Come join Ashland Sabbath Chapel Ministries each Saturday for live streamed church services. Bible Study begins at 10:00 AM Central Time and Sermon at 11:00 AM. Visit Our YouTube channel and watch from home!

My dear friend, you must allow me to observe that, in this modern age of glowing screens and ceaseless notifications, it is exceedingly easy to condemn social media as a universal mischief. Yet, upon closer inspection, one discovers that it is a landscape not solely populated by idle gossip and trifles, but also by a surprising number of earnest efforts to promote good health and more graceful living. You and I may smile at the thought of exercise routines delivered through a phone, but we cannot deny that, for many people, this curious arrangement provides the very encouragement they had long been unable to secure from their own relations.

Consider first the abundance of guidance on nourishing the body. There are countless accounts devoted to balanced meals, sensible portion sizes, and recipes that might have pleased even the most fastidious of a well-ordered household. A young woman who once believed vegetables to be little more than a decorative border upon her plate can now, in a moment, discover dozens of ways to prepare them so that they are colorful, flavorful, and, as everyone now insists on saying, “nutrient-dense.” When a person encounters a short, engaging video that demonstrates how to turn a hurried evening into a wholesome supper, complete with whole grains and bright produce, she may be persuaded to make that small alteration in her habits that no stern lecture could ever have achieved.

There is, too, an agreeable transparency in these demonstrations. One sees the ingredients, the quantities, and even the little domestic mishaps that attend real cooking. This plain dealing makes healthy eating seem less like an unattainable standard and more like something one might truly adopt. A friend of mine who had never before boiled anything more ambitious than pasta was persuaded, by a quiet succession of such posts, to attempt roasted vegetables and simple soups; she now reports, with a mixture of pride and astonishment, that she spends less money on takeout and feels steadier in both mood and energy. This transformation was not wrought by a physician’s pamphlet, but by a series of friendly, informal messages on her preferred platform.

Nor is nourishment the only realm thus benefited. The encouragement of physical activity has been particularly strong. Once, if you wished for an exercise companion, you were obliged to seek one among your neighbors or relations, and, if they proved indifferent, you were left to walk alone. Now, you may at any hour discover entire communities devoted to walking, running, stretching, and every sort of movement from the most energetic to the most decorous. A gentle soul who would never dream of attending a bustling gym may quietly begin with a ten-minute stretching routine found online, and then progress, little by little, to more vigorous pursuits.

Many platforms offer simple challenges—walk a certain number of steps each day, try a new vegetable every week, drink more water, retire to bed a little earlier—and people from very different circumstances join in as comrades rather than competitors. One might imagine a gentleman in a crowded city and a lady in a quiet village, each following the same thirty-day walking challenge, cheering one another in the comments. They may never meet, and yet their shared undertaking bestows a sense of companionship that softens the labor and imparts a certain cheerfulness to the whole affair.

There is, in these online gatherings, a strong element of accountability, which, though sometimes irksome, can be exceedingly useful. When a person announces publicly that she intends to avoid sugary drinks for a month, or that he will perform a short exercise routine each morning, the knowledge that others have heard and are watching can steady the resolution when the first flush of enthusiasm has passed. A simple message such as, “How is your third week going?” or “Did anyone else struggle today?” may provide just enough encouragement to prevent a good intention from fading into nothing.

Social media has also shown itself a valuable resource in the delicate sphere of mental and emotional wellness. Many people, who would hesitate to confide their anxieties to family members for fear of being misunderstood, discover comforting words in short posts or quiet reflections shared by those who have walked a similar path. They find explanations for feelings they had never quite named, and, in recognizing themselves, they feel less singular and less ashamed. When a person reads that another, in some distant town, has struggled with sleepless nights or anxious imaginings and has nevertheless found help and comfort, it may inspire that person to seek counsel rather than suffer in silence.

These spaces often share practical techniques—breathing exercises, journaling suggestions, gentle reflections on setting boundaries—that can be tried at home without ceremony. A young man I know, overwhelmed by the demands of work, stumbled upon a simple post describing the practice of stepping away from his desk for five minutes every hour to stretch and breathe. It appeared so modest an action as to be hardly worth attempting, yet he adopted it, and, over time, he reported feeling less irritable and more capable of meeting his day with composure. His improvement was not dramatic enough to make the gossip columns, but it was real and meaningful to him, and it began with a brief message on a platform he had previously used only for idle diversion.

Moreover, social media has made reputable information about health far more accessible. Where once a person might have depended upon the uncertain advice of an acquaintance, now a well-curated feed may include physicians, dietitians, therapists, and exercise professionals who take pains to explain their guidance in terms that ordinary people can understand. They debunk exaggerated claims, warn against dangerous fads, and repeat, with patient good humor, that lasting change is more often the product of small, consistent habits than of any miracle cure. When such voices are followed attentively, they may serve as a quiet counterweight to the wilder notions that circulate elsewhere.

Another advantage, which I particularly esteem, is the way social media allows individuals to tailor their surroundings to support the kind of person they wish to become. A woman who wishes to walk more may choose to follow accounts that frequently post scenic walking routes, cheerful step counts, and practical advice for comfortable shoes. A man who hopes to cook at home more often may populate his feed with simple recipes and budget-friendly meal plans. In this way, each time they open their device, they are gently reminded of their aspirations. Instead of being accosted solely by gossip and distraction, they encounter a steady stream of small nudges toward the life they desire.

Stories of gradual improvement, rather than overnight transformation, are particularly powerful in this regard. When someone shares, for example, that it took them six months to build the habit of going to bed at a reasonable hour, or that they began by stretching only five minutes a day and gradually increased, it reassures others that they need not be perfect to begin. A friend of mine followed an account that documented a gentleman’s efforts to take daily walks after recovering from an illness. His progress was slow, quite unremarkable by the standards of heroic tales, yet my friend was deeply moved by the constancy of his efforts and began to take modest walks of his own. He insists that, had he seen only dramatic “before and after” images, he would have despaired; it was the quiet, honest progress that emboldened him.

There is also a delightful creativity at work in the ways people share healthy practices. One person might post a short list of things that made their day more pleasant—a glass of water upon waking, five minutes of stretching before work, a walk after supper, turning off screens half an hour before bed. Another might speak candidly of how preparing a simple breakfast the night before reduced their morning chaos and improved their mood. These are not grand medical revelations, yet they are precisely the sort of modest, practical adjustments that accumulate, like little coins in a purse, into a more comfortable and contented life.

