I deleted Instagram.

And y'all...

It has freed my mind.

And if you're reading this thinking,

Okay, Caitlin. Now you're being dramatic. I don't have a problem...

Maybe.

But...

What if you pressed into that thought for a minute?

Not because I'm here to convince you that you have a problem. I'm not the screen time police. I don't even know how much you use Instagram. Or any other app.

But what if you got curious about it?

How do I actually feel after I scroll? Do I feel refreshed? Encouraged? Connected?

Or do I feel scattered, irritated, anxious, envious, overstimulated, distracted, or somehow mentally exhausted even though I was technically "just sitting there"?

How often do I reach for my phone without even thinking about it? 
(If you're curious about that answer: Settings > Screen Time > See All App & Website Activity > Pickups)

How often do I open Instagram because I genuinely want to see something specific, versus opening it because there is a tiny gap in my day and my brain has learned that a tiny gap must be filled? (my brain: MUST FILL GAP)

And maybe the more uncomfortable question:

Could I stop if I wanted to?

You don't have to answer those questions out loud. I mean, I'm not gonna stop you.

I just think they're worth asking.

Because I didn't think I had that much of a problem either.

I thought I could manage it. Set boundaries. Scroll only the good stuff. Be intentional.

And then God started pressing something pretty clearlyon my heart:

"Delete Instagram."

My immediate response was basically: Okay, but... what if I don't? What if I just...

Maybe I could just set a screen-time limit.

Beep beep boop... I go into my Settings, set limits. Done! Voila! I obeyed, right?

And then proceeded to ignore that 30-minute limit most days.
Cool. 

Maybe I just needed to make it harder to automatically open Instagram.

So I moved the IG app to another page and put my Bible app where Instagram used to be.
That would fix it.

Except that turned out to be one of the most humbling parts of the whole thing.

I'd get bored, reach for my phone, and my muscle memory would automatically tap the spot where Instagram used to be.

Except now...

Oops.

I opened my Bible app. And embarrassingly, swiped it away. Ugh.

That happened enough times that I had to laugh at myself. Wow. Humbled.

How deeply had I trained myself to reach for this thing?

Then came another loophole.

Maybe I could just scroll the good stuff. 

Maybe the problem wasn't Instagram itself. Maybe I just needed to be more intentional about what I consumed.

Biblical encouragement? Good.

Craft idea? Useful.

Parenting advice? Great.

And then, before I knew it:

Boom. Doomsday prepper. Anxiety-inducing headline. Political outrage. Tragedy.

Dang it.

I had fallen into the trap of thinking I could somehow tailor my own algorithm.

Except I kept coming back to the same question:

Was I using the app, or was it using me?

And then I found one final excuse.

My drafts.

At the time, I had something like 5+ GB of Instagram reel drafts sitting in the app.

Five. Plus. Gigabytes. Content I'd spent hours creating but hadn't finished editing, hadn't finished writing captions for, or hadn't gotten around to posting.

I thought: I can't delete Instagram. I'll lose all of that.

All those ideas. All that work. All those hours. 
And eventually I had to laugh at myself again.

Screw the excuse.

If God was asking me to let it go, then I needed to actually let it go.

To obey, alllll the way. Fully.

God is not limited by my drafts folder. (Duh, Caitlin.)

If He gives me something worth creating, He can give me another idea. If I have something worth saying, He can give me the opportunity to say it.

And really, the idea that I couldn't possibly "waste" all those hours because I might need the content later was almost laughable when I considered how much time I had already wastedmindlessly scrolling.

So I deleted the app.

And then I started noticing what had actually been happening in my mind.

The Problem Wasn't What I Was Consuming. It Was How Much.

The feed was relentless.

A cute craft idea.
Biblical encouragement.
Tragedy.
Cute outfit, ooh it's linked!
A delicious recipe I'll probably never actually make.
A hilarious mom skit. Too relatable, gotta share.
New music. Add to my playlist.
Homemade coffee syrups.
Another tragedy.
Outrage.
A political clip.
Someone's hot take.
A heartbreaking story from someone I've never met.
A conspiracy theory, oop, gotta share that one too.
A beautiful reminder of God's goodness. Ugh, I needed that.

