Temporarily Without WhatsApp: How Fragile Our Digital Reachability Is

540 words, 3 minutes reading time
By: Sjoerd Blom
Sjoerd Blom
Sjoerd Blom is married and the father of two teenage daughters. He loves good food, travel, and technical gadgets. Sjoerd mainly writes about the world, travel, and WordPress.

This morning I decided to do some housekeeping in WhatsApp. Old videos, endlessly forwarded GIFs, voice notes I don’t even remember the context of anymore. All in all, about five gigabytes of data. Nice and tidy, I thought.

Until later that morning.

Out of nowhere, my WhatsApp account was blocked. No notifications, no chats, no way to send or read messages. Nothing at all. As if someone had silently pulled the plug.

The timing felt suspicious. Could deleting such a large amount of data have been flagged as “unusual behaviour”? Possibly interpreted that way by Meta, WhatsApp’s parent company. I’ll probably never know.

What you can do in that situation is submit a request to have your account reviewed. Along with the friendly note that the average waiting time is about 24 hours. And then you wait.

After a solid twelve hours, the relief arrived: WhatsApp was working again. Genuinely reassuring. I could once more communicate with friends and acquaintances, without Mark Zuckerberg (temporarily) standing in the way.

But those twelve hours without access made something very clear. It’s surprisingly uncomfortable when such a central communication channel suddenly disappears. Quickly messaging someone? Not possible. Following a group chat? Forget it. Even practical things like “I’ll be a bit late” or “is it still on?” suddenly became difficult.

It’s only when you lose access to your WhatsApp account that you really feel how big a role that single app plays in your social life. For many people, WhatsApp is the internet. The address book. The diary. Casual conversation. All rolled into one.

And that’s where it starts to feel uneasy. Because that access isn’t really yours. It’s conditional. An algorithm, an automated system, or a mistake on the other side can be enough to temporarily cut you off from your network.

I do have Signal installed as well. And I use it. With a few people. But most of my friends and contacts don’t want to switch. “Everyone’s on WhatsApp anyway.” And just like that, the circle closes again.

The fact that a single company has so much influence over something as basic as staying in touch remains uncomfortable. Of course, I’m not jumping to conspiracy theories. And yes, platforms need to prevent abuse. But transparency is often completely lacking. No clear reason, no real explanation—just a form and a waiting period.

If you’re curious about WhatsApp’s own perspective, you can check the official WhatsApp website or Meta’s information pages at about.meta.com. For those seriously considering alternatives, Signal puts a strong emphasis on privacy and minimal dependence on centralised power.

This small incident got me thinking. Not angrily, not anxiously—but more sharply.

  • What if this hadn’t lasted twelve hours, but two days? Or a week?
  • How many ways do you still have to reach people if WhatsApp disappears tomorrow?
  • Is the convenience of “everyone is on it” really more important than autonomy?
  • And perhaps the most uncomfortable question of all: how much power do we actually consider acceptable for a platform that once started as a simple chat app?

No ready-made answers. Just questions that linger— even now that my WhatsApp is working perfectly again.