We wake up to notifications, check them before we drink water, before we register the weight of the day ahead. The glow of the screen sets the tone. A like, a comment, a message — we begin the morning measuring our worth in metrics. We post, we scroll, we compare. The feed is endless. So is the need to keep up.
It did not start this way. Social media promised connection, the easy intimacy of a shared moment, the ability to reach across time zones, continents. But somewhere along the way, it became a performance. Visibility became currency, engagement the measure of value. We see vacations we can’t afford, bodies we’ll never have, careers that seem effortless, relationships that look cinematic. The algorithm rewards us for staying, punishes us for leaving. Logging off feels like falling behind.
Story continues below this ad
We tell ourselves we are in control. That we could stop anytime. We talk about digital detoxes the way we talk about diets, something we intend to start on Monday. But the truth is, stepping away feels like erasure. The fear is not just missing out — it is becoming irrelevant. If we are not seen, do we still exist?
Stepping away is also impractical. The phone is no longer just a device for leisure; it is the portal to everything. Work emails, Slack notifications, calendar reminders, breaking news alerts — all tied to the same device that delivers endless distraction. To put it down is to risk missing an urgent update, a last-minute meeting, a world event unfolding in real time. The boundary between work and life has blurred beyond recognition, making detachment not just difficult but nearly impossible. Even rest feels interrupted, a momentary pause before the next ping, the next demand for attention.
So, we keep posting, keep scrolling, keep curating lives that look more like advertising campaigns than lived experiences. We engage because engagement is the expectation. The exhaustion is quiet but constant, a hum beneath the surface of daily life. We do not remember what it felt like to experience a moment without the reflex to document it. When was the last time we watched a sunset without reaching for our phones? When was the last time we experienced something without wondering how it might look to someone else?
Story continues below this ad
We see proof of life through stories, captions, and filtered images. And yet, there are moments between posts that remain unaccounted for. The spaces where real life unfolds — messy, uncurated, unworthy of engagement. These moments should be enough, but they are not. The dopamine rush of a like, the brief validation of a comment, the feeling of being seen — these are hard to relinquish. The feed scrolls on, indifferent, insatiable.
Our attention, fragmented. Our time, eroded. We trade hours of our lives for the flicker of interaction, for the illusion of community. We consume and are consumed in return. We look at our own reflections in filtered images and wonder why they do not align with how we feel. The exhaustion settles deeper. A weight we do not name but carry all the same.
The impact is not just psychological but physical. The blue light disturbs our sleep cycles, the constant stimulation rewires our brains, shortening our attention spans. The body registers stress in ways we do not fully understand — tight shoulders, shallow breathing, a restlessness we cannot quite name. The act of resting itself becomes a performance: A photo of a book beside a cup of coffee, a carefully framed moment of peace to prove we are, in fact, unwinding.
This is not just an addiction; it is an economy. The influencer industry has turned authenticity into a commodity. A morning routine is no longer just a series of actions but an aesthetic, a branding opportunity, a chance to sell a product. Personal milestones are content. Grief is content. Even silence can be curated into a message. And so we participate, even when we do not intend to. Even when we want to stop.
most read
We like to believe we have agency, but we are playing a game where the rules are written against us. These platforms are designed to keep us engaged, engineered to reward compulsive behavior. The endless scroll, the notifications, the unpredictable dopamine hits — they keep us tethered, unable to fully disconnect. We blame ourselves for our lack of discipline, but the truth is, we were never meant to win.
We talk about taking breaks, about stepping away, about reclaiming our time. But the world exists online now, and opting out feels radical. Work, social life, news, entertainment — all funneled through the same glass screen. There is no clean separation. To exist, to participate, is to engage. To disappear is to be forgotten.
And yet, there are moments of rebellion. When we put the phone down. When we exist outside the frame. When we remember how it felt to be present, untethered. These moments feel small, insignificant. But they are not. They remind us that life is not measured in likes or shares, that presence cannot be quantified. They remind us that stepping away is not disappearance, but return — to ourselves, to the world, to something real beyond the screen.
The writer is a consultant at AON