Of course, not every corner of these platforms is equally beneficial; one must exercise judgment in choosing whom to follow and what advice to adopt. Yet when a person cultivates a circle of accounts that are sensible, compassionate, and grounded in sound knowledge, social media can become less a source of agitation and more a companion in well-being. With a little care, the very device that once encouraged us to sit motionless and scroll for hours can instead prompt us to step outside for a breath of fresh air, to prepare a colorful plate, to pause and breathe when our thoughts grow tangled.

Negative effects of social media on physical and mental health

Yet, my dear friend, just as a garden that nourishes roses may also conceal nettles, these same platforms that encourage wholesome habits can, if indulged without discernment, do a very pretty mischief to both body and mind. Indeed, the pages of modern scholarship are now quite crowded with observations that an excess of social media use may be injurious to health, particularly when one allows the scroll to lengthen far into the night or the comparisons to run riot in one’s imagination [1].

To begin with the body, for we are not mere minds floating about like philosophical balloons: the tendency to sit, hunched over a glowing screen, has become so common that one might almost suppose it a new fashion in posture. Hours spent in this attitude, with hardly a change in position beyond the occasional flick of a thumb, contribute to what physicians delicately term a “sedentary lifestyle,” which is, in plainer speech, the art of sitting too much and moving too little. Contemporary research associates such habits with an increased risk of weight gain, disturbances in blood sugar, and various discomforts of the back and neck, all of which are quite capable of making a person most ill-humored [2].

There is likewise the unfortunate matter of sleep, which, like a sensible chaperone, is frequently dismissed when the evening’s entertainment becomes too lively. Many people retire to bed not with a book, but with a device whose shining screen declares itself ready for a final gossip with the world. What begins as a promise of “just one more post” can extend into a very late hour indeed. The blue light emitted by these contrivances, combined with the excitement of fresh information, may delay the onset of sleep and diminish its quality, leaving the poor user the next morning in a state resembling a character who has been kept too long at a ball and made to dance beyond her strength [3].

Observational studies have found that heavy evening use of screens is linked with shorter sleep duration, more frequent waking in the night, and increased fatigue the following day [3]. This weariness often leads to a greater dependence on sweetened beverages or stimulants, and a reduced inclination for physical activity, thereby setting in motion a vexing little circle: insufficient rest makes movement less appealing, diminished movement undermines wellness, and poor wellness further disturbs sleep. One begins merely with a habit of late-night scrolling and ends with a most unsatisfactory constitution.

Yet it is perhaps in the more delicate regions of the mind and heart that social media exerts its most insidious influence. You will have observed how frequently people present the very best version of themselves—a sort of perpetual “company manners”—for public inspection. Dinners are displayed at their most artfully arranged, faces at their most carefully illuminated, lives at their most triumphant. The messier parts—the untidy kitchen, the quarrel, the disappointment, the tearful evening—are carefully retired from view. A young woman, seeing only these polished fragments, may fall into the error of believing that her own ordinary days, with their small vexations and quiet labors, are singularly deficient.

Scholars have given a very serious name to the sorrow that arises from such comparisons: they call it “social comparison,” and a persistent habit of it has been associated with increased feelings of envy, diminished self-esteem, and depressive symptoms, particularly among young people [4]. Imagine a girl who encounters, each time she opens her device, a parade of beauties whose complexions seem nearly luminous, whose figures conform to the latest ideal, and whose homes appear forever tidy and radiant. However sound her upbringing, she may begin to feel that she herself is wanting in every respect. The logic is no more rational than comparing one’s own drawing room to the finest ballroom in the county, yet the effect upon her spirits may be very real indeed.

The matter becomes still more serious when images are altered—faces refined, waists narrowed, skin smoothed—by various clever tools that make reality submit to the user’s fancy. Studies suggest that frequent exposure to such unrealistic portrayals may increase body dissatisfaction and disordered eating behaviors, especially among young women and girls [5]. It is as though every looking-glass in the house conspired to whisper unkindness, so that even the most unassuming mirror becomes an enemy rather than a friend. A person who might otherwise be content with her natural form finds herself calculating calories and inches with a zeal that brings more torment than improvement.

And then there is the peculiar anguish of feeling left out. Once, if friends gathered without you, you might never know unless some careless person mentioned it at a later date. Now, however, every assembly is liable to be photographed and displayed, complete with smiling faces and merry captions. A young man, observing that his acquaintances have all appeared at a certain gathering from which he was absent—whether by accident or design—may feel an acute sting, quite beyond what the plain facts warrant. This phenomenon, which the moderns call the “fear of missing out,” has been tied to heightened anxiety and decreased satisfaction with one’s own life circumstances [6].

Such anxieties are often aggravated by the very design of the platforms, which are contrived, it seems, to capture attention and never willingly release it. Many applications employ little signals—hearts, likes, comments, and similar tokens of approval—that, though trivial in themselves, exert a strange influence upon the heart. We may say, quite confidently, that we do not care what others think, but find ourselves, moments later, returning to see whether our last remark has been admired. Experimental work suggests that these intermittent rewards can trigger the brain’s reward circuits, making the checking of notifications feel almost compulsory, as though one were under some small but persistent enchantment [7].

Over time, this constant checking may weaken a person’s ability to attend calmly to any single task. A book, once capable of holding the mind for an hour or more, is now interrupted every few minutes by an impulse to discover whether something new has occurred upon the screen. People complain of feeling scattered, unable to think as clearly as before, as though their thoughts had been divided into too many small parcels. Some studies have linked heavy, compulsive use of social networking platforms with increased symptoms of anxiety and depression, and with a reduced sense of general well-being [1,7].

Among the most troubling consequences, my friend, is the way certain corners of these platforms can become hospitable to cruelty. You and I were brought up to believe that if one has nothing kind to say, one ought to remain silent. Yet anonymity and distance embolden some to speak with a harshness they would never venture face-to-face. The result is a species of bullying that may reach its victim even in her own bedroom, at an hour when, in more gracious times, she would be quite safe from such assaults.

