After I logged out of FB for the last time in mid December, I had a growing feeling that it was for good. I had a few false starts, but the headlines about social media’s role in our culture confirmed what I knew – that FB and I needed to break up for good.

I had it all planned out.

I was going to log in one final time, download my archive, and delete my account. I even did a search ahead of time so I would know what I was doing and wouldn’t have to spend any more time than was necessary on my account. My heart rate picked up as I pulled up the browser window. It wasn’t anticipation, it was trepidation. I knew coming back after weeks away would be overwhelming. Facebook would try to make me feel like I had missed everything. I probably had. I had missed a lot of moments. I knew I’d been tagged in photos from our recent trip. I knew at least one person had had a baby in my absence.

I wasn’t going to get sucked in. And I didn’t. But of course, it wasn’t that easy to call it quits. Creating an archive, as I should have guessed, is not automatic. Eleven years of data apparently takes time to compile, even when it’s all tagged with my name.

So I am left waiting for the callback from my ex, telling me the box of possessions from his apartment is ready for pick up.

When I get the email, saying my archive is ready for download, I can go back, and THEN I can delete my account forever.

I wonder what the archive will look like. Will it be chronological? Useful? Will be it an unorganized jumble of data that I can’t do anything with? I’ve used this platform for over a decade to organize my memories and share my life. I don’t even know what I can take away from it when I leave.

It was a reminder of why I am leaving – when I was there, I wasn’t in charge of my content. I don’t even have control of how I leave. But I AM leaving, and it feels good.