The Real Zombie Apocalypse: Why I Deleted Social Media From My Phone

A few months ago, I did something that felt surprisingly difficult.

I deleted every social media app from my phone.

Facebook. Instagram. Threads. TikTok. Everything.

Now, before anyone assumes I've gone completely off the grid, let me clarify: I didn't delete my accounts. I still use social media. I still post updates about my books, blog posts, writing projects, and the occasional glimpse into whatever strange world my imagination is currently trapped inside. The difference is that I now access social media only on my computer. I sit down, check messages, make a post if I have something worth sharing, see what's going on with friends and family, and then I leave.

No more carrying social media around in my pocket twenty-four hours a day.

What started as a small experiment quickly became one of the most positive changes I've made in years.

Like many people, I had fallen into the habit of opening social media without even thinking about it. I'd unlock my phone for one reason and somehow end up scrolling through endless videos, arguments, news stories, and advertisements for things I never wanted in the first place. Ten minutes would become thirty. Thirty minutes would become an hour. At the end of it, I rarely felt informed, entertained, or fulfilled. Mostly, I felt distracted.

After removing the apps, I noticed something strange: I suddenly had time again.

Not more hours in the day, of course. Everyone gets the same twenty-four hours. But hours that had been quietly disappearing into scrolling started returning to me. I found myself reading more books. Not skimming articles. Not reading comments. Actual books. The kind with pages that don't refresh every few seconds. However, I do love my Kobo ereader.

I started writing more as well. As an author, that's probably the biggest benefit I've noticed. My attention span began to heal. Ideas had room to breathe. Instead of constantly switching between notifications and distractions, I could sit with a story for longer periods. Characters had room to speak. Plots had room to develop. Creativity thrives in silence, and social media rarely gives us any.

The change also affected my relationships.

When I spend time with my family now, I'm actually spending time with them. I'm listening instead of half-listening. I'm paying attention instead of glancing down at a screen every few minutes. Some of my favorite memories with my children aren't the big vacations or expensive outings. They're the simple moments that happen when everyone is fully present, and I've realized how often technology quietly steals those moments from us.

Perhaps the biggest change, though, has been learning to trust my own thoughts again.

Social media has a way of convincing us that every opinion must be shared, defended, challenged, and judged immediately. Every event comes packaged with thousands of reactions before we've even had time to process it ourselves. After stepping away, I found myself relying more on my own judgment. I spend less time worrying about what strangers think and more time asking what I actually think.

That realization led me to another decision that probably sounds equally strange.

I stopped watching the news.

Not because I don't care about what's happening in the world, but because I realized there is a difference between being informed and being overwhelmed. Modern news cycles are designed to keep our attention, and fear is incredibly effective at doing that. Every day feels like a countdown to some new catastrophe. Every headline competes for outrage, anxiety, or panic.

Eventually, I asked myself a simple question: if something truly important happens, won't I hear about it anyway?

If a hurricane is headed my direction, someone will tell me. If aliens land on the White House lawn, I suspect I'll find out. If we're suddenly living through a zombie apocalypse, I'm fairly confident one of my neighbors will mention it before breakfast.

I don't need a twenty-four-hour stream of fear to stay informed.

One of the most unexpected side effects of this lifestyle change has been rediscovering physical media. In a world where everything is streamed, downloaded, and consumed through a screen, I've found myself gravitating back toward things I can actually hold.

Books. My Kobo/Kindle. Vinyl records. Cassette tapes.

There is something satisfying about putting on a record and listening to an album from beginning to end. Something nostalgic about hearing the soft mechanical click of a cassette tape. Something magical about holding a book in your hands and turning real pages.

Physical media forces us to slow down. It demands our attention in a different way. It reminds us that not everything has to be optimized, monetized, or consumed at maximum speed.

And honestly, I think that's what this entire journey has been about.

Slowing down.

For years, it felt like the world was constantly demanding more attention, more outrage, more opinions, more engagement. Every platform wanted me scrolling. Every algorithm wanted me clicking. Every notification wanted to convince me that whatever was happening on my screen was more important than whatever was happening in my actual life.

I don't believe that's true anymore.

The older I get, the more I realize that life happens away from the screen. It happens while reading a great book. It happens during conversations with people you love. It happens while creating something meaningful, taking a walk, listening to music, or simply sitting quietly with your thoughts.

Maybe the zombie apocalypse isn't coming.

Maybe it's already here.

Maybe it's millions of people wandering through life with their eyes fixed on glowing screens, consuming endless content while the real world quietly passes them by.

If you're feeling burned out, distracted, overwhelmed, or exhausted by the constant noise, I encourage you to try what I did. Delete the apps from your phone for a week. Keep your accounts if you want. Use them from a computer when necessary. Post your updates. Check your messages. Then log off.

Read a book.

Write something.

Spend time with your family.

Listen to a record.

Go outside.

Think your own thoughts.

You might discover, like I did, that life feels a whole lot richer when you stop letting algorithms decide what deserves your attention.

The zombies will still be there when you get back.