There are accounts of young people who, subjected to repeated mockery or insults online, have experienced profound distress, with increased risks of depression, self-harm, and, in grievous cases, suicidal thinking [8]. The cruelty is magnified by its audience; when unkind remarks are not only spoken but preserved and shared, the victim may feel that her humiliation has been inscribed in some vast, unforgetting ledger. Adults, too, are not exempt from such injuries; reputations may be attacked, professional competence questioned, and private sorrows exposed to unfeeling comment.

Another subtle danger arises when individuals, believing themselves to be seeking help, fall instead into communities that encourage harmful practices. There exist online groups that promote extreme dieting, self-harm, or the rigid avoidance of entire categories of food or activity under the guise of purity and discipline. For a vulnerable person, feeling alone and misunderstood, the sense of belonging these groups offer can be powerfully seductive. Yet the advice dispensed is often quite at odds with sound medical judgment, and the “support” is conditional upon further compliance with unhealthy behaviors [9].

In such situations, the very desire for wellness is turned against the seeker. A young woman, for instance, who longs to improve her eating habits may stumble into a collection of posts that glorify severe restriction, promising impossible transformations if only she will deny herself sufficiently. Compliments are bestowed for visible thinness, while any attempt at moderation is treated as weakness. Without the guiding presence of a wise counselor, she may stray far from the gentle, balanced approach that true health requires.

We must also remark upon the confusion that arises from the alarming abundance of advice. Where once a household might have depended upon a trusted physician, now anyone with a charming manner and a pleasing appearance may speak as though he or she were an authority. Thus a person may, within the span of an hour, be told to eat more carbohydrates, fewer carbohydrates, more fat, less fat, to fast, to eat frequently, to drink lemon water as though it were a cure for all ills, and to distrust all conventional wisdom in favor of some new and exotic regimen. This bewildering profusion of counsel may lead to what researchers have termed “information overload,” which in turn is associated with confusion, decision paralysis, and mistrust of legitimate guidance [10].

Such confusion is not innocuous. A gentleman who reads that he must never again touch a morsel of bread may abandon all efforts at sensible improvement, declaring the whole subject of nutrition to be a hopeless tangle. A lady, hearing that every symptom is potentially the sign of some grave illness, may fall into excessive worry—what some have called “cyberchondria”—wherein the simple act of searching for an explanation leads to an increase in anxiety rather than its relief [11]. Thus, the very tools designed to spread knowledge may, when misused, cultivate fear.

All these difficulties are made more considerable by the ease with which our attention is captured and retained. The platforms are designed to discover, by careful observation of our habits, what will keep us engaged the longest, and then to offer more of precisely that. If one lingers upon dramatic stories of illness or miraculous transformation, the system concludes that such things are wanted, and soon one’s entire feed becomes a parade of extremes. The moderate, sensible voices are crowded out by those that promise certainty, drama, or instant results. It is no wonder, then, that people sometimes emerge from an hour of scrolling feeling more anxious, more dissatisfied, and less confident in their own judgment than when they began.

I would not wish you to suppose, however, that these hazards make social media an instrument of unmitigated harm, to be shunned altogether like a dangerous acquaintance. The truth, as in most human affairs, lies in the delicate management of our associations. When used with care, these platforms can cheer, instruct, and connect; when indulged without restraint, they can disquiet the spirit and disturb the body’s peace. The difference lies less in the device itself than in the measure, timing, and manner of our engagement with it, and in the company we choose to keep within its virtual drawing rooms.

Thus, in considering the negative effects of these modern diversions upon physical and mental health, we are not compelled to a hopeless conclusion, but rather to a more vigilant one. It becomes necessary, not to flee from the digital world in terror, but to enter it as one would enter any crowded assembly: with eyes open, expectations moderated, and a firm resolve to depart at a reasonable hour. In this way, one may hope to enjoy the benefits it has to offer, while gently curtailing those influences which might otherwise unsettle our sleep, diminish our contentment, or lead us away from the moderate, balanced habits upon which lasting wellness so firmly rests.

References
[1] Keles, B., McCrae, N., & Grealish, A. (2020). A systematic review: The influence of social media on depression, anxiety and psychological distress in adolescents. International Journal of Adolescence and Youth, 25(1), 79–93.
[2] Tremblay, M. S., et al. (2017). Sedentary behavior research network: Terminology consensus project process and outcome. International Journal of Behavioral Nutrition and Physical Activity, 14, 75.
[3] Levenson, J. C., Shensa, A., Sidani, J. E., Colditz, J. B., & Primack, B. A. (2017). Social media use before bed and sleep disturbance among young adults. Preventive Medicine, 97, 193–198.
[4] Feinstein, B. A., Hershenberg, R., Bhatia, V., Latack, J. A., Meuwly, N., & Davila, J. (2013). Negative social comparison on Facebook and depressive symptoms: Rumination as a mechanism. Psychology of Popular Media Culture, 2(3), 161–170.
[5] Fardouly, J., Diedrichs, P. C., Vartanian, L. R., & Halliwell, E. (2015). Social comparisons on social media: The impact of Facebook on young women’s body image concerns and mood. Body Image, 13, 38–45.
[6] Przybylski, A. K., Murayama, K., DeHaan, C. R., & Gladwell, V. (2013). Motivational, emotional, and behavioral correlates of fear of missing out. Computers in Human Behavior, 29(4), 1841–1848.
[7] Andreassen, C. S. (2015). Online social network site addiction: A comprehensive review. Current Addiction Reports, 2, 175–184.
[8] Kowalski, R. M., Giumetti, G. W., Schroeder, A. N., & Lattanner, M. R. (2014). Bullying in the digital age: A critical review and meta-analysis of cyberbullying research among youth. Psychological Bulletin, 140(4), 1073–1137.
[9] Chancellor, S., Pater, J. A., Clear, T., Gilbert, E., & De Choudhury, M. (2016). #thyghgapp: Instagram content moderation and lexical variation in pro-eating disorder communities. Proceedings of the 19th ACM Conference on Computer-Supported Cooperative Work & Social Computing, 1201–1213.
[10] Swar, B., Hameed, T., & Reychav, I. (2017). Information overload, psychological ill-being, and behavioral intention to continue online healthcare information search. Computers in Human Behavior, 70, 416–425.
[11] Muse, K., McManus, F., Leung, C., Meghreblian, B., & Williams, J. M. G. (2012). Cyberchondriasis: Fact or fiction? A preliminary examination of the relationship between health anxiety and searching for health information on the internet. Journal of Anxiety Disorders, 26(1), 189–196.

