‘Appstinence’

I knew I had a screen addiction the moment my little sister entered my bedroom to chat about her day, and my instinct was to sigh in annoyance. This cherished biological friend of mine wanted to vent about normal teenage things and ask for guidance. Yet, I preferred the warm, little rectangle in my hand over a conversation with someone I adored and now see increasingly less and less of.

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This wasn’t a one-time occurrence. This happened nearly every evening she knocked on my door two summers ago. How lucky am I to have a teenage sister who still thinks I’m cool? One who wants to sit on my bed every evening to share a giggle and say goodnight.

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Addiction involves compulsively choosing one thing over another; a healthier option that you consciously want or need, such as picking continuous isolation over meaningful connection with loved ones. Choosing your algorithm over your baby sister.

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I understand I’m laying it on pretty thick here. That’s what a hook is supposed to do.

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This particular evening was followed by a moment of instant objectivity and clarity. Fact 1: A loved one wanted to interact with me. Fact 2: I had convinced myself, after a long day of social isolation, that doomscrolling was the better choice.

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If you’ve ever had one of these moments of guilt, I’m here to tell you that this story can end positively. It did for me. I was entirely unhappy with the way I was living, and I wanted to crave healthy things again. My social media addiction was in the way.

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If you were anything like me growing up, instant access to social media wasn’t a part of your life until roughly middle school. Before then, you woke up, went to school, attended your extracurriculars, got home and then … what did you do?

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What did you fill your evenings with? Your weekends? The winter ones, where the outdoors weren’t an option?

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Can you remember what you got up to?

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It’s all blurry for me — I did my best to repress those awkward preteen years — but I’ll let you in on the physical reminders I have. Stacks of dusty notebooks line my bookshelf, full of short stories, sketches, unfinished novels, hand-drawn comics and diary rants about which sibling had ruined my mood. Near those books are handmade bracelets, track medals, cool rocks, old instruments and coin collections.

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How many childhood relics sit in your room, reminders of the kid you used to be?

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Surely many people have sat down to focus on a task, blinked and realized they’d been on their phone for 30 minutes. Recent studies have found that the human attention span has shrunk to 47 seconds. Why is it so difficult to focus on simple tasks? Why do we feel that tug to use artificial intelligence on our homework the moment we meet resistance? Do you remember what you did before having instant access to the internet? I remember being curious, active and creative.

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Last year, I deleted TikTok and Instagram from my phone. Now, I access them on my computer occasionally, setting timers at five-minute intervals to avoid becoming engrossed. Before then, I’d set screen time limits on my phone, which were easily dismissed with a mindless tap.

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I deleted social media because I often told my friends it never made me feel good. I constantly found myself wondering what I’d be up to if I didn’t feel this constant itch to pick up my phone and scroll endlessly. Every Sunday, I’d feel sick to my stomach when my screen time data would inform me that I’d spent four, five, even six hours every single day on my phone. This inspired dread and self-deprecation, but never change.

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Have you ever considered how easy it is to click “Ignore Limit For Today” and continue scrolling? Do you think that design choice is an accident? Do you think any design choice on your phone is?

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A 2025 National Institutes of Health study found that social media addictions are, in part, a result of the human body’s inconsistent ability to measure time. Five minutes spent waiting for a late friend feels disproportionately longer than five minutes spent scrolling through Instagram. This primarily has to do with the stimuli you’re exposed to in a given period, which is what your brain uses to gauge the passage of time.

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Scrolling through short-form videos, for example, creates the illusion of time flying because your brain doesn’t stay in one place for too long; it’s being exposed to so many different stimuli in rapid succession. Some researchers have pointed out that social media algorithms prey upon the same phenomenon that makes gambling so addictive: intermittent reinforcement.

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Picture a slot machine. Players may not win every time, but the prospect of winning every so often gives them the endurance necessary to keep coming back.

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Now, think about your social media feed. Not every post that appears on your feed is a winner. Not every single one interests you or prompts a reaction. But the next one might. 

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I make this connection not only because researchers also use this analogy, but because I have friends who joke about foraging through feeds to find the “good” posts. Awarding yourself a sensation of success through consuming and creating a worthy algorithm makes social media feel more gratifying than it really is.

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Tapping “Ignore Limit For Today” is so easy because it’s designed to be. Although there’s no specific study for me to cite here (yet), this isn’t a radical position. Take it from this Reddit comment I stumbled upon in my research where a user recounts the struggle of limiting their TikTok use.                                 

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“the problem for me was that ignore button brain where you know its two clicks away from freedom and you end up scrolling again, like a reflex you cant even catch,” the post read.

