. The mansions, the cars, the closets, the babies dressed in head-to-toe Gucci. And she’s just one account. Every day, we witness this kind of thing. People whose wealth is beyond comprehension, whose privilege is infuriating. Which surely can’t be good for us. We follow people we look up to or are fascinated by, and so we end up being constantly reminded of what we don’t have and who we aren’t. Writing lists or speaking out loud about the things you love in your life can help with the account envy, even when it feels cheesy or forced.

Maybe you love your friendships, your pet, your job, or your neighbourhood. Maybe you sometimes forget how good you have it, how far you’ve come, how lucky you are or how hard you’ve worked for what you have. Maybe all this time online has meant that you’ve had less time to stop, look around and breathe it all in. Wake up in the morning and tell it to yourself in the mirror or the shower: my life is good. I like myself. I am grateful. By all means, scream into the ether about how hard you have it too, but remember that you’re probably doing that a lot of the time anyway, maybe subconsciously. Your new task is to make room to appreciate the good bits. Strike that balance. And when you catch yourself tapping through stories of old friends and current acquaintances and thinking, ‘Why aren’t I at a party?’, remember you’re you, you’re alive and the internet is only a half-truth.

When we’re scrolling and bitter-watching each other, most of what we’re seeing is the best of those lives – the highlights reel of the highlights reel. It’s also the painstakingly curated version. We don’t post our worst moments online for everyone to see, and even when we do, we edit them with our ‘audience’ in mind. We make them more palatable, more hopeful, more polished, funny and self-aware. We make sure that even if we’re in the middle of a psychotic break, we’re still adept enough to think of a clever caption, and we’re still hot enough to not have entirely bird’s nested hair. And it’s not that we’re being disingenuous, necessarily; many of us now see moments through the lens of how we’d post them. Here’s my mental illness, and here’s how I’d frame it. Here’s my break-up, and here’s how I’ll announce it. Here’s my annoying interaction at a post office, and here’s how I’ll live tweet it. 

Looking at the events in our lives – or the feelings inside of us – from lots of different angles can be really revealing and therapeutic. But does this constant other voice thing (‘How would I post about this?’) mean that we’re hardly ever just doing stuff? Living regularly and free of brain noise? Does it mean that we’re already working on The Spin of each moment before the moment’s even over? I don’t know about you, but I’ve caught myself – many times – wording a caption in my head about something before realising I’m doing it. And I’ve built stories, filmed videos and drafted posts before discovering that I’m actually not ready to share that thing, and I might never be; I’ve just somehow reflexively ended up almost accidentally livestreaming my life. While there’s nothing wrong with using social media as a tool for journalling, it can be meaningful to remember that your whole life doesn’t need to belong to others, not if you don’t want it to. Your thoughts, feelings and experiences can be private, just for you. If you so decide, a huge chunk of things that happen to you can live entirely offline. 

One of the hardest things to stomach about being a person online, I think, is the regularity with which you’re confronted by all manner of ideologies and points of view, and the casualness of all this information. Particularly hard to digest are the opinions that are chaotic or evil or untrue, and have real-world implications. Any normal day on a social media app will reveal thousands of fringe opinions about things you didn’t know were even possible, and counter-arguments to things you were sure were not up for debate. The Earth is flat, the moon is simply not real and Louis Tomlinson’s baby is fake. Nobody that’s dead is actually dead – Elvis, Jeffrey Epstein, Tupac – and nobody who’s alive is actually alive – Avril Lavigne, Megan Fox, Paul McCartney. The Earth is hollow, COVID-19 was made in a lab, Sandy Hook was staged, climate change is a hoax, Greta Thunberg is an actor, vaccines are poison, Hillary Clinton runs a paedophile ring, essential oils are a cure-all, Finland doesn’t exist, the world is run by reptilian shapeshifters ... 

The internet provides a place for these ideas to flourish, to propagate, to replace existing information and to spread like wildfire. Which is sometimes highly entertaining (convincing, even),  but the result is a deeply fractured population that believes in all kinds of conflicting, polarising and radicalising realities.  Because various corners of the internet say they can and should. This can be a challenge to process, these millions of realities and beliefs being shoved in your face all day. And while it’s likely always been a symptom of being a person on Earth, the internet brings these realities to your doorstep. No, closer. Inside your home.

ACTIVITY - How to be nice to yourself after a bad time online

* Give yourself a minute. It’s ok to feel extremely upset by stuff you see online. Maybe it’s hurtful to you personally, or just yuck content in general. Take the time to notice you feel bad and to stop what you’re doing. You don’t need to keep reading that article or scrolling the feed.

* Break away. Choose to do something else. It doesn’t have to be offline, but it helps. Whether you close those windows or walk away completely, try changing the mood and the direction of the moment.

* Self-care is important. Wash your face or manicure your hands. Go for a run, change your sheets, keep writing that song or knitting that beanie. Do something to lighten the load and get out of the funk. Do something that can’t hurt your feelings or piss you off.

* Listen to music that uplifts you. Put on a playlist that feels really good. Something bright, something fun. Or a podcast where you’ll laugh a lot. Remind yourself just how good people can be.

This is an edited extract from How to be Online and also be Happy by Issy Beech, published by Hardie Grant Books, RRP $19.99, available in-stores nationally