Role of influencers in shaping health behaviors

Let us now consider, my friend, the curious tribe we have come to call “influencers”—those modern personages who, by a combination of charm, persistence, and favorable algorithms, obtain a degree of authority in matters of health and wellness that previous ages reserved for doctors, clergymen, or the most respected elders of the village. It is one of the peculiarities of our time that a person may be unknown in her own street and yet possess hundreds of thousands of enthusiastic admirers scattered across the globe, all of whom eagerly inquire what she had for breakfast and how many steps she walked before noon.

On the more hopeful side of this arrangement, there are influencers who behave much like the best sort of village physician—practical, sober-minded, and more interested in your well-being than in their own applause. These individuals use their social media platforms to share evidence-based advice, to correct fashionable nonsense, and to remind their followers, with a patience that would exhaust a lesser soul, that ordinary habits practiced consistently are more valuable than any miraculous “hack.” You will sometimes see them posting short explanations of why extreme diets are unwise, or why sleep, vegetables, and regular movement are not to be despised merely because they are not glamorous.

Picture, for instance, a young woman who wishes to adopt a more active life but feels intimidated by the image of fitness as a parade of impossible contortions and iron weights. She stumbles upon an account run by a calm, good-humored instructor who demonstrates simple exercises using a chair and a towel, and who repeatedly emphasizes that any movement is better than none. He speaks not to the aspiring athlete, but to the ordinary person with creaky knees and a full schedule. Over several weeks, she follows his ten-minute routines, posted freely for whoever will have them. Her back pains diminish, she feels a little lighter in spirits, and she begins to regard exercise not as a punishment for past indulgence but as a daily kindness she can offer her body. In such a case, the influencer has acted as a benevolent companion, guiding her gently toward a more comfortable life.

There are, too, those who share their own health journeys with a candor that would be thought indecorous in a drawing room, but which proves remarkably consoling online. A man might relate his experience of recovering from a heart scare, confessing that he once believed himself too busy for walks or vegetables. He posts not only the cheerful images of his present hikes, but also the earlier hospital bracelets and the fear that accompanied them. His followers, many of whom are quietly nursing similar pains or anxieties, see in his story a mirror of their own condition and a living proof that change, though difficult, is quite possible. The influencer’s value here is not in his perfection, but in his willingness to show the unvarnished process, with all its setbacks and small advances.

In the delicate realms of mental and emotional well-being, some influencers serve almost as informal counselors. They share reflections on anxiety, burnout, or grief, not in the language of heavy textbooks, but in the everyday speech of a sympathetic friend. A tired office worker, scrolling wearily after a long day, encounters a short video in which a kindly-faced therapist explains why it is not a moral failure to need rest, or how to recognize the signs that one’s work-life balance has gone somewhat astray. Though such content cannot replace professional care, it may encourage the viewer to seek it, or at least to treat her own emotions with a little more gentleness than before.

These more responsible figures often take pains to clarify the limits of their influence. They will say, quite plainly, “This is general information, not a diagnosis,” or “Please consult your own doctor before changing your medication.” It may not thrill the algorithm to hear such words, but it does signal that the person behind the account remembers that real lives and real bodies are involved. When we encounter such disclaimers, we may take them as a favorable sign, much as we would trust the merchant who warns us honestly that his wares, though sound, are not a magical cure for all ills.

However, we must admit, with some reluctance, that not all who possess a large audience are equally scrupulous. The same mechanisms that permit a thoughtful dietitian or sensible physician to reach millions also permit a reckless enthusiast to do the same. It is entirely possible for a person with no formal training in nutrition or medicine to speak with extraordinary confidence about the most intricate matters of the body, provided that his or her appearance is pleasing and the message conveniently simple. “Eat this one thing and you will never be tired again,” cries one. “Avoid that other thing and your skin will shine like a polished apple,” declares another.

Now, you and I may smile at such promises, but a person who is exhausted, in pain, or deeply dissatisfied with her appearance is in a vulnerable state. She may wish so fervently for relief that she clings to the easiest, most dramatic solution on offer. If that solution is presented by a charming figure who looks, at least in the carefully arranged frame of the camera, like the very picture of health, the temptation becomes still stronger. It is in such moments that the line between helpful guidance and harmful persuasion is most dangerously thin.

Consider the case of extreme dieting promoted under the banner of “discipline” or “detox.” An influencer posts a series of photographs: in the first, she appears listless and rounder; in the second, taken some weeks later, she is remarkably lean and smiling, as if all her troubles have evaporated along with the lost pounds. The captions speak breathlessly of giving up entire food groups, of “pushing past hunger,” of “remembering you are stronger than your cravings.” Thousands of followers respond with admiration and a desire to imitate. Few of them will see the days when this strict regime collapses, when the body protests, or when the influencer herself quietly abandons the method in favor of something more sustainable. Such unglamorous realities seldom receive their own posts.

And then there are the endorsements—those delicate little arrangements in which an influencer is paid, in money or in kind, to sing the praises of some supplement, gadget, or program. In the most honorable cases, this relationship is disclosed clearly, and the influencer takes care to partner only with products that stand on some modest foundation of evidence. But there are also situations where the distinction between genuine belief and commercial interest becomes exceedingly cloudy. A powdered drink that promises to “reset” the body, a bracelet said to “balance” one’s energy, a tea alleged to cleanse unspecified toxins from the system—these may all be promoted with the same enthusiasm and persuasive skill as the more sensible offerings.

The trouble is not merely that money changes hands—after all, we do not expect our booksellers or grocers to labor for nothing—but that the persuasive power of a trusted figure is quietly harnessed to sell things that may be unnecessary, ineffective, or, in some cases, plainly harmful. When a follower has watched an influencer share personal struggles, vulnerabilities, and apparent triumphs, she begins to feel as though they are almost friends. Thus, when this quasi-friend recommends a pill or powder, the suggestion carries a weight that no ordinary advertisement could hope to achieve.

