Why I (Strongly) Feel You Should Keep Posting on Instagram

Growing up, I used to enjoy getting lost in the artsy forest that was my mind. I could see a picture and spin a story around it. The sight of a random old, angry man would be just that to others but to me, he was a character waiting to be placed in one of the novels I was reading. I liked imagining I could experience other people through the fragments of them I had access to. It kept my thoughts busy, and I liked that.

This was one of the reasons I loved our traditional December visits to my grandma in my hometown. I always enjoyed rummaging through her photo albums, which sat on the centre table like an open invitation for guests to glimpse into her life and that of her family—an introduction to her memories. If she caught you staring too hard at a picture, she’d tell you the story behind it. Sometimes, these stories led to lighthearted debates as the adults in the room tried to piece the memory together the way they remembered it, each adding their own version until the room brimmed with laughter. Her photos were grouped—weddings, naming ceremonies, baptisms, burials. But she also had albums filled with random pictures, the kind we’d now call “dumps.” A childhood photo of my dad and his siblings, a picture of her second cousin—someone I didn’t even know, and even a football field with players from the local community school. But no matter how random, there was always a why behind each kept picture.

The photo albums were old and wrinkled, worn from years of being flipped through. They carried the weight of experiences—lives lived and memories carefully preserved, always ready to be retold. I would be engrossed for hours, moving slowly from page to page. I’d transfer myself to the time of these events, trying to understand who was smiling at whom and analyzing the unkempt nature of my dad’s hairy chest wondering how different he looked unshaven and with an Afro. I was fascinated by the pictures and the possibilities of the stories they held—if anyone was reading the thousand words hidden in them, it was me. And I still am today. I love freezing time and capturing memories, though now, I often find myself debating with my friends about why they should share more of theirs.

Let’s face it, hardly anyone keeps physical photo albums anymore, and even if they do, they can’t capture and hold memories the way digital media does. The convenience of not having to print every picture, the constant availability of high-quality camera phones (thank you, technology) and the ease of uploading, curating, and organizing experiences makes documenting life effortless. Think about it. In twenty, fifty years, or even when you have grandkids or grand-niblings who want to know about you or glimpse your experiences—where do you think they’ll look? More importantly, where have you given them the chance to look?

In my opinion, bar Facebook, no app is better suited to being a modern-day photo album than Instagram. It’s a free repository for memories—evidence of moments you want to remember and invite others to share in. A platform to curate customized albums that you can always show, update, and revisit—a digital witness to your life. And with over 2 billion monthly active users worldwide, there’s a chance that the people you’d want to share those moments with are likely already there.

When you have visitors (both digital and physical), how would you invite them into the thousands of words that have shaped your experiences?

To make this as succinct as possible, I’ll bring up the arguments my friends often present and I’ll try to tell you what I tell them:

“I have tons of memories in pictures and videos that you speak of, but they are on my phone. Not for the world to see, just for people I am close to.”

When was the last time you handed someone your phone to look at your pictures? Crickets. 2009? … 2011? …

There was a time when phones were just peripherals to our lives—an auxiliary device you could casually loan out, letting someone scroll through your pictures without a second thought. But not anymore. Advances in technology and payment systems have turned phones into extensions of ourselves. They now hold everything—identification details, digital assets, bank apps, private information, security features. No one hands over their phone just to show a few pictures anymore. Heck, some people won’t even let their spouses.

Most of the memories you keep on your phone become ones only you have access to. They’re experiences that live solely in your device, stories you tell without ever writing down. But the world is always better with your story in it.

And beyond that, phones are deeply personal. When people leave this world, their devices often go with them—sometimes locked away forever, with families unable to access the memories within. You see the point? Your phone is your own private memory bank, but it has little to do with actually sharing those memories. What you want others to see, to experience, to remember with you—those moments have to leave your phone’s gallery to truly be shared.

“Okay, but I don't have perfect pictures to share, and I don't even know how to edit pictures. Have you seen how all these influencers post pictures nowadays? Everything seems so curated, and I don’t have the time or bandwidth to do all of that.” It’s your Instagram. Yours. A space for your experiences and for the people or communities you choose to share them with—those you’re comfortable letting in. You’re not an influencer and have no ambitions to be one (I assume). Your Instagram should work for you, not the other way around. Post what you want, when you want and how you want. Share the memories that matter to you.

That doesn’t mean posting when you’re crying or sharing profoundly personal moments (again, unless you want to). But a seemingly random image of a place—something that might seem insignificant to everyone else—would hold meaning for you, capturing a time or feeling you remember vividly. And later, when you’re scrolling through your feed with loved ones, that image becomes a moment you get to relive and share in your own way. It’s documenting your life in the simplest form. Thats why i love ‘dumps’.

And honestly? Liking your own media is reason enough to post it. They’re great because you like them. Sometimes, it’s not even about loving the way you look in them. It’s the askew, carefree laugh when your sister cracked the funniest joke, the way you scream when your favorite artist sings your favorite song and the way your face lights up on a vacation. The perfection of pictures and videos lies in the feelings they capture—not because they’ve been filtered to a certain hue.

“Posting is the bridge to oversharing, and people have so much insight into your life, sometimes people you don’t even know and sometimes your haters.”

Firstly, nobody cares. No, really. We overestimate how much people actually care about our lives and underestimate how much of an impact we can have just by sharing bits of them. At the same time, we underrate how much control and privacy Instagram allows—even when we choose to share.

Secondly, people care about things that benefit them. Your Instagram post is, for the most part, a fleeting moment in their day—something they view, like, and move on from. A five second break before they return to their own lives. And if, by chance, someone does care, a picture will never reveal what you don’t want to share. You can curate your Instagram to reflect only certain aspects of your life. You decide where your boundaries lie. You decide who you follow and who follows you. You are always in control of what you share and with whom.

On the flip side, your lifestyle might inspire someone. When I started posting about my gymourney—my transformation through fitness and healthy eating—I was only thinking about myself and my gym streaks. I had no idea that two years later, no fewer than eight people would message me out of the blue to say I had inspired them to start working out too. Those messages warm my heart, and they motivate me to keep sharing, hoping the journey might encourage someone else just as it did me.

“Why is it so important?”

We are all unique in our own ways, each of us the main character in a world of over 8 billion stories—it’s incredible when you think about it. What we share becomes part of our legacy, a story that lives on long after we’re gone. The only way for others to witness those moments is through shared media.

I like to think of it as leaving a piece of ourselves behind, a way to exist beyond the constraint of time. Out of billions of stories, yours deserves to be told. So why not take that chance?

You are an inspiration. Let the world witness you.

“But I don”t even do that much. What will I be posting?”

New experiences are how we stay living. It encourages you to anticipate what life has to offer. I try to owe myself an experience every month. Sometimes … most times, it's nothing grandiose, usually just something I have always been curious about. I ensure I experience, capture and share. I also hope it inspires people to find time for things they would like. Life is too fleeting and Instagram reminds me that there’s always space and time to share the experiences and memories I consider beautiful. You should, too.