Digital Tides
Taking a break from Instagram.
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Being on Instagram has been making me feel nauseous. For the past few weeks, I've been exploring my relationship with that app, tracking sensations in my body, spirit, and mind. Sometimes, I'd scroll for 30 minutes or more; other times, I'd log in to check the news from Palestine and the world, support causes, answer messages, or share my art—each time at different moments throughout the day.
I noticed something new, something I'd never felt before: a strong wave of nausea so intense it nearly made me vomit. At first, I thought it was all the images of dead bodies, the children, the news—everything overwhelming me with sickness, sadness, grief, and horror. I sat with it, trying to understand.
And then, in contemplation, I realized that while all of this had been making me sick, something else was happening. The Palestinian resistance, the online and in-person communities, my own war experiences, and my resolve and love for life have actually been fortifying me, inspiring me, and activating me to do something—to keep speaking up, divesting, and protesting. Palestinian liberation—collective liberation—I know—is a long haul, one I'm ready for. And it feels quite different from nausea.
While I sit with pain, grief, and tears—necessary for our resolve—I also feel devotion. And devotion feels like a calm comfort in the stomach. I know it because I feel it every day with my son.
Then I thought I should see a doctor to rule anything else out, but during this experiment, I realized the discomfort is completely gone when I'm off Instagram. Every time I log in, I feel physically sick—nauseous—with my stomach and womb-space feeling inflamed. I've also noticed that cell phone RF exposure significantly affects my hormones.
But when I slowed down and stepped away from screens for a few days, I realized the feeling was the same as motion sickness. The scrolling, the moving images—a mismatch in sensory input.
My eyes tell my brain there's a lot of movement, but my body is steady. When I slow down and get quiet, I see how we get colonized. I see how our energies, our bodies, our ideas, our art, and our spirits are being extracted from. And I had this bone-chilling realization: being on a screen is akin to colonizing my intuition. It confuses my senses, leaving me disoriented.
Over the years, Instagram has brought me many good things. I've learned that it's all about how we engage with these spaces—how we set boundaries, interact with the world, and balance the input with the output. I used to look at media as medicine, but I've reached a point where my body, with unmistakable clarity, is telling me: this space is making you sick. The alignment between sensory input and physical movement is crucial.
Motherhood and my art have taught me that my body isn't meant to remain idle, passively absorbing, contemplating, or idealizing liberation, art, and relationships. It is intended to act purposefully, move through the world, and birth new realities. It's not enough to be stuck in a constant cycle of envisioning what's possible; my body must be the instrument through which possibility becomes reality.
Our bodies are sacred vessels; their intuition is a beacon in this chaotic world. While I may not immediately be able to articulate everything I feel or experience, I have learned to trust my body's profound communication—the voice of Earth.
The Earth is calling me to something more profound: to reduce my screen time, to scroll no more, to ground myself in ritual, rest, and reconnection.
My son is turning three in a few days, and this next chapter requires new pathways to be forged for both of us. We can't expect different results by repeating the same patterns. Although I've relied on Instagram to sustain myself as an artist, I trust my body and its guidance, even if my mind feels apprehensive.
For a moment, I had a thought that by choosing to care for myself and listen to the Earth's subtle language, I might be seen as quitting something by taking a break—and that quitting is a weakness. The conditioning and colonization run so deep within us that, if we're not careful, we might allow these forces to make us place all our trust and instincts in everything but ourselves and each other.
To remain rooted in the sacred, we must make changes that challenge our comforts and privileges. This involves reevaluating our creations, relationships, and ways of living to align with the life we believe all beings deserve.
I'm stepping into a new phase where the pace is slower, without the constant pressure of posting schedules or algorithm stresses. This version of me cares less about being someone, being featured somewhere, or striving for something.
I want to birth new visions and worlds without the need for applause, sales, praise, or constant phone grabbing—recording moments to be seen but not really seeing the moments that happen in between.
In "Redbird," I wrote how I feel this initiation is coming from the realm of Birds.
After sharing on Instagram that I was taking a break, Ben, Aki, and I stepped outside. I turned to Ben and said, "This feels incredible—just a few hours without checking my phone, and I can already feel the weight lifting from my stomach. I know I'm being guided." Before I could finish speaking, a bird delivered a message of its own, dropping a heavy load right on my shoulder. While I'd love to think it was a Cardinal, it was probably a Pigeon.
"A blessing from above," said Ben.
"Or below," I replied.
We looked at each other and laughed.
The blessings we seek often come from places we least expect, challenging our notions of what is sacred. In that moment, as we laughed, I was reminded that the divine isn’t always wrapped in grandeur—it can be as simple and humbling as the earth’s reminder that even the shittiest moments can carry profound insights.
With love,
Vanja
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