Influencers also play a marked role in shaping what we regard as the “desired” body or lifestyle, sometimes with excellent effect, sometimes with the most unfortunate consequences. On the brighter side, there has been a noticeable rise in those who celebrate diverse body shapes, abilities, and life circumstances. They post images of themselves exercising joyfully without conforming to the narrowest ideals of thinness or muscularity. They speak frankly of cellulite, scars, or disabilities, treating these not as shameful defects but as ordinary features of real human bodies. For many viewers, especially young ones, such accounts offer a longed-for counterweight to the relentless perfection that once dominated their screens.

But alongside these more inclusive movements, there persists a quiet, insistent pressure toward certain ideals. When one encounters, day after day, the impression that “healthy” must also mean eternally slim, always radiant, perpetually productive, the heart grows uneasy. An influencer who appears to wake at five, meditate, run ten miles, prepare a perfectly balanced breakfast, raise flawless children, and manage a thriving career—all while wearing clothing that never seems to wrinkle—may not intend to make others feel inferior. Yet her carefully edited glimpses can nonetheless serve as a standard against which many viewers judge themselves and, inevitably, come up wanting.

One must also note how skillfully some influencers package wellness as a sort of luxury commodity. In their hands, health becomes not simply the absence of disease or the presence of modestly good habits, but a curated experience: particular brands of candles, special mats, expensive retreats, intricate morning routines that presuppose great leisure and plentiful funds. A young mother working two jobs, or an older gentleman tending to an unwell spouse, may watch these scenes and conclude, in a discouraged moment, that true wellness is not meant for people in their position. This is a most unhelpful illusion, for the quiet practices that sustain health—sleep, simple food, small walks—are often free or very nearly so.

Yet, I would not have you suppose that the influence of these figures is always imposed upon a passive audience, as though viewers were poor moths incapable of resisting the flame. Followers, too, begin to shape the influencer. When audiences respond warmly to posts that emphasize moderation, self-compassion, and small achievable steps, many creators take the hint and lean further in that direction. Conversely, when extreme or sensational content gathers the most applause, the less disciplined are tempted to outdo themselves in dramatics. There is, in other words, a sort of dance between influencer and influenced, each affecting the other more than either might prefer to admit.

You can observe this quite clearly when an influencer attempts a change of course. Imagine a popular figure who has long posted strict diet routines suddenly confessing that she has developed an unhealthy relationship with food and is now seeking a more balanced path. Some followers will applaud her honesty; others will protest that she is “letting herself go” or “abandoning discipline.” The influencer finds herself pulled between her own evolving understanding of health and the expectations of those who first admired her for more rigid habits. How she resolves this tension says much about her character, but it also reveals how thoroughly public attention can mold the person who receives it.

There are, happily, a few simple signs a thoughtful observer can look for when deciding whether to treat an influencer as a useful companion or as a charming but dangerous acquaintance. Does the person acknowledge uncertainty, or is every statement made with absolute conviction, as though all of medicine had been solved in a three-minute video? Are sources ever mentioned, even informally—“research suggests,” “guidelines recommend”—or are we offered only personal anecdotes as proof? Is there room in their notion of wellness for rest, pleasure, and flexibility, or is the tone always one of relentless striving and self-criticism?

A prudent follower might even make a small list—no more than a few lines—of what they wish for their own health: to sleep soundly, to move without pain, to eat in a way that leaves them energetic and content, to keep their mind reasonably calm. With this private charter in hand, they can ask, as they scroll, “Does this person’s advice and example draw me closer to these aims, or do they leave me feeling frantic, inadequate, or confused?” The influencers who truly serve our well-being will usually leave us feeling steadier, more hopeful, and a little kinder toward ourselves, even when their suggestions involve effort or change.

In this manner, influencers become neither angels to be trusted without question, nor villains to be universally condemned, but fallible fellow humans whose words carry unusual weight because of the peculiar architecture of social media. If we remember that weight, and treat their recommendations not as commands but as proposals to be examined, compared, and sometimes politely declined, we can make use of their better qualities while limiting their power to lead us into folly. And once we have learned to distinguish, at least roughly, between those who nourish us and those who merely dazzle, we are better prepared to turn these vast digital salons to our own purposes, rather than being perpetually at the mercy of their most clamorous voices.

Strategies for using social media to support wellness goals

Now, my friend, having surveyed both the roses and the nettles of this digital garden, it becomes a most practical question: how are we to walk among these beds without being either scratched to pieces or deprived of their fragrance altogether? In other words, how might one use social media in a way that actually strengthens one’s health and wellness, instead of undermining them?

The first and perhaps most important step is to behave, online, very much as a sensible person behaves in a marketplace. One does not, when shopping, place every available item into the cart simply because it is offered. One looks, one considers, one compares, and one declines, very often, with a polite “no, thank you.” You may adopt the same attitude toward your feed. If an account regularly leaves you anxious, envious, or confused—no matter how fashionable or popular it may be—consider quietly stepping away from it. “Unfollow” is a remarkably effective tool for the preservation of peace.

It can be useful to perform, from time to time, what I will call a little “health audit” of your digital surroundings. Sit down with your device and travel through the accounts you follow, asking yourself, quite plainly, “How do I feel after I spend time with this person’s posts? Encouraged, informed, gently prodded toward livelier habits? Or irritated, diminished, and vaguely dissatisfied with my own life?” If an account consistently leaves you worse than it found you, it has declared its character. You are at liberty to excuse yourself from its company.

At the same time, you may deliberately seek out what we might term “anchor voices”—people and organizations whose content is calm, evidence-based, and modest in its claims. These might include registered dietitians, physical therapists, sleep specialists, mental health professionals, or reputable public health institutions. They rarely promise miracles; more often they remind you, with almost comic persistence, of the same sturdy fundamentals: adequate sleep, regular movement, balanced meals, social connection, and a measure of rest. Their advice may not dazzle you, but it tends to hold up over time, which is more than can be said for most fashionable “hacks.”

A practical little rule is this: for every account that traffics chiefly in dramatic “before and after” images, follow at least one that shows the ordinary middle—people in the midst of building habits, not yet transformed, but moving faithfully in a better direction. The more you see of process rather than spectacle, the easier it becomes to accept your own progress, which is almost always slower and messier than the tales shouted by the algorithm.

Beyond this careful choosing of companions, it is wise to be equally deliberate about how and when you invite them into your day. Left to its own devices, social media behaves rather like a houseguest who never quite knows when to leave. If you do not set visiting hours, it may appear at breakfast, insinuate itself into your work, intrude upon your walk, and keep you awake past midnight. To prevent this, many people find it helpful to designate specific times for checking their feeds—perhaps once in the morning after breakfast and once in the evening, with a clear boundary around sleep.

