How do I prevent developing a strong aversion to people during the pandemic?
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As I nestle into my usual spot on the couch each night, post-kids’ bedtime, I find myself wrapped in a blanket, sipping a fresh Diet Coke, and munching on M&Ms while scrolling through social media. Before the pandemic, those posts were merely a light distraction. They would elicit a smile, a laugh, or an eye-roll, leaving me entertained. But after two years of disrupted routines and a constant sense of unease surrounding in-person interactions, social media now feels like an assault on my very essence.
Every picture of a family vacation in a tropical paradise makes me feel resentful. I’m left feeling inadequate when I see a friend excelling at homeschooling or confused by large indoor gatherings. Political posts fill me with anger, and carefree individuals grate on my nerves. Each scroll leads me to a mental spiral where I suddenly believe my kitchen is too cramped, my thighs are too large, and my wardrobe is in dire need of a makeover. I start to think my four-year-old should be mastering a two-wheeler, my boys need ice skates, and my husband should be crafting a desk from the old wood lying around the yard. I end up frustrated with myself and irritated by others.
So, what’s happening? Social media, once just a small part of my social life, has taken center stage as my main source of interaction. With three young kids and a baby born in 2020, I’ve kept my family largely isolated, venturing out only for school and a few safe activities. Coffee dates have been swapped for deep dives into Instagram, and laughter at indoor playgrounds has been replaced with TikTok dances. I’ve traded genuine human connections for bright, tiny screens filled with insufferable content and divisive opinions.
Oh, you hiked three miles with four kids and found a baby salamander? Great. Your kid is diving into an infinity pool on your Caribbean vacation? Awesome. You’re avoiding plastic toys for Christmas? Congratulations. Meanwhile, I’m just trying to get my daughter to focus during a virtual speech session while washing masks for my sons and multitasking every other task imaginable.
The loudness and artificiality of it all overwhelm me. Even simple text exchanges and drop-off chats feel strained, laden with impersonal information and subtle bragging. Is it the content that’s making me despise people, or is it something within me?
Aside from pandemic-related updates, much of what’s shared is the same self-indulgent nonsense as before. But perhaps my perspective has shifted. Everything hits differently when you’re feeling isolated and frustrated. Instead of celebrating others’ joys, I’m reminded of my missed opportunities and insecurities about my choices. The annoyance I feel towards someone’s renovated mudroom or ideal breakfast likely stems from my own burnout.
So how do I keep from developing a complete aversion to humanity? First, I need to recognize my feelings for what they truly are—exaggerated reactions shaped by two years of pandemic-related stress. Adopting a “it’s not you, it’s me” approach may help. Reducing my social media exposure is essential, especially since it often fuels negative feelings. Rediscovering joy in real-life interactions is crucial, and, of course, therapy is a valuable resource. In 2022, it seems like we could all benefit from a little extra support.
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Summary
The pandemic has led to increased feelings of resentment and frustration, particularly when engaging with social media. This article explores personal reflections on how prolonged isolation and virtual interactions have impacted emotional well-being. Recognizing these feelings and seeking therapy, while limiting social media exposure, may help in reconnecting with humanity.