It’s been 100 days since I told the Embody Lib fam I was stepping back from Instagram.
And while I don’t have plans to return in any regular or permanent way, I wanted to pop in, check in, and ask: how are you, really?
So much has unfolded in these past few months, globally, locally, and personally. For many, it can feel like a never-ending cycle of doom, dread, and despair. And to be honest, I’ve felt that too. But as I’ve spent more time in the “outside” (away from the constant scroll) I’ve found glimmers of hope that continue to energize me in the work I do to build a world where all bodies are treated with dignity and have the power, resources, and opportunities they need to thrive.
Here are three lessons I’ve learned since stepping away:
1. The best conversations are happening off the algorithm.
Even though I still log into my account to share updates or check in on local organizing efforts, I often catch myself doomscrolling. It’s a hard habit to break. And every time, I’m reminded how exhausting online discourse can be, especially when it’s centered around the latest scandal, celebrity misstep, or identity debate.
But when I re-ground myself in conversations with friends, neighbors, colleagues, and sometimes even strangers, I’m reminded of how different real-life connection feels.
These humans? They’re not arguing about who’s “white passing” or who wore what to the Met Gala. They’re talking about how to write to the ANC to get wheelchair-accessible curbs installed. They’re organizing meal trains for neighbors impacted by ICE raids. They’re sharing their favorite songs from the Sinners movie soundtrack.
Some of these conversations happen in person, some via text or Slack, but what matters is that we’re talking to each other, not at each other. It’s refreshing. It’s energizing. And it’s a reminder that community isn’t something to consume; it’s something we create.
2. The world remains deeply anti-fat—and I’m feeling it.
During my early eating disorder recovery, Instagram was a lifeline. I found people who affirmed my experiences, helped me feel seen in my larger body, and made the process of gaining weight during recovery feel a little less isolating.
But offline, things feel different.
Lately, I’ve faced more unsolicited comments, microaggressions, and harassment than I have in years. Just yesterday, a stranger told me I “should stop eating altogether.” Conversations about weight-loss drugs, body surveillance, and respectability politics are everywhere, and they rarely consider the full humanity of those of us in fat bodies.
It’s been a lot. And I won’t sugarcoat it; this season has been taxing.
But here’s the thing: even in this body, I hold significant privilege and influence, especially compared to those in superfat, infinifat, or otherwise more marginalized bodies. I’m holding myself accountable to use that privilege, not just to survive this culture, but to actively work to dismantle it.
I've always had thick skin. Now, it needs to be leather.
3. Community care is alive and well—we just don’t see it on our feeds.
Instagram is notoriously bad at amplifying meaningful grassroots work, especially when it’s messy, local, or slow. But over the past few months, I’ve seen people show up for each other in powerful, creative ways.
I’ve witnessed neighbors of all backgrounds mobilize for change. I’ve been part of mutual aid networks, community art builds, virtual teach-ins, and rapid response efforts. Sometimes with people I’ve never even met in person.
Is it perfect? No. We’re still figuring out how to make things more accessible to folks who are immunocompromised, disabled, neurodivergent, or low-literacy. But we’re committed to learning and doing better together.
This is what resistance looks like. And you won’t always find it in your timeline.
What I Miss—and What I’ve Gained
One of the hardest parts about stepping away has been losing touch with many of you. I miss seeing what folks are up to via their stories, engaging with posts, and shooting a quick DM. And while I hoped this break would fully heal the mental health crisis I’ve been navigating since May 2024, the truth is—it hasn’t. Not entirely.
But what I have found is grounding. I feel more connected to my local community, more in tune with what matters, and more equipped to stay in this work for the long haul.
And that, to me, is a huge gain.
An Invitation
If any of this resonated, and you’ve been wondering what it might feel like to take a break, even just a small one, from Instagram or similar platforms, I encourage you to try. There’s no right way to do it. No rules. Just a chance to listen more deeply to yourself and the world around you.
And especially if you hold social identities closer to structural power: we need you. In this era of resistance, showing up with your full presence in your body and your community is a radical act.
With love and solidarity,
Patrilie
P.S. The five-part learning series “Body Lib Basics” starts later this month. If you are looking for practical ways to incorporate liberatory praxis in your personal and professional life, I invite you to join us. You can learn more at www.embodylib.com/events