It’s Not Me, It’s You. (Okay, It’s Both of Us.)
...a story about codependency, boundaries, and a screen.
THE BREAKUP
This was the strongest relationship I’d ever had. Not strong in the healthy sense—strong in the ‘we've been through everything together’ sense. A committed, unwavering, all-consuming bond. We communicated constantly, sometimes obsessively. We spent every waking (and sleeping) moment together. We were, by every definition, codependent.
And I knew it needed to end.
For weeks, I wrestled with the decision, going back and forth, justifying why we should stay together. Maybe I just need boundaries. Maybe a little space would help. Maybe it’s not as bad as I think. Classic denial. Pretending it was a “me” problem when, deep down, I knew. This wasn’t a rough patch. It wasn’t a phase. It was toxic. And then, just before the holidays, I finally faced the truth.
This wasn’t a relationship. This was an addiction.
And my significant other? Wasn’t even a person.
It was my phone.
THE DENIAL
Social media and I have never been the best of friends. There was a time when I didn’t even have it, and I can’t say I was worse off. I would’ve defined our relationship as acquaintances, maybe. Colleagues, at best. I understood its necessity, its utility, but I never loved it. I used to believe I had self-control. I wasn’t one of those people—the ones who overshared.
Which made it so much worse when I realized that, despite all my smug self-awareness, I had still somehow become the human equivalent of a slot machine addict, mindlessly refreshing the same three apps in search of… what, exactly? Enlightenment? Validation? A sign from the universe that I wasn’t wasting my life?
Without realizing it was happening, there I was, scrolling like my life depended on it, consuming endless content that was neither fulfilling nor particularly useful. I felt as though I knew too much and yet nothing at the same time. I knew more about celebrity feuds and 9 part true crime exposés than I did about my own priorities.
My attention span? Vanished. Like it had been hollowed out, leaving behind a shell of a person who could no longer sit in silence without filling it with something—anything.
I started to notice it everywhere. I wasn’t just using my phone—I was inhabiting it. Filling every empty moment with mindless consumption. I found myself scrolling mid-meal, mid-conversation, mid-thought. My hand reached for it before my brain even registered what I was doing. Because God forbid I just exist without staring at a screen.
Although with a lack of experience, I was pretty sure this was what addiction felt like—the dopamine hits, the constant need for more, the inability to put it down even when I knew it was making me feel worse.
None of this was groundbreaking insight. Many of us feel this way. Many of us keep going back.
And then, one day, I just… stopped.
Not entirely. I still use social media for work, for connection, for “creative self-expression”. But I stopped doomscrolling. I stopped reaching for it in every empty moment. And though I wish I could say there was some grand epiphany that led to this change, the truth is simpler—I just got tired.
I had exhausted myself with the constant, mindless intake of information I didn’t ask for and didn’t need. My brain felt bloated. Like I had been consuming too much, but never actually digesting anything.
I thought I’d done a pretty good job of breaking up with my phone.
THE INTERVENTION
And then, the TikTok ban happened.
For fourteen hours, my account—registered in the U.S.—was inaccessible.
It wasn’t a big deal, not really, but the way I reacted to it was.
I noticed things. The way my own mind worked when it wasn’t being hijacked. The fact that I’d been walking around my apartment without looking at a screen. The strange, disorienting feeling of time stretching out, instead of slipping away.
That realization was the final push I needed. Even with my “reduced usage”, I still felt its absence. Not in a catastrophic way, but in an I don’t know what to do with myself kind of way. The amount I accomplished in that window of time was staggering. The amount of, dare I say, coherent thoughts I had? Even more so. It was as if my brain, starved for clarity, finally had room to breathe.
So I did what any self-respecting, slightly unhinged person does when faced with their own bad habits: I set boundaries.
Boundaries, I should mention, make me deeply uncomfortable—they’ve never been my strong suit. I once witnessed two strangers setting a boundary in public and I cried. That’s what we’re dealing with here. But even though the empath within me may disagree, my phone doesn’t have feelings. I could put it in its place—literally—without guilt.
I gave my phone a designated home, away from the spaces I frequent. It doesn’t live in my bed, doesn’t follow me into every room, doesn’t get to be the first or last thing I see each day. The separation was weird at first—like breaking up with someone you still live with, awkwardly avoiding eye contact. But over time, it’s gotten easier.
