Magic Mirror

Escaping the worst of YouTube and building a virtual sanctuary

The day I (mostly) left YouTube was rough. And revelatory. I expected to be a little forlorn, but I didn’t foresee my physical reaction.

Tight chest. Throat burning. Tears. I was just shy of a meltdown.

I’d thought I was ready, that I wouldn’t care—a hearty handshake and a farewell by way of unsubscribing, and that would be that.

I can’t say how long I sat staring through the computer screen at the list of channels (most of which I’d followed for years) before I could take the next step.

I breathed in—Unsubscribed—and breathed out. So it went, until the list was empty.

I was of two minds. One grieving, the other bewildered by the distress and finally coming clear on the magnitude of the problem.

The trap

In May 2023, due to a short but horrific illness, my mom died. And YouTube provided a safe place where I never had to feel that or face it or even live in this world.

Parasocial relationships replaced community time, and endless streams full of black holes made sure I never had to be alone with my thoughts. I didn’t see it at the time, but I had found a magic mirror.

I could live through the beautiful booktuber in her trendy city apartment, the hiker who was trekking the Appalachian trail, the happy family who never got angry and made regular visits to Disney World, the woman who spontaneously ran through fields of flowers in expensive linen clothes because why not. I could laugh at the drunks, the political adherents, the straw men.

It was so deliciously curated. So soft, I could fall into its arms. And it was happy to hold me as long as I cared to stay.

The Magic Mirror by Giovanni Battista Piazzetta, painted sometime between 1682-1754

The fog begins to clear

The only problem with that was I wanted to write. But I was numb. I wasn’t happy watching anymore, because I wasn’t feeling anything. And that was when I started to get suspicious. I thought you’re alive and real and there are things you want to do, why are you just sitting here?

I stewed in that headspace for a long time.

I feel guilty not having a lightning epiphany to share, if only to add some excitement to the story.

My motivation wasn’t sudden. It came on, inch by inch. With prayer. A constant, grinding, rusty turning towards the Source. There was intension, however imperfect, and God can work with whatever baren landscape we give Him.

Getting loose

Weeks before the final escape, I deleted the YouTube app from my phone. No more videos under the covers in the wee hours of the morning meant improved sleep, cognition, and mood.

I knew I was on a path towards limited use, but after spending those weeks glued to my laptop instead of my phone, I realized that access was only part of the problem. The video streaming platform and its diversions were still eating most of my free time and my motivation.

Drastic measures were called for.

I decided I would unsubscribe from every channel but a few, and I would take those few with me to a fresh start. A place where the algorithm didn’t know every ounce of the worst parts of me.

I would create a new account.

Building a sanctuary

The first time I signed in to my new space, the algorithm didn’t know what to do. It flailed in all directions, recommending the most basic fare.

I entered the names of the channels I had kept. Channels devoted to the act of writing, the reading of books, the creative life, history, and the maturing of faith.

These precious harbors had two things in common. First, rather than stifling my creative drive, they encouraged it. These were not esthetic channels where books were looked-at, shopped-for, and decorated-with. Not channels with curated realities that asked me to buy or kept me feeling satisfied when I’d done nothing at all. These channels were the virtual hospitality of folk who were artists to the bone. Creators with an intimate knowledge of the Friendly Darkness, who had a way of feeding me and leaving me hungry.

Second, black holes and doom scrolling had no pull on me when I spent time in these inns. Often, I avoided watching their content, because they demanded too much from me. They woke my desire to put down the mirror and go outside of myself. Made me gloriously dissatisfied.

So, with these few channels in hand and my new account established, I took my final swing at the mirror.

The shards

With the last unsub on my old account, I thought my work was done. That’s when I discovered, completely by accident (kindly Reddit user, I thank you for your wisdom), that a person can delete their YouTube account without losing their Gmail.

I didn’t want anything to go back to. To tempt me. I decided to get rid of it, once and for all.

Google didn’t make it easy. The path to the Delete button was winding and full of warnings:

You’ll lose everything. Once you have done this, it may never be undone. Your files, your music, your videos, your downloads, everything you love will be gone. Forever.

Harry Potter had an easier time destroying Voldemort’s horcruxes.

I entered the final command, and the monster’s death screams ceased.

And she lived happily

I’m content with my little sanctuary. I don’t watch videos every day. Don’t want to. Instead, I’m writing, watching regular old TV, or reading. My love of reading is beginning to return, but I’m sure that will be an adventure all its own. I’m going to church more, even when I don’t feel like it. I’m making plans with people in the real world.

I’m not naïve enough to think I could never regress or that my sanctuary is impenetrable. Sanctuaries have to be defended (I installed an extension called DF Tube that blocks YouTube video recommendations), and hearts require maintenance. Mine needs a lot of work. And I only want my joy to grow from here.