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LifestyleMental Health

by Dara Morgan

Offline And Loving It: Notes From a Digital Detox

11 Jul 2025

Image: OpenAI x The Sandy Times

Let me start with the bold claim: I went offline during my latest holiday — and I will most probably do it again. Voluntarily. With actual joy. Eventually.
You see, I have spent my entire professional life in digital, with just a few exceptions. For years I prided myself on being that person — always reachable, always available, always on. I replied to emails faster than you could say “urgent,” kept my phone closer than a childhood trauma, and considered “vacation” just a change of backdrop for my inbox. My out-of-office used to read: “In case of emergency, DM me on WhatsApp.” Yes, that was my personal number. I made a lifestyle of being online. I made it a virtue. I made it a bit tragic, really.
At the time, I was working as a fashion journalist, which sounds glamorous, but brings you neurosis instead of that front-row-chic. The thrill of breaking a story before anyone else? Electrifying. The constant whirr of Slack, Instagram, WhatsApp, email, notifications, Google Docs, shared calendars, and the occasional frantic voice note? Soul-numbing. Somewhere between exclusive coverage and mental fatigue, I realised I had mistaken hyper-connectivity for productivity.
And here is where it got sadder: I started resenting people who took longer than 90 seconds to reply. “They are literally holding their phone — what is taking them so long?” Meanwhile, I was forgetting basic sentences halfway through writing them and assuming I was just a lazy cow. Plot twist: it was not laziness. It was, in fact, focus fatigue.
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Image: OpenAI x The Sandy Times

It took me years (and a decent therapist) to untangle the delightful cocktail of workaholism, screen addiction, FOMO, and a touch of anxiety that I was calling “a career.” Fast forward a bit, and I found myself out of the corporate spiral and into a healthier setup: a team I like, actual weekends off, digital curfews after 8 pm (unless someone is on fire), and the wild idea that nothing — and I do mean nothing — is urgent enough to die for. Sounds divine, does it not?
And yet. Despite the newfound balance, I noticed I was still wired. Literally and emotionally. I was consuming reels like they were vitamins, sleeping poorly, and apparently unable to watch a single film without checking my phone at least nine times. Don't even get me started on the multitasking myth — it isn't real. It is a capitalist fairytale.
So I did something radical. I rented a cottage in the countryside (yes, with cows and deer farm nearby), tied up loose ends at work, slapped on an “offline avatar” in my apps, and deleted Instagram and my messaging apps. I kept Maps, the camera, and emergency calls — I am not unhinged.

Here is what happened

Day one and two
Absolute hell. Withdrawal isn't just for caffeine and bad exes, apparently. I was convinced I had been fired, ghosted, or catastrophically forgotten. I imagined group chats full of urgent updates, friendships dissolving, and opportunities missed (in July? Honestly). I allowed myself one app for emergency contact and called my parents to confirm the planet had not imploded. And yes, I know it is technically cheating, but I wasn't quite ready for full vipassana-in-a-locker madness. And I don't think I will ever be.
Day three and four
After a couple of days something miraculous happened — I relaxed. Slowly. My resting heart rate returned to human levels. I noticed the actual world — the smell of the trees, the silence of a cottage without notifications, the ability to read for more than 15 minutes without checking whether someone on Instagram had just launched a new brainrot trend.
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Image: OpenAI x The Sandy Times

What I discovered

There is so. Much. Time
With no memes to exchange or reels to doomscroll, I had the day to myself. I read, I went for walks, I journaled like a Victorian woman, I planned my birthday (the 30th one, right), I exercised, and still made it to bed before midnight. I used to think “slow living” meant doing nothing. It doesn't. It means doing everything — but actually experiencing it.
Boredom is a gift
A cursed gift, like socks from your aunt, but a gift nonetheless. Normally, if I am bored, I launch TikTok and disappear. But left alone with my thoughts (the horror sometimes), I had no choice but to come up with something interesting. Eventually, my brain stopped resisting and offered up some ideas — real ones. Like a weird muscle you forget you have.
Re-entry is... fun?
When I finally redownloaded Instagram, I was welcomed back by a hundred glittery distractions. I watched some. I laughed. Then I closed the app. Without crying. The best bit? I no longer felt compelled to check it every other minute. I now treat my screen time like dessert — enjoyable in moderation, regrettable in excess. And no, I didn't dive back into work immediately. I gave myself a soft landing. I highly recommend it.
So yes — I will be doing this again. As Gen Z dives deeper into their screens, I, a proud elder millennial, am swimming back toward the surface. I grew up with the internet. I don't want to drown in it.