And then right back into the fire.

Input.

Good or bad, input costs something.

It takes up brain space.

I used to give my husband the scoop on all these worldwide current events he knew absolutely nothing about. I somehow knew what was happening everywhere, all the time.

"How have you not heard about that?!" I'd ask him in amazement.

He's chronically offline social media and blissfully uninformed. 

I love that man.

And then there was the salacious little opener from any given friend at any given time:

"Did you hear…?"

Girl, no.

I didn't hear.

And maybe that's okay.

Because eventually I started wondering:

Do I actually need to know all of this?

And let me be clear: I'm not saying being informed is inherently bad.

I don't think ignorance is the goal.

I want to know what is happening in the world. I want to care about people who are hurting. I want to be aware of things that matter.

But there is a difference between being informed and being inundated.

For me, it wasn't just what I was taking in.

It was how much, how quickly, and how constantly.

The troubles of the entire world were being delivered straight to my eyeballs all day long, one swipe after another.

And I have a finite capacity for input.

I'm a wife. I'm a mom. I have people in my actual, physical life who need my attention, my patience, my presence, and my emotional energy.

Sometimes I'd come away from an hour of scrolling (yes, an hour!) feeling like I'd been handed the emotional weight of 47 strangers, three international crises, somebody's family drama, and a recipe for homemade coffee syrup... all before lunch.

No wonder I was fried!

I wasn't necessarily consuming bad things. I was consuming too many things.

And when your capacity is limited, constant input leaves less room for the people and things that actually matter most.

There is also a strange burden that comes with knowing the existence of every evil happening in the world while being completely powerless to do anything about most of it.

There will always be another tragedy. Another injustice. Another crisis. Another horrifying headline. Another reason to be angry and outraged. Another reason to be afraid.

But I can care about suffering without consuming suffering all day long.

I can pray without knowing every detail. I can help the person in front of me without knowing every problem happening somewhere else. I can be compassionate without becoming a walking news feed.

I cannot carry the whole world.

And Jesus never asked me to.

What I Found in the Quiet

That's what surprised me most about deleting Instagram.

The quiet.

I didn't realize how loud it had been until it wasn't there anymore.

The main problem wasn't simply that I was spending too much time on my phone.

(For the record, I was...)

I had begun training my attention to expect something new every few seconds.

Swipe. Stimulus. Swipe. Stimulus. Swipe. Stimulus.

And when I stepped away from that environment and returned to the ordinary pace of motherhood, ordinary life felt different. I immediately sensed it would take some getting used to.

There was no algorithm handing me a new thing to think about every few seconds.

There was just my toddler asking me the same question for the fourth time, my older daughter telling me a long drawn-out story, dishes in the sink, a conversation with my husband, and the quiet moments in between.

I started wondering whether I'd become so accustomed to constant stimulation that I'd forgotten how to be still. 

Maybe the goal isn't to make ordinary life more stimulating.

Maybe I needed to relearn how to be present in ordinary life.

My brain feels less cluttered.

I don't have to reach for my phone every time I have an empty thirty seconds.

And the humbling amount of times I'd grab my phone and instinctively try to find Instagram after I'd already deleted it was genuinely embarrassing.

I think a little shame is needed sometimes. Like, wow. Girl. What are you doing?

But then something else happened.

I started noticing my actual life again.

I'm reading longer things. My attention span is stretching, by God's grace.

I'm thinking my own thoughts. My creativity is blossoming.

I'm praying without having someone else's voice immediately competing for my attention.

I'm noticing my daughters. My sweet husband. My home. My work. My Bible.

The people right in front of me.

And that brought me to something I'd heard about but never really experienced in this way:

JOMO. The joy of missing out.

I'm not missing out on everything.

I'm missing out on the noise.

Let me tell ya, it is a JOY to miss out on the outrage cycle.