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Keeping your brain hooked with unpredictable bursts of dopamine is precisely what makes it so hard to stop scrolling. You may tell yourself you’ll log off on a high note after one last engaging post and a little kick. But that high is actually what encourages your brain to keep going.

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I’ll tell you what I learned about myself after I deleted my social media apps. I learned that algorithms had me by a much tighter grip than I was willing to admit. It was like taking a tablet from a spoiled child.

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The “iPad kid” stereotype is often used to make a jab at older generations for raising children who are seemingly unable to entertain themselves without screen access. These toddlers can’t sit through a five-minute car ride without some sort of digital stimulation. I can’t help but see the similarities in our generation's screen usage. How many young adults feel the need to fill their idle moments with some form of entertainment without perceiving it the same way?

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That stretch of winding down before bed, that hour after class, those five minutes while you wait for a friend who is running late — what would your brain be up to, if not consuming some form of digital media? What ideas would you have, what doodles would you scribble in the margins, what kinds of hobbies would you pursue if you reduced your screen time by an hour each day?

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Despite your hectic life, you find time for scrolling. You make time for it. Or, at least, I did.

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Lately, I’ve been reclaiming what has always been mine: time. I realized I didn’t really know myself outside my preferred flavor of consumerism (the type of miniskirt I own, my favorite energy drink, the shows I enjoy).

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I’ve been doing the things that people wish they had time for — reading, journaling, exercising, organizing, mailing letters, beating unfinished video games, happily assisting my parents with menial tasks and, sometimes, nothing at all.

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The best part is not about optimizing your life and fully utilizing your time. It’s just about living.

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Often, I found myself rushing through my real life so I could lie in bed and mindlessly scroll to “decompress.” I was living to earn screen time. What do you plan to do with all the time you save cutting corners, avoiding awkward silence, skimming texts and copying answers? Is consuming media alone in your room really a healthier use of your time?

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Why not read the entire chapter you were assigned for class? Why not have that silly conversation? Why not practice that hobby you’re awful at? You’ll find much more rewarding pastimes offline, I promise.

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You are so much more than a data mine. Your time on this planet is finite.

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There’s an interview with Bo Burnham, a musical comedian who found fame online at a young age, where he contextualized addictive social media algorithms.

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“It’s because these companies like Twitter [now X] and YouTube and Instagram and everything, they went public, and they went to shareholders, so they have to grow,” Burnham said in the interview. “Their entire models are based on growth; they cannot stay stagnant … No matter how nice it’s trying to be, they are trying to get more engagement from you …”

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He goes on to analogize attention spans as the next fertile lands for colonization, arguing that megacorporations essentially want people to be online as much as possible so they can build a consumer profile and efficiently target ads. Revenue, after all, is the main goal. The user’s well-being is not.

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I’m not saying you should delete your social media accounts entirely. I haven’t done that. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to check in on acquaintances and send memes to your friends captioned “usss.” I’m saying it’s also important to be aware of all the little ways your apps monopolize your attention and steal time away from your life.

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If you’re like I was and you secretly admire the chronically offline population, know this: The only person capable of making a meaningful change is you. Your algorithms will continue to adapt to your preferences, and your feeds will likely never be less appealing.

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Get your friends to join you in your quest for offlinehood. Oftentimes, sticking with a new habit feels easier in groups. In the book “Cultish,” Amanda Montell wrote that habits are statistically much more likely to stay if they’re done in a group (not that I’m equating TikTok to cults, though there are some surprising similarities, like the use of coded language, including buzzwords, trending audios, meme templates, etc., to signify a special in-group status).

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After I deleted my addictive apps, my best friend did the same. Now, we send each other long articles to read, recommend books, doodle, sit in comfortable silence, write creatively, exercise and talk about meaningless drama. I include that last item because I want to emphasize that there is still plenty of room in your life for frivolous fun without social media.

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If you have no idea where to get started, remember to ask yourself what things you aren’t making time for now. What kinds of routines are in your ideal future?

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Delete social media from your phone for a start, or set screen limits and give only a trusted friend the password. Set goals for yourself. Apps like Steppin and Steptime allow you to unlock screen time based on your movement for the day. Campaigns like appstinence.org can provide you with a community, support and a step-by-step plan for reclaiming your time.

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Fill your free time with fulfilling activities instead of buying trendy products in the hopes of feeling like you’re part of a larger community. You are a human being with interests, experiences, intelligence, creativity and stories. You have inherent value. Trends and TikTok catchphrases won’t change that.

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Shower the people in your life with love. Handwrite thank-you notes. Have hobbies. Be bad at them, be terrible. Free yourself from the crippling fear of cringe. Fill your time with formation and feeling, and let security seep back into your life.

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You can do it. Allow yourself to believe it. I did.

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