I love a good cleanse. A hard reset. A bootcamp for creating new habits.
My child-of-immigrants-overachieving-goal-oriented personality responds well to a clear regimen and path to desired results within a finite timeline.
I’ve leaned into this mode of self-care since my first seven-day visit to the Optimum Health Institute, where I experienced a complete physical, mental and emotional recalibration with an in-depth holistic retreat. I consumed only organic, vegan, raw foods, juiced my own wheat grass, learned to love colon hydrotherapy, understood how food combining affects our digestion, started scraping my tongue, and did a three day fast. I sat in sound baths, cleared my chakras and did exercises designed to drain the lymphatic system. Without my phone, I was either reading, journaling or having deep conversations with new friends. I came back feeling joyful and reenergized, skin glowing, nine pounds lighter, and motivated to continue a plant-based alcohol-free diet for another 30 days.
Did I become a lifelong Vegan? No. But I experienced a very profound understanding of how my default habits were impacting my health and it attuned my mind-body connection in a way I haven’t been able to turn off since.
As someone who has seen first-hand the negative effects of toxic messaging around body image, I’m wary of promoting cleanses and detoxes, recognizing they can fall into a wider trend of diet culture dressed up as wellness.
At the same time, I recognize how these short, structured approaches to recalibration have worked well for me personally. They are a tune-up, a remembering, a recommitment to self and what feels good.
Nutrition is the easiest most tangible example of an area we can “cleanse.” Especially living in Los Angeles, we are inundated and supported with resources to eat clean (at the very least) and biohack our bodies into reverse aging (at the very best.)
But “consumption” doesn’t stop at what we put in our mouths or on our skin. It’s also the shows we watch, the books we read, the music we listen to and the apps we scroll.
I’ve always known this on a cellular level, even if I haven’t consistently made choices that reflect that wisdom. For example - I won’t watch horror movies. When I was assigned to the publicity team for Saw, I sat through the screening with my eyes closed and my hands over my ears (the soundtrack is 80% of what makes it terrifying.) One viewing of Rosemary’s Baby in the name of cinematic education fucked me for years. And so I opted out of horror movies a long time ago.
Every once in a while there will be a show that I want to binge watch in solidarity with my husband whose nervous system and psyche don’t seem to experience even a fraction of the sensitivity I’ve been gifted with. Back in 2013, our friendship-turned-romance actually kicked off with a late-night seven-hour binge of Breaking Bad. I didn’t sleep for weeks, but it wasn’t clear whether that was a byproduct of the show’s intensity, or the buzz from a newfound love interest. The slew of deranged dreams I had while we streamed Narcos a couple years later confirmed that it was likely the former. That’s when I opted out of crime dramas, dystopian thrillers, and whatever emotionally exhausting genre Black Mirror invented. So hubs watched Ozark and Severance alone.
Why would I want to voluntarily sign myself up to be in fight or flight mode, when my entire life’s work seems to be reprogramming my brain and body to recognize that I am actually safe in most spaces?
I’ve been a reader my whole life and never did I ever part ways with a book before finishing it - until a couple years ago. 40 pages into a classic, I realized it was overwhelming me with sadness, and I put it back on the shelf. Since then, I’ve given myself permission to stop reading a book if it isn’t working for me. Seems obvious, but opting out of an unfinished book had never seemed like a choice to me before.
Cleansing my inbox is the absolute best. Better than a juice cleanse. Better than a TV fast. Seriously, very few things spark more joy than clicking “unsubscribe” in emails from restaurants, nonprofits, retailers, and brands that I may respect, frequent and enjoy, but I do not need to hear from on a weekly basis. (OMG I love Hanna Anderson, but sending 2-4 emails every week should be a fineable offense in my opinion. Like, how many pairs of super soft, really cute pajamas do you think my two children need?!)
