When Scrolling Makes Real Life Harder to Stay With

You can watch twenty short videos in ten minutes.

But you cannot fast-forward a conversation with someone you love.

A reel catches your attention in seconds. Before you lose interest, another one begins. Something funny. Something shocking. Something moving. Then the next.

Put the phone down, and life moves at a different pace.

Work takes effort. Conversations have pauses. Someone asks a question you have already answered.

You cannot swipe to the next moment.

One of the most troubling things about constant scrolling is that ordinary life can start to feel dull by comparison. The people and experiences we care about have not become less meaningful. But we may find it harder to stay with them.

I have felt that in myself. After watching a lot of short videos, my mind can feel agitated and restless. At the same time, I feel strangely flat. It becomes harder to settle into a conversation or give one thing my full attention.

Research has found links between short-form video use and difficulties with attention and self-control, although there is still much to learn about cause and effect. 

I began to notice what that restlessness was costing me when I visited my dad.

I was with my dad. But I was looking at my phone.

My dad has dementia. Sometimes he asks the same question again and again.

I would feel impatience rising and reach for my phone. For a moment, scrolling gave me relief.

Then one day I caught myself doing it. I was sitting beside him, but my attention was somewhere else.

I do not know how much time we have left together. I did not want to look back and remember that I had spent our visits distracted.

At first, I thought the problem was my impatience. But there was something beneath it. Watching my dad’s dementia progress is painful. The repeated questions remind me of what is changing. Reaching for my phone was sometimes a way to step away from that grief.

Once I understood that, I could be kinder to myself. I could also make a different choice.

Now, when I visit my dad, I keep my phone away from us. I still notice irritation sometimes. I can breathe, hear his question and answer him again. I have more space to be patient and to appreciate the time we have.

The visits are still painful at times. But I am there for them now.

What is your phone helping you avoid?

That is the question I want to ask when I reach for mine.

There may be a feeling I do not want to sit with. A task I do not want to begin. A conversation that asks more of me than watching another video.

The phone offers an easy way out. And sometimes we genuinely need a break. But if we escape every slow or uncomfortable moment, we may also miss the connection, growth and joy within it.

I am not sharing my experience to make anyone feel guilty. I know why I reached for my phone beside my dad. Compassion helped me understand it. Keeping my phone away helped me be with him.

So perhaps the place to begin is simply to ask:

Is there a part of your life you are using your phone to avoid?

If there is, choose one moment this week when you will keep your phone away and give that part of your life your full attention. Notice what comes up, and what becomes possible when you stay.