Social media — to check or not to check?
God, this is such a minefield isn’t it? I go back and forth on this constantly.
The twins have Instagram now — they’re 11, which feels way too young but apparently that’s the world we live in. My sister showed me their accounts a few months back and I’ve been wrestling with myself ever since about whether to look.
Part of me is desperate to see them. What do they look like now? Are they still into soccer? Does Mia still make those ridiculous faces in photos? Does Jake still have that cowlick that drove him mental every morning?
But then I think about what I might see. Photos of them with his new wife at the beach we used to go to. Family holidays I’m not part of. Her tucking them in, making them breakfast, doing all the mum things I should be doing. And I know it’ll just gut me all over again.
Last week I caved and looked. There was this video of them making pancakes and laughing, and for about thirty seconds my heart was so full just hearing their voices again. Then I saw the caption — “Sunday morning with the best mum ever” with a heart emoji. Not even their words, obviously. But still. I cried for two hours after that.
My counsellor says it’s up to me, that some parents find it helpful to stay connected in whatever small way they can. Others find it too painful and block everything. There’s no right answer apparently.
I keep thinking — if I don’t look, am I abandoning them further? But if I do look, am I just torturing myself?
How do you guys handle this? Do you check their socials? Have you found a way to do it without it completely destroying your day? Or is cold turkey the only way?
I just miss them so bloody much. Sometimes those little glimpses feel like oxygen. Other times they feel like poison.
Oh god, this takes me right back to those early days when I’d sit with my laptop at 2am, cursor hovering over their profiles, heart hammering like I was about to jump off a cliff.
I tried everything - checking obsessively, going cold turkey for months, having my sister be the middleman and show me “safe” photos. Nothing worked cleanly, you know? Each approach had its own special brand of torture. When I was checking regularly, I’d analyse every single post like some deranged detective - why was Emma wearing that jumper I didn’t recognise? When did Tom get so tall? Who was that woman in the background at his football match? And then when I tried staying away completely, the not knowing felt almost worse. My mind would fill in the gaps with these elaborate stories about their lives without me.
The turning point came about eighteen months ago when my therapist Helen said something that stuck: “The pain you feel when you see them happy isn’t because you don’t want them to be happy. It’s grief for not being part of that happiness.” She was right. I wasn’t jealous of their joy - I was mourning my absence from it.
Now I have what I call my “Sunday scroll” - once a week, cup of tea, tissues ready, and I look. Not stalking every story or scrutinising comments, just… checking in. Some weeks I come away smiling because I caught a glimpse of who they’re becoming. Other weeks I’m a mess. But at least I know, and somehow that feels better than the uncertainty. Still breaks my heart every single time though.
I know that desperate pull to look. Seven years on and I still feel it sometimes — this ache to just see her face, hear her voice, know she’s OK.
I went through exactly what you’re describing in the early years. The checking, the analysing every photo, the way a single post could either lift me up or knock me flat for days. That caption about “best mum ever” — Christ, I felt that in my bones. I remember seeing similar things and just… the grief was overwhelming.
What I learned, painfully, is that social media shows a curated version of their life. Not the real moments, not the struggles, not the times they might wonder about you. It’s a highlight reel designed to look perfect, and it’ll always leave you feeling like you’re missing everything that matters. These days I focus on writing her letters instead. At least that feels like connection rather than surveillance.
Mate, I know exactly what you mean about those glimpses feeling like oxygen and poison at the same time. When my daughter first reached out, I’d spent years doing the same thing — checking, not checking, checking again.
11 is way too young for Instagram, you’re right about that.
I check my daughter’s once every few months — just can’t help myself — but I always regret it after.