I never thought I had a social media addiction. I’d never stayed up scrolling all night; my sleep always took priority. I could detach from my phone when on holiday. I never flicked through my “explore” page hoping to find something else to spark my interest – my own feeds were enough to satisfy me. Sure, I’d check my phone impulsively throughout the day without even realising, but didn’t we all?
Last year, all of that changed, upending my understanding of social media addiction completely. I was working three days a week as a press officer while freelancing and trying to maintain some semblance of a social life at the time, and I knew I would only be able to meet my deadline if I got rid of as many pointless distractions as possible. Social media had to be one. So I downloaded an app called Opal, which allows you to block apps between certain times of day. To fit in my writing hours, I blocked Instagram, TikTok, Twitter and LinkedIn from 8:30-5:30pm daily.
Within weeks, the behavioural conditioning that I’d unconsciously consented to since getting my first smartphone aged 13 was clear. I couldn’t go 15 minutes without reaching for my phone, and the disappointment would surge each time I realised I couldn’t get that instant dopamine hit.
I had to remind myself that these social media platforms had invested unimaginable amounts of money and research in order to get us hooked in the first place. It wasn’t my fault that I was addicted, it was by design. Notifications like banners, alerts, vibrations and red dots trigger dopamine releases, with the constant scroll and refresh of our feeds acting like slot machines.
Over the next few months, however, the disappointment of picking up a boring phone eased. What was left was a subtle feeling of comfort, knowing that I had taken a small step towards reclaiming my own attention.
It felt good knowing I wasn’t just writing more words, I was regaining agency and control over my own mind. My writing flowed from a steady place of calm, rather than a place of urgent panic. Instead of unconsciously scrolling in my spare time, I could finally read that book I’d been waiting to have time for. It was as if I was returning to my childhood – a life before social media existed, where my time wasn’t defined in what I shared online.
Reducing my time on social media didn’t only have a mental impact, it had a physical one too. As I spent less of my daily life scrolling, I freed up time for new hobbies. I fell in love with aerial yoga and hula-hooping and even started meditating.
Having previously walked around with my face down looking at my phone, I started to actually pay attention to my surroundings. I noticed the seasons changing. I took pleasure in walking somewhere without needing a source of digital media to keep my mind busy. I ditched my noise-cancelling headphones, and now I can tell the difference between the birdsongs of a chiffchaff and a greenfinch.
I finally found time to commit to things I’ve previously thought I didn’t have the time for outside of work. Since the loss of my sister two years ago, I’ve been campaigning with Bereaved Families for Online Safety, attending meetings with MPs and activists in my spare time. It feels deeply rewarding to know I’m spending my time offline pouring efforts into something I care so much about, instead of consuming content I never chose to see.
Logging off for large parts of my day has rekindled my appreciation for the little things that make life so much more fulfilling. Spontaneous conversations with strangers on the bus or in a cafe, which used to be rare occurrences, now happen whenever I leave the house. I’ve read more books in the past year than I have since childhood, because I’m no longer spending all my spare time consuming rage battles on X.
I used to care way too much about what strangers online thought about me. I’m a people person who loves sharing my thoughts and connecting with others, so posting on social media has felt natural since I first did as a 10 year old on Facebook.
But the reality is that I wasn’t just posting to express myself and connect to others – I was posting for validation, with likes and comments feeling like a virtual pat on the back. You only really notice this dependency on external validation when it doesn’t come.
Since my mind’s less occupied with overthinking about how strangers perceive me, I pay more attention to how I can show up for the people I care most about. When I’m sitting opposite someone I love, I no longer itch to take a photo of the catch-up for my Instagram story. Instead, I’m present for the conversation (revolutionary, I know!).
And while I’ve seen the changes in me, I’ve also noticed the same in my friends, as if by osmosis. Chatting over Whatsapp or iMessage is no longer a priority. Instead we make time to see each other in person, even if it only happens every month or so. Being more intentional with my screentime has changed my social life for the better and research backs this; a study this year found passive social media use is linked to loneliness.
The girls’ holidays I’ve discussed with friends that were previously hypothetical dreams romanticised over text conversations and TikTok exchanges have actually happened. I’ve realised that while a FaceTime chat is nice, it’ll never be more than a supplement to the quality time that you get when you’re sitting next to a friend. The connections I’ve spent years making online have now started to become a real-life community, and I now host Logging Off Club events where phones are ditched at the door and people can make new friends.
I managed to finish writing my book in just under a year and did not switch social media back on. I’ve kept it at its new low, because it’s genuinely changed my life for the better.
Now, I find social media a lot less interesting. In the evenings when my Opal time slot ends and I’m free to scroll, I find I’m bored within minutes. It’s rare for me to lose hours scrolling in a mindless trance. I’ve started a Logging Off Club with my friend, where we’ll host events to bring people together in person and off our screens, and to spread that feeling of empowerment that comes with reclaiming our lives.
As a 25-year-old Gen Zer, it’s easy to think we’re destined to be inseparable from our digital devices and the butt end of our boomer relatives’ jokes about social media addiction. But we didn’t ask for this either. Bringing back the intention that characterised the early days of the internet, when screentime was reserved to a corner of our family room, and ended when you powered off, can help us reclaim not only our attention, but our lives too.
Logging Off: The Human Cost of Our Digital World publishes in June with Trapeze and is available to pre-order now
