Image Credit: Geneva O’Hara, A pre-smartphone photo of a younger me by my mother, Maria.

“I have the feeling I’ll never smoke again. I hate the idea of going to a doctor and having him tell me I’ve got lung cancer. But my favorite thing is that it’s such a novelty to deny myself something. The discipline is really marvelous. Discipline is really great—I love it.” —Eve Babitz

Have you ever tried to get off your phone by downloading another app? Have you ever tried yoga, green juice, and strict New Year’s resolutions in the endless pursuit of wellness? Have you been wanting to get offline, “go analogue,” start a vinyl collection, and disappear off the face of the earth? It would appear that many of us have.

I’ve considered flip phones, I’ve considered deleting Instagram, and in desperate times, I’ve considered exorbitant levels of counter-productive consumerism to de-digitalise my life (a DVD for each film on my watchlist, a separate notebook for every thought, et cetera). I’ve witnessed all the trend cycles: I’ve watched Barbie pink cycle into “clean girl”, turning over into Carolyn Bessette’s once “timeless” now “viral” aesthetic. I’ve considered all the hobbies: mental health walks, collage-making, self-proclaimed “third-space” coffee shops; I’ve told all of my friends I’d delete social media if not for them. But at what point do we stop referencing what everyone else is doing and start noticing ourselves? Remarking on hours and hours of doomscrolling that spends all your energy without lifting a finger, it resembles being trapped in a cage where you hold the key. Breaking the cycle is as much about self-respect as it is the trance itself.

There is no magic fix to a screen time addiction. Everyone I know has tried everything they can. There is, however, a more diligent fix; a difficult one—and yet, that’s what makes it work. A habit that dies hard leaves a sting when it goes, and yet it’s also a reward. Discipline, strengthened like a muscle, leaves one feeling accomplished. The tension is what carries you through, especially at first. It’s not an easy cure, or a silver bullet—but it’s the first step to one that sticks.

While “things I did instead of doomscrolling” lists have been cast aside as ineffective, there is still one thing to do “instead of doomscrolling” that I can vouch for. For me, it’s the only thing that works: reading. Whereas surfing social media for hours is draining, reading is fulfilling. A form of entertainment that enriches the mind, there’s a fascinating story out there for everyone. Whenever I notice I’ve begun spending more time online, it’s because I’m in between books. Just like mindlessly scrolling or checking messages in the interims of the day, a novel is ready to be picked up and put down whenever suitable. 
This is one suggestion in a pool teeming with strategies that work for some and not others. It works for me, and it might not work for you. The important part–the hard part–is the denial. Eve Babitz, on quitting smoking, wrote of the novelty in denying oneself something: finding a pleasure in it somehow. It’s a good place to start. There is not always a “novelty” to be felt in giving up a fixation, such as the modern digital craze; however, it needs to be done anyway. Some days it will feel rewarding to get the craft supplies out instead of opening the explore page, and some days it won’t. However, if we’re serious about giving up even a portion of our screentime, we need simply to do it anyway.

When we are truly focused on taking care of ourselves, we must recognise that we do not always want what is best for us—and yet, that we still need to work towards it. Sometimes, I put my phone down, and I do feel novel: I feel intellectual, cool, and exciting. Other times, I just feel bored. In allowing the boredom to exist, however, something else inevitably begins: a new thought, a new rhythm, a new chase. Passive consumption is the inhibitor of creativity: after we log out, especially for longer periods, we can begin our own individual pursuits. When the novelty wears off, where do we turn? Perhaps to comfort, or to passion; somewhere, no doubt, worthwhile–and phone-free.