You might make a private agreement with yourself, for instance, that the hour before bed shall be a screen-free sanctuary. Put the device to charge in another room if you can manage it; if you cannot, at least move your social applications off the front screen, so they are not the first thing your finger encounters. In their place, keep a book, a journal, or some other quiet occupation that does not bathe your eyes in blue light or enlist your emotions in the dramas of distant acquaintances. Many a restless night has been avoided simply by refusing to begin that “last quick scroll” which so easily lengthens into half an hour.

There is equal value in protecting the first waking moments of the day. To reach for the phone before you have even sat up in bed is to invite the whole world’s noise into your head at an hour when your own thoughts have scarcely begun to form. You might experiment, for a week or two, with postponing all online activity until you have completed some small act of care for your body—a glass of water, a stretch, a few deep breaths by the window, a brief walk, or even the most modest of breakfasts eaten without distraction. You may find that the day feels less like a chase and more like something you are actively shaping.

Another exceedingly practical use of social media is to transform it from a source of passive entertainment into an active tool for accountability. Instead of merely watching others pursue healthful habits, you can enlist the same mechanisms to support your own. A few friends, even if they live far apart, may form a small private group in which they share their daily walks, their attempts at cooking something reasonably wholesome, or their efforts at going to bed on time. The rules need not be elaborate; the power lies in the gentle expectation that one will report in.

I know a trio of acquaintances, for example, who agreed that each would post a brief message whenever she completed thirty minutes of movement—nothing heroic, a walk, some stretches, a short routine at home. Their posts were not public; no one outside the three of them could see their triumphs or their lapses. Yet the knowledge that the others were looking out for their note encouraged them on days when the sofa beckoned more strongly than the door. Over several months, each of them reported not only improved stamina, but a deeper feeling of comradeship, despite living in different towns.

If you prefer not to share your efforts with other people, you may still use the platforms’ tools to record and reinforce your habits. Some find it helpful to create a private account, visible only to themselves, where they post a photograph or short note each time they complete a desired behavior: preparing a vegetable-rich meal, turning off screens by a certain hour, taking their medication, or practicing a brief breathing exercise. Over time, this forms a visual diary of your own quiet diligence, far more solid and reassuring than any single dramatic “transformation” picture.

When it comes to the substance of the advice you encounter, a little mental checklist can help separate the sensible from the hazardous. You might ask of any proposed regimen or product:

• Does it sound too good to be true? If you are promised astonishing results in a very short time with very little effort, the odds are not in favor of the claim.
• Does it require you to buy a particular item from the person promoting it? If so, they may be more interested in profit than in your welfare.
• Does it exclude whole food groups or demand extreme measures? Long-term health rarely requires theatrics; it nearly always prefers moderation.
• Does it respect individual differences? Sensible advice allows for age, medical conditions, cultural practices, and personal preference; foolish advice treats all bodies as though they were identical machines.

Whenever you find yourself in doubt, you might adopt the humble habit of waiting. Do not rush to begin a drastic diet or exercise plan simply because today’s video was persuasive. Give the idea two or three days to settle. In that interval, consult more sober sources: official health guidelines, professional organizations, or a clinician who knows your history. Impulsiveness is the ally of bad advice; patience is its quiet enemy.

Another helpful strategy is to arrange your feed so that it reflects the kind of life you hope to lead, rather than the kind you are trying to escape. If you are prone, for instance, to late-night snacking while scrolling through pictures of extravagant desserts, you might gently replace at least some of those accounts with ones that feature simple home-cooked meals, practical grocery lists, or quick vegetable preparations. If you wish to walk more, favor accounts that share short, realistic walks in ordinary shoes, rather than only mountain expeditions in costly gear.

Do not underestimate the influence of these apparently small changes. To open your device and be greeted, not by an endless parade of perfection and indulgence, but by modest examples of doable habits, is rather like rearranging your sitting room so that the nearest chair faces the window instead of the pantry. The environment invites a different choice, without the need for constant heroic willpower.

It is also wise to be frank with yourself about your own particular vulnerabilities. Some people, for instance, find that any content related to weight or appearance quickly becomes a source of obsession or self-criticism. Others notice that productivity gurus leave them feeling perpetually behind, as though any moment not optimized is a moral failing. If you recognize such patterns, there is no shame in avoiding that category of content altogether, at least for a season. You are not obliged to expose yourself to material that you know, from experience, disturbs your peace.

In fact, one might say that a key skill of modern wellness is knowing when to look away. The platforms are designed to insist that everything is important, that every piece of news or advice must be attended to at once. But your nervous system was not built for this constant barrage. It is perfectly permissible to say, “I cannot carry this today,” and to close the application, just as you would close a book that has become too distressing or tedious. Rest is not a failure of engagement; it is part of any sustainable relationship, including the one you have with your screens.

From time to time, it can be remarkably restoring to take a deliberate pause from social media altogether—an afternoon, a day, perhaps even a weekend. You might inform close friends in advance, so they do not grow anxious at your silence, and then remove the application from your phone for the chosen period. In its absence, you may notice what had quietly slipped away: the idle glances out of the window, the unhurried cup of tea, the capacity to finish a chapter without interruption. Many people return from such small sabbaths not with a determination to abandon social media forever, but with a clearer sense of how they wish to use it.

Finally, remember that your worth is not measured by what you post, how “on top of things” you appear, or how perfectly you enact any particular health ritual. The most powerful way to use these platforms in service of your own health is to let them be a supplement, not the main course—a source of ideas and encouragement, but not the ultimate judge of whether you are living well. The real work of caring for your body and mind still happens off-screen, in small, unphotographed moments: choosing to walk instead of sit, to drink water instead of a second sweet, to go to bed instead of refreshing the page one more time, to speak kindly to yourself when the day has not gone according to plan.

If, little by little, you can shape your online world so that it nudges you toward these unglamorous but sturdy choices—if your feed becomes less a hall of mirrors and more a shelf of helpful pamphlets—then you will have done something rather clever. You will have taken a tool that might have mastered you and instead put it quietly to work in your service, allowing social media to become not an enemy of your wellness, but a modest ally in your ongoing effort to live a life that feels, in your own bones, worth inhabiting.