I'm missing out on the pressure to keep up with every trend, every controversy, every opinion, every breaking story, every person I've never met.

There's something beautiful about being blissfully uninformed sometimes.

Not ignorant or apathetic.

Just aware that I am one human being with a finite amount of attention.

Jesus tells us in John 16:33:

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”

I don't need to consume every trouble in the world to remember that Jesus has overcome it.

The Little Slot Machine in My Pocket

Here's another thing I had to reckon with: 
These apps aren't simply neutral little boxes of random content.

I think part of what makes these apps so compelling is the variable reward built into the experience.

We're in a steady loop of swiping because of the thrill of the unpredictability.

It's a little like a slot machine.

You swipe.
Maybe the next thing is hilarious.
Swipe.
Maybe it's encouraging.
Swipe.
Maybe it's shocking.
Swipe.
Maybe it's something you completely disagree with.
Swipe.
Maybe it's a beautiful craft you suddenly need to make.
Swipe.
Maybe it's a tragedy.
Swipe.
Maybe it's the exact thing you didn't know you were looking for.

You never know what's coming next.

And that unpredictability keeps you pulling the lever.

Swipe. Swipe. Swipe.

The technology behind these platforms is sophisticated, too.

What you pause on, what you watch, what you skip, what you click, what you search, what you interact with, and how long you linger can all become signals that help shape what you're shown next.

The feed learns. (Kinda creepy...eh?)

And then it gets better at showing you things that will keep you looking.

That's what I don't think we should be naïve about.

The feed isn't simply a random assortment of the internet. It is personalized and optimized around engagement.

And engagement means your attention.

Your eyeballs. Your valuable time. Your next swipe.

So when I pick up my phone and start scrolling mindlessly, I'm not walking into a neutral environment. I'm walking into a system that has gotten very good at figuring out what keeps me there.

I don't want to spend my life training an algorithm to know how to capture my attention.

I want to train myself to be able to purposefully give my attention away to what matters most to me.

Why Do I Keep Doing This?

Because here's the weird part.

Even after I knew all of this, I still wanted to scroll.

Ugh.

Why? Whyyyyy?

Why do I feel this incessant draw toward this dumb rectangular device?

Why can I know that scrolling leaves me feeling scattered and still find myself reaching for it?

Why can I genuinely want to stop doing something and then find myself doing it anyway?

That question reminded me of something Paul wrote in Romans 7:

“For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.”

Now, obviously, Paul is talking about something much deeper than my inability to put down Instagram.

But that particular experience of “Why do I keep doing this?” feels painfully familiar.

I know I can't simply stand in front of my phone every morning and announce, Today I shall conquer my flesh through sheer force of will.

Because if sheer willpower were enough, I probably wouldn't have needed to delete the app in the first place.

I didn't set out to become addicted to my phone.

I didn't sit down every morning and decide, “Today I'm going to spend a significant portion of my waking hours looking at Instagram.”

Obviously.

I just kept picking up my phone.

In all the little spaces of the day. While I waited on something. When I was bored. When I had a few minutes to myself. And those little moments added up to a surprisingly large amount of time.

Do I wish I could wake up one morning and have the desire to scroll miraculously disappear?

Yes.

Do I wish I could just muster up enough self-control on my own?

Sure.

Do I also find it mildly annoying when people answer their own questions?

Yes.

But here we are. Doing things we wish we didn't.

And maybe the deeper question isn't simply:

How do I stop scrolling?

Maybe it's:

What am I actually asking this little rectangle to give me?

Comfort? Rest? Connection? Escape? Novelty?

Something to fill the silence?

Something to numb me after a hard day?

Something to keep me from being alone with my own thoughts?

Because maybe the issue isn't just that I spend too much time on Instagram.

Maybe I've learned to run to something every time I'm bored, uncomfortable, overwhelmed, lonely, tired, or restless.

Because now we're not just talking about an app... We're talking about what I do with my heart when I'm uncomfortable.

