Losing Facebook: A Journey of Letting go, reflection and Reconnection

In December last year, when I opened my Facebook account to indulge in a bit of mindless scrolling, a message popped up from the administrators: apparently I had breached the ‘code of conduct’ and needed to provide a reason if my account was to continue. It looked legitimate. I panicked, clicked the link (I know, I know…), answered the questions and—just like that—my account was gone. When I realized what I’d done, I scrambled to recover it, but the hackers had installed two-factor authentication, trapping me in an endless loop. After months of frustration, I decided to emotionally step away.

When I returned, refreshed and energized from my travels, I thought that maybe I should to set up a new account. However, my email address triggered the same two-factor authentication roadblock. So, I tried again, making two small tweaks—a different gender and birthdate—to slip past the machine. For a short time, it worked. Then this morning, I clicked on a message from Facebook and—once again—my account was disabled. The algorithm decided I was a phony.

The irony isn’t lost on me. The faceless entity that failed to protect my original identity was swift in shutting down the only way I had left to reconnect. And so, I was coming to terms with the reality: I had to let it go.

The Illusion of Permanence

For over a decade, Facebook was a space where I quietly built a digital home. It held my friendships, my artistic journey, and a collection of pages and communities that aligned with my interests. While I can nobly declare that it was a place of connection and reflection, if I’m honest, it was also a habit, and when it was gone the withdrawal symptoms felt like grief. As I sat with my feelings of loss, anger, denial, something else began to surface—a recognition that perhaps this was a necessary change.

Social media gives us the illusion of permanence. We build profiles, accumulate content, nurture connections, and assume they will always be there. But as with so many things in our digital and physical world, nothing is truly stable. Facebook, like the larger systems of late capitalism, operates with a fragile and extractive logic—it exists to keep us engaged, to shape our interactions, to sell our attention. But it does not belong to us. And now, neither do the spaces we build within it.

It is fitting, in a way, that I have been thinking so much about collapse—about how systems, institutions, and ways of life unravel. The loss of my Facebook account is not on the scale of global environmental and societal crises, but it exists within the same landscape of impermanence. This experience has forced me to ask: What do I truly need to stay connected? What spaces are worth investing in? How do I want to engage with the world moving forward?

Art Without Algorithms

As an artist, Facebook was a place where I shared my work, found opportunities, and stayed visible. Losing that space could feel like erasure—but I can choose to see it differently. Instead of relying on a platform that dictates what is seen and by whom, perhaps the aim is to build something more intentional, more direct, and less dependent on an external force that can disappear overnight.

This moment has prompted me to rethink how I share my work and ideas, and how I spend my time. What does it mean to be an artist without a Facebook presence? If I am not on Facebook, do I, can I exist as an artist? And what does it mean to be me without the distraction? Perhaps it means bucking a trend in a good way. Perhaps it means refusing to participate in a system that reduces art to content, presence to engagement metrics.

I know I am not alone in feeling that the world is shifting quickly—that the old ways of being, working, and connecting are unraveling. I have been exploring this through my art, and now I find myself living it directly. Maybe that’s the lesson: to let go, to adapt, to create new ways of being without clinging to what is already dissolving.

An Unexpected Turn

And then, just as I was coming to terms with leaving Facebook behind, the unexpected happened—Facebook let me back in. No explanation, no real acknowledgment of what had happened, just an open door to return. After all that, do I even want to?

Perhaps that’s the real question: What is worth returning to, and what is better left behind? Instead of picking up where I left off, I’ve decided to approach Facebook differently—curating my time there, limiting engagement, using it as a tool rather than a habit. Maybe that is the middle path: neither clinging to it nor abandoning it entirely, but choosing to be more intentional.

Rethinking Connection

So where does that leave me? And where does that leave us—those who have followed me, who are dear to me, who have engaged with my work, and who have connected through a shared history, shared ideas, ideals and visions?

Rather than rebuilding within the same system, perhaps it’s time to embrace a slower, more meaningful exchange. If we step away from the endless scrolling dictated by external algorithms—those systems that shape our attention more than we realize—what new possibilities open up?

This shift invites me to share on my own terms, to engage more directly, and to explore new ways of connecting beyond the constraints of a platform designed to keep us endlessly engaged rather than deeply connected.

Authentic connection—rather than passive consumption—feels more vital than ever. If we were connected on my old Facebook page—whether as friends or as someone who followed my work—I would love to stay connected, but perhaps in a way that feels more intentional, more real.

This is not just about Facebook. It’s about rethinking how we show up in the world, how we build and sustain relationships, and how we create art and meaning in times of change.

Perhaps this is not a loss, but an evolution into a different consciousness.

Let’s see where it leads.

*Image: A Forest is a Dream, Bronwyn Berman 2025. Burning tool with pen and Ink on 650gsm unpressed paper.