Facebook ain't your therapist

I’m just going to say it: some of y’all treat Facebook like it’s a confessional booth at a meth-fueled church revival. And I need you to stop.

Every day, I log on for the digital equivalent of a smoke break—some memes, a few birthday reminders, and maybe a raccoon video to restore my will to live. Instead, I’m greeted by Janet from 10th grade announcing her third divorce, her child’s bowel movements, and a cryptic status like, “I just can’t anymore.” With a broken heart emoji for added mystery. Janet, blink twice if you need help—or better yet, just text a friend like a functioning adult

Oversharing has become a competitive sport. People are out here posting their medical records, relationship autopsies, and inner monologues that should’ve stayed between them and their diary—or their cat, if things are really dire. I’m not saying suffer in silence, but maybe don’t crowdsource your breakdown in the comment section?

Privacy isn’t illegal, by the way. You can actually not post. Revolutionary, I know. The algorithm won’t punish you for a little mystique. In fact, a little mystery might be the only thing keeping your social media presence from becoming a digital reality show that no one asked for. Not every trauma needs a Canva graphic, Kay?

Look, I’m not above the occasional spiral. But I spiral with dignity. I text my three most unhinged friends, cry into a pint of ice cream, and maybe rage-clean my kitchen like a normal human. I don’t upload a slideshow titled “The Decline of My Mental Health: A Journey in 17 Status Updates.”

So let’s all make a pact: if you’re about to type out your third passive-aggressive post in a week, log off. Go scream into a pillow, call your cousin, or write in a journal like it’s 2004 and your biggest worry is whether My Chemical Romance will get back together.

Facebook is not your therapist. It’s a data-harvesting platform designed to sell you protein powder and shame you with “memories” from your emo phase. Keep some mystery. Keep some pride. And for the love of all things private—keep some things off the damn timeline.

As always, stay chaotic

Tylerr