Paul*, a 65-year-old man from Hampshire, explains how his use of social media makes him feel especially lonely around the Christmas period, as his family celebrate elsewhere.
I already know what to expect on Christmas Day. My partner and I will sit down and have our dinner together in a quiet house in Hampshire. It’ll be followed by scrolling on Facebook and Instagram to see what my family – 140 miles away – are doing to celebrate.
I’ll see the happy faces of my two children and their children, together with my ex-wife. Because my ex, their mother, only lives down the street from both our children, it’s easy enough for her to see them plenty over the holidays. A pang of envy will flood over me, just as it does most holidays when I can’t be with my kids, and their mum can.
Living so far away, I can’t just expect my children to load up my young grandchildren and drive hours to see me just for the day, and I don’t have space to host everyone in my house overnight. Equally, they don’t have enough room to host myself and my partner. It all becomes a bit of a logistical nightmare.
While I’ll drive up before Christmas to see them for a few hours, it just doesn’t feel the same as what my ex gets to experience – the real magic of Christmas day.
And this Christmas, just like the past few, I know I’ll open Facebook and Instagram on my phone, and see reminders of what I’m missing, leading to a bit of envy towards my ex and sadness I can’t be with my children and grandchildren.
I’ve thought that perhaps I should just avoid getting on my phone during the holidays – avoid looking at their happy photos. But that feels like telling a smoker not to smoke, because I’ve become quite addicted to social media.
My generation, for the most part, doesn’t quite understand just how addicted to social media we’ve become. If you walk into any coffee shop, what do you see people my age doing? Flicking on their phone.
While younger generations have been taught the harms of social media, we’ve just sleepwalked into using it. We want to stay relevant, not becoming like our parents who never learned to use online banking, and we need to be able to use technology and connect with family members who also use it.
But we don’t fully understand how it affects us – making us feel sad, lonely, grieved, or unwanted.
The thought of just not using it over the holidays feels impossible, not only because I’m so used to it, but also because I want to see my kids and grandchildren enjoying their holiday. I’m their dad and want to be connected to what they are doing, even if I can’t be with them.
Perhaps if I had other things to do on Christmas Day and the days following, it would be easier to avoid social media. But the country all but shuts down and the only thing I can really do is go for a walk. So I usually resort to sitting on the couch, getting sucked into scrolling through photos of my family having a good time without me.
It isn’t only the photos of my own family I see, but those of friends of mine with their children and grandchildren. Perhaps they have big homes to accommodate for everyone, or they live enough to their families that they can just pop in.
I think its natural to be nosy and want to see what others are doing, but I feel envious of what they have and what I don’t. And there is a sense of guilt that rises up in me that I can’t find a way around the logistics of meeting up with my own family on such a momentous day.
Even though I might have sat down to just have a little five-minute flick, I end up scrolling for ages, unaware in the moment of how it is affecting me. It’s very addictive.
While scrolling, I don’t necessarily think about what might be happening on the other end of the photo. Logically, I know families aren’t always happy as they appear in the photos I see, but I find it difficult to make my brain think this way. I see the picture and logic goes out the window when my emotions step in.
Some friends have said I should just block my ex, so I can’t see what she is enjoying with our kids. But that feels a bit childish to me. We are their parents, and I wouldn’t want to create any sort of tension between the two of us.
I know that some people who are older than me might go to a local community centre for Christmas lunch, so they feel part of a community if family isn’t around. But I don’t feel I’m old enough for that yet – maybe when I’m older.
For now, I feel like I’m in this odd in-between – too old to be travelling around the country for a two-hour visit to the kids, but too young to meet up at a community centre for dinner with people 10 years older than me.
Although in the moment it feels like I’m the only one who feels lonely at Christmas, I know from talking to friends my age that this isn’t true. There are others in similar positions. Sometimes, we’ll sarcastically joke about the “big, wonderful family get-togethers” we all seen splattered over Facebook and Instagram, avoiding the pain we feel in making the joke.
But when it is just me sat on my settee looking at what everyone is doing with their families to celebrate the holiday, it feels like I’m the only one missing out.
Unfortunately, all of this has led me to dislike Christmas. I’ll be ready for the 27th, when it’s all over.
*names have been changed. As told to Lauren Crosby Medlicott