Future trends in digital health and social media

If we are to look forward with any seriousness, my friend, we must admit that the union of social media and digital health is still in its early youth. What now appears sophisticated—the step counters, the sleep graphs, the brief videos instructing us in stretches and stews—may one day be regarded as quaint as the first motor-car. Already, our devices are learning to observe us more closely: noting our hours of rest and wakefulness, our pace of movement, our patterns of eating and even, through subtle signals, our fluctuations of mood. These observations, when handled with wisdom and care, may soon be woven together into more personalized guidance than any simple “one-size-fits-all” post could ever hope to provide.

Imagine, if you will, opening an application and finding not a random assortment of health advice, but a quietly curated set of suggestions based on your own habits and circumstances. If your device notices that you have slept poorly three nights in a row and that your evening browsing grows late and restless, it might gently reduce the appearance of stimulating content at night and offer instead short, calming exercises or reminders to dim the screen. If your step count has fallen, not for a single lazy afternoon but over several weeks, you might be invited to join a modest walking challenge, adjusted to your present abilities rather than to some distant ideal. In such a world, wellness feeds would no longer be mere entertainment; they would begin to function as individualized companions.

Yet personalization brings with it the question of who, precisely, is doing the tailoring—and to what end. It is one thing for your feed to infer that you enjoy photographs of gardens, and quite another for it to deduce that you are struggling with loneliness or persistent low mood. There are already experiments in which algorithms scan posts for signs of depression or anxiety, with the intention of offering resources, crisis lines, or suggestions for support. If refined and governed by firm ethical safeguards, such systems could identify those in need who might otherwise remain silent. But we must also ask, with some earnestness, who will be allowed to see this information, how it will be used, and what protections will shield it from the interests of advertisers, insurers, or others whose aims may not perfectly align with your own.

One can easily foresee an expansion of what some have begun to call “digital front doors” to care: portals, reached through familiar platforms, that allow a person to move from casual browsing to formal help in only a few steps. A young man, reading a thread about persistent fatigue, might be prompted to complete a brief, evidence-based questionnaire; if his responses suggest something more serious than simple overwork, the system could offer him the option to schedule a telehealth consultation, all within the same application. Similarly, a woman who frequently engages with posts about joint pain might be invited to join a moderated education group run by licensed physical therapists, rather than being left solely to the mercy of untested remedies.

In such a future, the boundary between public posts and professional care could grow increasingly permeable. Hospitals, clinics, and community health organizations are already experimenting with live question-and-answer sessions, short explanatory reels, and direct messaging for appointment reminders or medication support. It is not difficult to envision platforms that host secure “micro-clinics” alongside ordinary content: a person might watch a video on managing asthma and, with a few additional clicks, enroll in a monitored program that tracks inhaler use, symptoms, and environmental triggers, all shared—with explicit consent—with a supervising clinician. The same channels that now deliver gossip could, if we insist upon it, become corridors to substantial care.

Alongside these developments, the tools of measurement will grow more subtle and pervasive. Wearable devices may expand beyond watches and rings to include clothing, jewelry, or even patches that quietly track heart rhythms, glucose levels, or patterns of respiration. Social platforms, ever hungry for engagement, will be eager to integrate these streams of data: “Share your weekly heart-health report,” they may suggest, or, “Join others in lowering resting heart rates by two points over the next month.” For some, this integration will prove highly motivating, turning abstract health recommendations into visible, shareable progress. For others, it may risk turning the body into a public scorecard, where numbers become yet another arena for competition and comparison.

Another likely transformation lies in the quality and diversity of health voices that can be amplified. At present, you have already seen individual physicians, dietitians, and therapists creating their own modest outposts in this vast digital territory. But as professional organizations, universities, and public agencies grow more comfortable with these media, we may see more structured collaborations: verified networks of experts who share responsibilities, cross-check one another’s advice, and update their guidance as new research appears. Sophisticated systems might tag posts with confidence levels—“emerging evidence,” “strong consensus,” “expert opinion only”—much as weather reports distinguish between scattered showers and a near-certain storm.

If such labeling becomes more common, it could help distinguish a casual reflection (“This worked for me.”) from a well-supported claim (“This is recommended by major guidelines.”). Imagine scrolling through your feed and seeing, beneath a bold claim about a miracle supplement, a small, standardized notice: “Independent evidence: weak or absent.” Would this not, at the very least, give you pause? Might it not encourage a more questioning mind, accustomed to weighing the reliability of what it consumes instead of merely absorbing the most dramatic assertions?

At the same time, there is a growing movement to design healthier digital environments themselves—to treat the architecture of social platforms as a matter of public health. Instead of fighting, individually, against addictive design, some researchers and advocates are pressing for features that support rather than sabotage your efforts at balance: default time limits on scrolling, regular prompts to stand or rest your eyes, optional “compassion modes” that temporarily mute content known to be triggering for certain users. One can picture platforms that, noticing a rapid flurry of frantic searches about symptoms late at night, gently suggest, “You seem concerned about your health. Would you like to save these questions for your doctor and view a brief calming exercise instead?”

Of course, whether such features emerge and flourish will depend not merely on what is technically possible, but on what we, as users and citizens, demand. Platform designers respond to incentives; if public sentiment, regulation, and market pressure increasingly reward companies that can demonstrate positive effects on sleep, mental health, or physical activity, then health-supportive design may become as prized a selling point as camera quality once was. But if the only measure of success remains the number of minutes you are kept staring at the screen, then even the cleverest wellness tools will be trinkets attached to a machine whose true purpose runs in the opposite direction.

You may also expect to see a richer blending of real-world spaces with virtual communities. Local walking groups, cooking classes, or support circles may use social platforms not merely as bulletin boards but as ongoing meeting rooms, where members share observations, track progress, and stay connected between physical gatherings. Communities centered on particular conditions—diabetes, long COVID, chronic pain, postpartum recovery—might evolve into sophisticated peer networks, where lived experience is carefully braided together with professional moderation. The potential is great: someone in a remote village could receive practical tips from hundreds of others who share her condition, while still being gently guided toward safe, evidence-based practices.

