Goodbye Facebook – And Hello to Freedom

After many, many years, I have finally done it. I have closed my personal Facebook account.

It may seem like a small act in today’s hyperconnected world, but for me, this is a significant decision—a shedding of something that no longer served me, and frankly, had begun to actively work against my wellbeing.

The reasons are several, and not just personal. The first and most pressing concern is Facebook’s over-reliance on artificial intelligence to police its platform. At first glance, it might seem efficient. But in practice, it often results in unjust bans, locked accounts, removed content, and absolutely no way to speak to a real person for clarification or appeal. There are countless stories online—some from artists, others from everyday users—of people losing access to their accounts or pages because of a poorly trained AI model misinterpreting their content. One widely reported case involved a breast cancer awareness group being shut down because the AI flagged images of post-surgery scars as violating “nudity” policies. Another involved indigenous artists being repeatedly banned for sharing cultural work that AI mistook for “hate speech”. There is no recourse, no support, and no human understanding at the other end of the system.

And for neurodivergent users like myself, that sterile and unresponsive structure becomes especially draining.

You see, Facebook is—quite literally—a squirrel.

Let me explain.

Those who live with ADHD or autism (or, like me, both), are often described using a humorous yet painfully accurate analogy: trying to focus really hard on something, only for our brain to suddenly shout, “Ooh! A squirrel!” It’s not a joke. It’s the reality of trying to function in a world designed for neurotypical people, while one’s attention is hijacked at every turn.

Facebook is full of squirrels. Every notification, every flashing icon, every unpredictable comment thread or doom-scroll rabbit hole is designed to pull focus. And it works—at the expense of anything else we’re trying to do.

I remember once enrolling on a course to gain a European Computer Driving Licence. The first module bored me to tears. One topic, one pace, one linear track. I nearly gave up. But thanks to a very kind and understanding tutor who recognised my needs, I was allowed to take all thirteen certificates at once. I had the freedom to hop between topics—feeding the brain squirrels instead of trying to cage them—and I passed every single one. Without that stimulus and variation, I would have failed the one.

So, I took a long look at Facebook, at the hours lost and the focus scattered, and I asked myself: why am I still here?

Now, I’m not fully vanishing from the platform. My author and artist page will still exist, and someone else will kindly manage it for me. But the personal wall, the profile, the endless chatter and flickering distractions—that’s gone.

And I feel free.

There’s something quietly empowering about stepping back from a system that no longer aligns with your values or supports your needs. I’m reclaiming my focus, my peace, and a little more control over my day.

Goodbye Facebook. I don’t think I’ll miss you.

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