And that's where I don't want my response to be: Okay, Caitlin. Just have more self-control.

Because self-awareness isn't the same thing as self-sufficiency.

Recognizing a pattern doesn't mean I can fix my heart through sheer force of will.

It means I can bring that weakness into the light.

Lord, show me what I'm actually seeking.

Teach me to be still.Teach me to receive rest without numbing myself.

Teach me to care without carrying everything.

Teach me to use technology without being ruled by it.

And maybe sometimes His answer is incredibly deep and spiritual.

And sometimes His answer is: Delete the dumb app.

Because grace doesn't mean I don't have to change my habits.

It means I don't have to change them alone.

Stewarding My Attention

This whole experience has made me think differently about stewardship.

We talk about stewarding our money, our homes, our bodies, and our time.

But what about our attention?

What we repeatedly give our attention to is going to shape our thoughts and affections.

And I don't want to casually hand over one of the most limited resources God has given me.

I want to ask Him to help me steward it.

To give me wisdom to know when I need to be informed and when I simply need to be still and know that He is God and I am not. I do not need to know all the things. I don't need to have an opinion on everything.

God will supply what I need.

He can give me new ideas. He can give me the words. He will give me the strength.

So what does faithful change actually look like?

Well, deleting Instagram doesn't automatically make you disciplined. (Dang, if it were that simple.)

If I delete Instagram and replace it with YouTube Shorts, Pinterest, Facebook, TikTok, Reddit, news apps, or some other endless scroll, I haven't really changed much.

I've just moved the slot machine.

I need to replace the quick hit of input with things that have a natural stopping point.

A book. A walk. Listening to your favorite song. Prayer. God's Word.

A real-life conversation with a real-life person. Making something with my hands. Playing with my kids.

And sometimes?

Nothing. (the hardest, IMO)

Waiting in line without needing to be entertained.

Driving without needing another voice in my head.

Drinking my coffee without simultaneously consuming somebody else's life.

Letting my mind be bored enough to wander.

Letting quiet actually be quiet.

 

I'm gonna shoot it to you straight here... It is NOT easy at first.

Being stillgoes against everything,and i mean everything,in our ping-pong productivity-centric minds.

It takes time and patience. Full-on retraining our brains. And lots of grace.

Maybe You Don't Need to Delete It Forever

Maybe deleting Instagram isn't the answer for everyone. (Maybe it's a different app!)

Okay, but hear me out.

Maybe, as an experiment, see what it does to your mind when you intentionally limit your use of the app.

Doesn't have to be forever. Just long enough to notice.

Notice how often you reach for it, what you feel after scrolling, and what your mind tends to think about after a scrolling sesh. 

Notice what happens to your attention when you stop feeding it constant input. (This one hit me the hardest.)

Less noise.More joy in missing out.

I'm not trying to know everything anymore. I want to know what matters.

Being informed doesn't require being inundated. Caring about the world doesn't mean I have to consume the whole world. I can care deeply and still have boundaries around what gets access to my mind. And I can and should protect some of my limited attention for the people God has actually placed right in front of me. 

My attention is not an infinite resource.

So I'm going to be a little more protective of it.

Turns out, touching grass was exactly what I needed.

Literally and figuratively.

 

7-Day Challenge:
Paying Attention to your Attention

Okay, so maybe you're not ready to delete Instagram. Fair enough.

But what if you ran a little experiment? 

Just seven days of paying attention to your attention.

Here's what I'd challenge you to try:

1. Protect the First and Last 45 Minutes

For seven days, no phone for the first 45 minutes after you wake up and the last 45 minutes before you go to bed.

Not Instagram. Not TikTok. Not email. Not news. Not "I'm just going to check one thing."

Use that time to pray, read your Bible, drink your coffee or tea, stretch, get ready, talk to someone you love, read a book, journal, or just...be still. You don't have to fill the time.

Our time and attention are going somewhere. 
Good news: We get to decide where.

2. Notice Your Scroll Traps

Think about the places and times you automatically reach for your phone.