Even the ones I’m not ready to completely let go of yet (goop, Esther Perel, The 5 Love Languages, Jenni Kayne), I will delete unread if it is sitting in my inbox for more than a couple days. I’m opting out of reading emails that I don’t want/need to read.
Then there’s calendar cleansing. These used to be a rare and intense experience, prompted by a near mental breakdown from physical and emotional exhaustion, recommended by my therapist, in the middle of life phases where I was doing just too damn much. But because I, you know, do the work, I now get ahead of those breakdowns, and force myself to slow down whenever I realize that I’m over-scheduled. I will look at the upcoming week or month and opt out of anything that doesn’t spark joy (at best) or align with my values/priorities (at the very least.)
But the biggest drain on my wellbeing? Instagram.
I’ve deleted the app from my phone at least 45 times in the past 18 months. There are countless studies, essays, podcasts, memes, poems that speak to the addictive nature and detrimental effects of social media usage. Even at it’s least harmful (which is how it started 15 years ago), it accelerated and compounded the social trappings of compare and despair and exploited our innate desire for acknowledgement, validation and admiration. Those side effects feel minimal in comparison to the increasingly polarizing platform it has become as more and more people feel compelled to express every thought, opinion, belief and feeling - unprocessed, unfiltered and in real-time - on really big issues and large-scale world events. And then, their reactions to everyone else’s reactions. (Where is the outrage?!)
It was a few days after October 7, 2023 when I first deleted Instagram. The footage of the attacks was disturbing on a level I had never before experienced. The overwhelming horror, grief and anger expressed by my community was valid and also infectious - not in a good way. The silence from outside my community was terrifying and many of us started spiraling with the implied narrative around that. The coverage was constant and intense and my nightmares were filled with murder and rape. And that was all before my feed got inundated with constant reports of antisemitism.
We need to know what’s going on the world - I think? It feels irresponsible and ignorant to be unaware of the world’s most prominent headlines, instead focusing on our little problems in our little bubbles. Also, as a first generation Persian American Jew, the world events that are currently center stage feel insanely personal and with the trauma of persecution still very fresh in our DNA, I think there is an obligation to speak up, show up, and be vigilant out of a very rational fear of extinction. But there is a very wide spectrum of possibility between being informed, meaningfully supporting causes we feel passionate about - and signing up for what feels like mental and emotional abuse with a non-stop barrage of content rehashing not just facts, but accusations, betrayals, triggers and blame. What gets me the most is the tone with which people share information. It feels like every comment ends with an implied “you fucking moron.”
Anyway, none of that shit is in my control. How people feel, how they communicate, how they treat others, and least of all how world leaders will choose to play things out.
In my control? How much of that content I consume. What conversations I opt into. What images I look at. Which ones I share. And continuously questioning the intention behind any of those decisions.
The truth is that much of how I experience learning, growth and joy is by sharing it. That has been the greatest gift of social media for me. So I focus on sharing things that feel meaningful, productive, resonate - and non-toxic. But the minute I’m there to share, I also start consuming and before I know it, I’m not feeling so great. Worse than not-so-great. Kind of like finishing off a wheel of brie knowing my lactose-intolerant body is going to paying for it days to come.
And so I opt out of adding to the noise as much as I can. I’m not opting out of information, or education, or compassion, or vigilance or even respectful debate. I’m just saying no thank you to doing that on a platform that isn’t designed to support my mental or emotional wellbeing.
Will I be off Instagram forever? No. I love it for a lot of reasons, and I consider it vital to scaling my business. Will I delete it as often as necessary to keep my sanity? Yes. Even if that means once a day after I’ve done a share and quick scroll, so that I am not reaching for it the remaining hours of the day - every time I’m at a red light, on the toilet or in-between tasks. Which brings us to…
This Week’s Haiku
Quiet on my plate. I pause before every bite— I choose what comes in.
Until next time, allow yourself to opt out of what isn’t serving you. You can always opt back in, if and when it feels right.
Love,
Jess