Yet this same future invites serious questions about equity. Will all these elegant tools be available only to those with the newest phone, the fastest connection, and the leisure to attend to a constant stream of digital counsel? Or will we find ways to ensure that people with older devices, limited data plans, disabilities, or lower literacy can still benefit? Perhaps the most consequential advances will not be the flashiest, but the quiet ones: translated content in many languages, audio versions for those who cannot easily read, interfaces that can be used with simple gestures or voice alone. You might ask yourself, as you explore new health features, “Who is being quietly left at the door—and what would it take to invite them in?”

Another frontier, already creeping into view, is the use of virtual and augmented reality for health education and behavior change, woven into the social experience. Instead of watching a two-dimensional video of a breathing exercise, you might find yourself standing—through a headset or even lightweight glasses—in a tranquil forest or a quiet chapel, guided through calm by a trusted teacher whose presence feels nearly physical. Friends in distant cities could “join” you in a shared virtual walk, each actually pacing about their own neighborhood while seeing a common landscape projected before them. These experiences could make healthy practices more vivid and attractive, transforming abstract advice into felt, memorable events.

But here, too, the question returns: will such immersion deepen your connection to your own body and immediate surroundings—or will it make it easier to flee them? If a person spends hours each week in a simulated yoga studio or digital countryside, do they emerge more refreshed and motivated to care for their real environment, or more dissatisfied with it? The answers are not yet fixed; they will be shaped by the intentions with which such tools are built and used. You might already begin to form your own principles: what kinds of virtual experiences leave you more attentive to your real breath, your actual muscles, your present relationships—and which leave you feeling hollow, as though you had consumed a feast made entirely of shadows?

We cannot overlook, either, the growing role of artificial intelligence in this landscape. Automated companions—counselors that converse, coaches that suggest, assistants that summarize research for you—are likely to become more deeply interwoven with social media feeds. Someday soon, instead of scrolling through a hundred posts on a new diet or exercise trend, you might ask a digital aide to sift them for you: “Show me only information consistent with established guidelines; hide unverified claims; explain any disagreements in plain language.” Such tools could be a blessing, filtering noise from signal, but they could equally well become new mouths spreading poor advice at unprecedented speed if not anchored firmly to trustworthy sources.

In this emerging world, your role as a questioner will matter more, not less. As automated systems learn to anticipate your needs, you will need to ask: Whose voices trained this system? Whose interests shaped its recommendations? When it nudges you toward a particular product, behavior, or belief, is it acting as a faithful steward of your health, or as a subtle merchant on behalf of others? These are not idle musings; they are the sorts of questions that will determine whether our digital companions become wise allies or simply more persuasive salesmen.

Perhaps the most intriguing prospect is that public understanding of health itself may expand under this constant, global conversation. Already, there is more open talk of stress, trauma, social isolation, structural inequality, and their effects on the body than many previous generations would have dared. If we are attentive, we may see social platforms not merely as transmitters of tips and tricks, but as laboratories in which new ideas of well-being are tested in public. Not all of these ideas will be sound—indeed, some will be quite harmful—but the very visibility of the debate may allow harmful notions to be challenged more swiftly, and helpful ones to spread far beyond the walls of any one clinic or classroom.

You might, then, consider yourself not simply a consumer of this evolving culture, but a participant in its formation. Each account you follow, each post you share, each comment you endorse contributes, in a quiet way, to the kind of health conversation future users will inherit. When you favor content that respects complexity, acknowledges uncertainty, and values sustainable habits over spectacle, you lend your small weight to a particular vision of wellness—one that treats people as whole beings rather than as mere collections of metrics. When you decline to amplify fear-mongering, miracle cures, or shaming rhetoric, you help starve those patterns of some small portion of their fuel.

As the years pass, and these digital systems grow more sensitive, more persuasive, and more entangled with the ordinary business of living, the question will not simply be, “What can social media do to us?” but rather, “What will we choose to let it become in relation to our bodies and minds?” Will we accept a future in which our attention and our health anxieties are harvested for profit, or will we insist upon arrangements in which these astonishing tools are held to account for the well-being they claim to promote? The answers will not be dictated solely by distant engineers or policymakers. They will also be shaped, day by day, by people like you—by the curiosity you bring to these developments, the standards you quietly set for what you will tolerate, and the conversations you are willing to begin with others about how we might, together, guide this unruly invention toward a healthier maturity.

How can I tell if health advice on social media is trustworthy?

Look for clear references to reputable sources, such as medical organizations, peer-reviewed research, or licensed professionals. Be wary of posts that promise quick miracles, rely only on personal anecdotes, or require you to buy a specific product from the person giving the advice.

Is it safe to use social media for mental health support?

Online communities can offer comfort, validation, and useful coping ideas, especially for people who feel isolated. However, they should complement, not replace, professional care, and you should avoid groups that glorify self-harm, extreme behaviors, or discourage you from seeking formal treatment.

What future social media features might help me stay healthier?

You may see more personalized reminders to move, rest, or disconnect, based on your own patterns of use and wearable data. There will likely be tighter links between platforms and telehealth, making it easier to jump from casual browsing to evidence-based programs or professional consultations.

Will my health data be private if it’s connected to social media?

That depends heavily on the platform’s policies and local laws, which can vary widely. Before connecting wearables or health apps, read privacy terms carefully, adjust settings to limit sharing, and favor services that clearly separate clinical data from advertising or third-party sales.

Can future AI tools on social media give reliable health recommendations?

AI tools can summarize complex information and flag risky content, but their quality depends on the data and guidelines they are built on. They should be treated as assistants that help you ask better questions, not as substitutes for qualified clinicians or official medical guidance.

How can I avoid becoming obsessed with health metrics and tracking?

Decide in advance which few metrics truly matter for your well-being, and how often you’ll check them, then ignore the rest. If you notice numbers making you anxious or competitive rather than informed and motivated, reduce tracking or take breaks, and refocus on how you actually feel day to day.

What role do I personally play in shaping the future of social media and health?

Your choices—who you follow, what you share, what you reward with likes and comments—signal to platforms which content and values should rise. By consistently favoring balanced, respectful, evidence-informed material, you help nudge the entire ecosystem toward a healthier direction.

Ashland Bible Study Group

Beside our live streamed church services, all are welcome to attend our church in person each Saturday beginning 10:00 AM Central Time by going to 2425 Owens Rd., Ashland, AL 36251. There is no cost and any donations are strictly voluntary.
For questions, call +2563547124.