And while I still pick it up out of habit, I’ve noticed something fascinating: the thrill is gone. The endless scroll isn’t nearly as satisfying because the voids are being filled elsewhere. [No dirty jokes here—I’ve already thought of them all.]
I still use social media, but it’s intentional now. My phone stays in its designated spot. If I want to use it, I stand. And standing is a surprisingly effective deterrent. It turns out, my willpower is weak, but my laziness is stronger.
THE REBOUND
So, what am I doing instead?
For one, I have a social life. A real one. One that requires me to be physically present, make eye contact, and—brace yourself—sometimes even leave my apartment. Moving to London was a catalyst for all of this, and I finally have the time and energy to invest in friendships without the subconscious pull of my phone. I show up fully, without half-listening while my brain secretly itches for an update I don’t need.
I’m creating in a way that feels more meaningful. I still film content, but with a camera, not my phone. Editing happens on my computer, which means my phone no longer demands my attention every second of the day.
I’m consuming content differently. I watch movies. Whole, entire movies. Without pausing to check for spoilers. [A miracle]. I read—actual books with pages—and, yes, as a writer, I should be reading, but I wasn’t doing enough of it. Now, I am. And it’s inspiring my own writing in ways I forgot it could.
I journal. Not consistently, but more than I ever have. I collect small moments, print photos, and piece them together in ways that make my life feel tangible again. And in doing so, I’ve rediscovered the power of… wait for it… thinking. Not the fragmented, half-thoughts that usually lived in my head between posts and updates and notifications. Real thinking. Uninterrupted thoughts, strung together in a way I hadn’t experienced in, well, a long time. For the first time in years, my mind has space for ideas that are mine.
That space—that mental real estate I’ve reclaimed—has led to bigger things. I’m working on a new book. Well, books. A play. A movie. Projects I’ve been meaning to start for years but never had the mental space to dive into. Turns out, when you stop bombarding your brain with endless noise, creativity has a place to show up.
The results of the above are undeniable. I sleep better. My anxiety is… less. Noticeably less. I notice the little things and my curiosity is functioning again after a very long hiatus. My self-talk is healthier. The comparison trap? Avoided entirely because I’m no longer putting myself in it. I choose what I see, who I follow, what I consume. My world feels smaller in the best way—curated, intentional, mine. The less time I spend with my phone, the more time I spend with my life.
And all of this is possible thanks to the once-mythical, now strangely abundant gift of time. Some days, time feels almost too long. I’ll look at the clock, expecting it to be late afternoon, only to realize it’s barely 11 AM. It turns out, when you’re not trapped in a cycle of compulsive scrolling, time expands. I’d spent years thinking there weren’t enough hours in the day, only to realize that—there were plenty, I’d just been losing them to my phone.
I know the irony of all of this. You’re likely reading this on your phone right now. Phones aren’t going anywhere—they’re part of modern life, and I’m not pretending otherwise. But I am saying there’s a different way to exist with them. A way that allows for connection without compulsion, presence without distraction, entertainment without dependency.
It’s not a perfect science and I won’t pretend I don’t still use it, that I’ve transcended into some phone-free utopia where I only communicate via handwritten letters carried by pigeons. I still post. I still scroll. And some days, I pick up my phone and suddenly know more about a stranger’s divorce than I do about my own life.
But at least now, I notice it. My phone is no longer the thing I reach for in every empty space. It no longer dictates the rhythm of my day. I’m not saying I’ll never check in. Some breakups don’t end in complete silence.
But I already know how that story ends.
I have better things to do now. And more than anything, I’m finally not afraid of what I might be missing.
Because the truth is, I had been missing something.
Not updates. Not trends. Not breaking news about people I don’t know.
I’d been missing my own life.
File Under: ‘I Put My Phone Down and My Life Didn’t End.’
—The Ash Files—Where life’s unexpected moments get filed away—sometimes neatly, sometimes under “figure it out later.” From writer/creator ASH, expect weekly musings, honest stories, and a reminder that no one has life entirely figured out [least of all me].✨
This is how I feel about social media. It’s a great distraction from my chronic pain but at what cost?
Really enjoyed this one! I've actually been battling with the thought today that what I consume in a lot of podcasts and sports is making me compare myself to all these elite performers and super influential people. I'm trying to think of it positively though, I need to get out and meet more local people!