Log Off, You’re Not a Fucking Algorithm.

I’m sick to death of this social media circus.

Sick of watching kids spiral into depression because their picture didn’t get enough likes.

Sick of grown adults having identity crises because someone unfollowed them.

Sick of people measuring their worth in comments, filters, and goddamn engagement rates.

We’ve created a world where a selfie has more value than a conversation.

Where dopamine comes from double taps.

Where self-esteem is built on validation from strangers you wouldn’t lend a fiver to in real life.

Let me say this as clearly as I can:

You are not a fucking algorithm.

Likes Don’t Equal Love.

Let’s get this straight - likes don’t mean shit.

They may look like hearts, but they’re not love. They’re not truth. They’re not real.

They’re pixels and patterns engineered to keep you scrolling, comparing, and coming back for more.

You post a photo, it gets 3 likes, and suddenly you’re questioning your whole existence.

You start thinking:

“Maybe I’m not attractive.”

“Maybe no one cares.”

“Maybe I’m just boring.”

“Maybe I should delete it…”

What the fuck are we doing?!

A generation raised on participation trophies is now being emotionally waterboarded by a machine that only rewards perceived perfection.

The Highlight Reel Is a Lie.

Social media is a highlight reel.

It’s not real life.

It’s the airbrushed, filtered, curated version of someone else’s fake-ass fairy tale.

You’re comparing your behind-the-scenes chaos to someone else’s staged performance.

That couple goals post? They had a screaming match an hour later.

That ripped gym bro? Filters, angles, and maybe testosterone or steds.

That happy entrepreneur? Maxed-out credit cards and a panic disorder.

You’re losing sleep over smoke and mirrors.

You’re questioning your life because someone else nailed their lighting.

Social media is a magic trick, and you’re letting it decide how you feel about your own life?

Wake the fuck up.

Digital Validation Is a Drug.

Let’s call it what it is…

Addiction.

Social media works the same way casinos do.

Random rewards. Intermittent dopamine hits. Just enough attention to keep you hooked.

It’s not your fault you’re drawn to it - your brain’s been hijacked by something designed to exploit it.

But here’s the scary part…

Unlike other addictions, this one is socially accepted.

Encouraged, even.

Post more. Share more. Hustle harder. Build your brand. Grow your audience.

Fuck all of that.

You’re not a brand.

You’re a human.

Not a product. Not a profile. Not a follower count.

Live Where Your Feet Are.

You want peace?

Freedom?

Confidence?

Get the fuck offline.

Live where your feet are, not in your followers list.

Look people in the eyes, not their avatars.

Make memories, not content.

Go outside and do something beautiful without filming it.

Eat a meal without showing your plate to the world.

Have a moment, just for yourself.

No hashtags.

No filters.

No “tap to reveal more.”

Just… life.

You’ll be shocked how rich it feels when it’s not flattened into an IG story.

The Ducks and the Tiger.

It took me 33 years to really learn this lesson.

Then it hit me like a fucking bus.

I was newly married, running on fumes, trying to keep a struggling tech business from collapsing.

I was living off perception - grinding hard, posting the hustle, desperate to look like I had my shit together.

One day, I took my 3-year-old daughter out for a walk so my wife could rest.

Nothing dramatic. Just a quiet stroll.

We found a bench by a pond.

There were ducks.

We sat. Fed them.

Read ‘The Tiger Who Came to Tea’ - her favourite.

And in that moment - no camera, no post, no audience - just me, my daughter, the ducks, and that bloody tiger…

I thought, “Fuck me I’m lucky.”

Not because I had anything fancy.

But because I was fully present.

Alive in a moment that didn’t need to be shared to be real.

That moment changed me.

Your Worth Isn’t Measured in Metrics.

If you died tomorrow, Instagram wouldn’t mourn you.

TikTok wouldn’t flinch.

Facebook wouldn’t blink.

But your people would.

The ones who’ve heard your real laugh.

The ones who’ve seen you cry without a filter.

The ones who don’t need a “like” button to show love.

That’s where your value lives - not in impressions, but in impact.

Not in how many watched, but in who remembers.

Step Outside the Screen.

One day, when you’re old and wrinkled, you won’t give a flying shit how many people double-tapped your sunset pic.

You’ll care about the real stuff.

The laughs.

The bruises.

The love you felt without needing to post about it.

The adventures that didn’t make it to your story, but etched themselves into your soul.

So here’s the move…

Step outside the screen.

And live like your battery’s already dead.

Put your phone down.

Pick your life up.

And remember…

You’re not here to be consumed.

You’re here to be alive.