Deprogramming from Instagram
Welcome to my substack. I'm Isis, a business strategist, marketing consultant, and published author documenting my daily practice of saying yes to creative courage, daily discipline, fierce faith, and purposeful pivots! What started as a personal journey has grown into a community of people seeking their own path of purposeful yeses. Through strategy and storytelling, I love helping other folks fall deeply in love with their lives, businesses, and creative careers, too.
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Lately, I've been questioning most of what I was taught to value.
My days have taken on a fake, surreal quality. Not in a derealization2 sense, but in a jaw-dropping, staring-into-space "how did we get here?" way that makes me wonder if I've been sleepwalking through a collective dream.
Maybe I brought this upon myself when I prayed for curiosity. I find myself questioning the most fundamental structures of our society:
Why do we pay property taxes on land that was here long before us?
Who appointed grape jam as the universal companion to peanut butter?
Even the borders we defend so fiercely—states, cities, countries—are nothing more than invisible lines we've all agreed to believe in.
While sketching out my vision for 2025, my hand nearly betrayed me by writing down that tired old goal: "Make a million dollars." I caught myself mid-thought, remembering the year I came closest to that arbitrary benchmark. It was, ironically, one of my most miserable chapters. Who decided that joining the millionaire's club was the finish line we should all sprint toward? And this obsession with generational wealth—as if our children's worth could be measured in trust funds and inherited property. I have a radical thought: maybe my kids will be just fine without a golden parachute.
Then there's the strange phenomenon of influencers. Not the individuals themselves, but the very concept that we need designated humans to tell us what to desire, what to wear, which boots are "in," which movies are worth watching. I’m sick of it. We've created a weird ecosystem where authenticity is manufactured and personal taste is outsourced.
Truth is, I was deeply indoctrinated into the Instagram cult—this unlearning is simultaneously a challenging and liberating undertaking. I didn't just create a brand—I became one. With surgical precision, I learned to dissect myself, keeping the marketable parts and discarding the rest. I'm good at it too, almost too good. I can sell water to a well and dirt to a desert. I know exactly which emotional buttons to push to extract a tear, a credit card number, a laugh, or a sigh.
But the question that haunts me now is simply: Why?
Why is this a necessary skill set? Who decided that our worth should be measured in engagement rates and follower counts and birkin bags? What happens when we simply reject the metrics, the manufactured moments, the endless performance?
Audre Lorde once wrote,
"If I didn't define myself for myself, I would be crunched into other people's fantasies for me and eaten alive."
Last week, her words kept poking me while I looked at my subscriber count: 20,000. An email list built meticulously over years of being a commodity. I appreciate the growth… but a pretty cage is still a cage. So, I deleted nearly all of them. Just like that.
Since quitting Instagram, I've been peeling back layers of myself like dusty, moth-ball-smelling, old wallpaper, and I'm never quite sure what I'll find underneath.
Maybe I'm not really relearning who I am at all—maybe I'm meeting myself for the first time. It's terrifying and freeing all at once, this unlearning. Without the constant noise of likes and comments, I can finally hear my own thoughts. They're messy and unclear and wonderfully unfamiliar.
But for the first time in a long time, I'm actually listening.
Thanks for reading! For the brave souls who’d like to share, I’d love to hear from you…
What are you (un)learning?
Does social media feel cult-ish to you?
Who are you without your carefully curated persona?
What would you do or create if you weren't trying to sell it?
Do you adore social media and have a completely opposite experience? Tell us about it.
Today’s Challenge: Highlight your favorite quote from today’s newsletter and then click “restack quote” to post it on your feed or “share quote” to send to someone who might like reading it!
Thanks for being so open about this, Isis. I'd never been a fan of social media, but people kept saying I had to be on Instagram if I wanted to market my business. I took the leap and while I'm proud of the content I created, I hated how drained I felt after creating it. I never did learn all the dos and don'ts; I learned how to copy other "gurus" because I thought they knew more than me. I don't know how many times I revamped products and programs based on what they said, none of which actually worked for me. I really wanted to leave, but didn't know what else to do. Then one day one of my favorite (non-hustle culture) creative announced her indefinite hiatus from the platform. That gave me the courage to do the same. It's been almost a year and I don't regret the decision at all. I've been focused on teaching writing classes locally and will be partnering with some of my favorite online communities to teach their audiences!
I too was caught up in the 6-figure/millionaire push, but here's something I realized recently. The Bible says a wise man leaves his child an inheritance. We always assume that means money, but I believe the most important inheritance you can leave your child is an introduction to Christ and the life He lived.
I actually just wrote a reflection on who I am when I’m not distracted.
I’m Brieanna Lightfoot Smith.
The one who loves to write and read.
Who can sit in silence thinking through different scenarios and have fun exploring how it would feel should those dreams become realities.
The one who works hard, enjoys her work and is still okay trading rigorous routine for rest.
Who likes TV shows not for the plot as much as the observation and intricacies of character development.
The one who is great at seeing how Biblical truths play out in the daily interactions I have with my kids.
I feared that in spending less time online and more time with myself I’d find that I didn’t actually feel like I was enough - but my experience has been the opposite.