During a meal. Waiting in line. School pickup. While you're cooking. During commercials. Waiting for your coffee. When you're procrastinating. When you're overwhelmed, bored, lonely, or tired. When you don't want to be alone with your thoughts.

Write them down.

Then ask yourself what you're actually looking for in those moments.

Name it.

Sometimes we're not actually craving Instagram. 
We're craving relief, connection, novelty, comfort, distraction, or rest.

Those are real needs. But endless scrolling isn't necessarily meeting them. Sometimes it's just helping us avoid figuring out what we actually need.

Then make a replacementavailable before you need it.

I got a mini Bible to keep in my car so that when I'm waiting for grocery pickup, instead of automatically reaching for my phone, I can pick up where I left off in my daily Bible reading plan.

Maybe yours is a book in your purse. A devotional on your nightstand. A journal beside your coffee maker. Walking shoes by the door. A craft project. A list of people you want to text or call.

Whatever works for you.

The key is making the replacement easy to reach for.

Because scrolling has a pretty unfair advantage. It's already in your hand. You don't have to get up, find anything, or make a decision. You just move your thumb.

If I want to read a book instead, but the book is upstairs, my glasses are missing, and I've got to remember where I left off... well, Instagram is looking pretty appealing.

If scrolling takes one thumb movement and my replacement takes twelve steps, I'm probably going to scroll.

So I have to make the thing I want to do just as easy to reach for. Keep the book on the coffee table. The Bible in the car. The journal beside the coffee maker. The craft project already sitting out.

Don't just remove the habit. Make the better replacement easier to choose.

3. Let Yourself Be Bored

Boredom isn't an emergency.You're not being chased by a bear. You're just bored.

You don't have to fill the thirty-second gap.

Let your mind wander. Look out the window. Watch your kids. Notice what's happening around you.

Think. Pray. Stare into space like people did before smartphones existed.

Let there be empty space.

Not every moment needs to be productive, informative, entertaining, or stimulating.

Sometimes a quiet moment can just be a quiet moment.

4. Choose Your Inputs

If you're thinking, But I actually WANT to know what's happening in the world, I get it.

You don't have to choose between knowing everything and knowing nothing.

Decide ahead of time how you want to be informed.

Maybe you check the news once a day, choose a couple of sources you trust and intentionally read them. Set aside 15 minutes in the afternoon to catch up. (or don't!)

And when it comes to social media, don't just move the endless scroll to another app.

If you delete Instagram and immediately replace it with TikTok, YouTube Shorts, Facebook, Reddit, or an endless news feed... You've just moved the slot machine.

Instead, look for things with a natural stopping point.

Read one chapter. Take a walk. Listen to one song. Read one Psalm. Make something. Call a friend. Drink your coffee. Sit outside. Play with your kids.

Then stop.

The point is to choose when and how information enters your mind instead of allowing a feed to decide for you.

5. Keep a Tiny Attention Journal

At the end of each day, write down three things:

I noticed...

I felt...

I reached for...

That's it.

Maybe you noticed you were calmer or you discovered you reach for your phone whenever you're uncomfortable. Maybe you realized you're craving more real-life connection. Perhaps you found yourself being able to sit down and read more.

Maybe you slept better. Hallelujah!

Maybe you even discovered you genuinely enjoy some of the content you consume and simply need better boundaries around it.

Maybe you realized you don't actually miss Instagram. Or maybe you did.

The point isn't to come out of seven days with the "right" answer.

The point is to have a growing awareness and a game plan of how you want to be intentional moving forward.

And Here's Your Question at the End of the Seven Days

Don't ask yourself: "Was I good at this?"

Ask yourself:

"What happened to my mind when I stopped filling every empty space?"

"Do I want to go back to using my phone exactly the way I was before?"

That's the experiment. Not perfection or shame. Not proving that social media is evil.

Just seven days of getting curious about your attention.

Because you might discover something I did:

The quiet isn't empty.

There's actually a lot of life waiting for you in there.