Before we begin, I want to be clear about something important: this post is not about clinical depression, and I am not a doctor.

If you’re experiencing persistent sadness, numbness, hopelessness, or a loss of interest in the things you normally enjoy, please reach out to a qualified healthcare professional. You deserve support.

What I want to share today is an observation about something I’ve experienced myself and something I think many of us may be experiencing without realizing it.

It has to do with our brains, dopamine, and what happens when we’re exposed to more stimulation than our brains were ever designed to manage.

Have you ever noticed that life feels a little…gray?

Nothing is necessarily wrong, but you don’t feel fully alive, either.

You find it difficult to sit quietly without reaching for your phone.

You feel restless during the in-between moments.

You’re surrounded by things you know you’re grateful for, but you can’t quite feel the gratitude.

You keep scrolling, checking, snacking, adding to cart or searching for something interesting – even though none of it feels particularly satisfying.

I have absolutely experienced this.

I habitually reach for my phone throughout the day, sometimes without even realizing I’m doing it. 

Even on days when I’ve told myself I’m going to stay off my phone, my hand seems to reach for it automatically.

I don’t like it and I’m not proud of it, but it’s the truth. 

Sometimes I even notice that it’s harder to access the natural gratitude and joy I know are there.

This has become especially important to me as a mom.

My kids are reaching the ages when they want more technology of their own. I’m happy to say that our 13-year-old still doesn’t have a phone (we’re holding out as long as we can!) but I’m also very aware of what I’m modeling.

How can I teach my children to have a healthy relationship with technology if they constantly see me reaching for mine?

When I learned about the work of Dr. Anna Lembke, a Stanford psychiatrist and the author of Dopamine Nation, something clicked.

She explains that our brains are constantly working to maintain a balance between pleasure and pain.

When we experience something pleasurable, our brain releases dopamine. Dopamine isn’t simply a “happiness chemical.” It helps drive motivation, anticipation, and our desire to seek something again.

That system is essential to being human.

But our modern lives give us access to an almost endless supply of quick rewards:

A new notification.

A text message.

An email.

A funny video.

A like on a post.

A package arriving.

Another episode.

Another snack.

Another swipe.

Our phones place hundreds of tiny opportunities for novelty and reward in our hands all day long.

And our brains adapt.

When we repeatedly flood the pleasure side of the balance, the brain tries to restore equilibrium. 

Over time, we can develop tolerance: we need more stimulation or something newer, faster, or more exciting to get the same effect.

Meanwhile, the quieter pleasures of life may not register as strongly.

A hug from your child.

The beauty of a sunrise.

A slow walk.

A good conversation.

Sitting outside with your coffee.

The gifts that have been placed right in front of you.

These things haven’t become less meaningful, it’s just that when our brains become accustomed to constant high-intensity stimulation, subtle joys can become harder to notice and feel.

That is what really piqued my interest and made me pause.

I don’t want those things to lose their impact. I don’t want in-person connection to feel like less, just because it can’t measure up to the hyper-concentrated stimulation I’m seeing online. 

What if some of us aren’t missing joy because there is nothing joyful in our lives…. But because we’ve become less sensitive to it?

When I do take time away from my phone, I notice a difference.

I feel more present.

More peaceful.

More connected to my own life.

But I’ll be honest: it’s difficult.

My work is all online. I use social media for my job on a daily basis. My team communicates through Slack. Email is essential. My phone is both a tool I need and a source of stimulation I sometimes struggle to put down.

So what do we do?

Dr. Lembke often recommends a four-week period of abstinence from the specific behavior that has become compulsive. 

People sometimes call this a “dopamine fast,” although you aren’t literally fasting from dopamine. You’re temporarily stepping away from one high-stimulation behavior so you can observe its effect on you and give your reward system time to find a healthier balance.

For many of us, that behavior may be social media or recreational phone use (games, scrolling, news apps, etc.).

Here’s what a practical four-week experiment might look like:

1. Identify your biggest source of compulsive stimulation.

Don’t try to remove every enjoyable thing from your life. Choose the behavior you have the most trouble controlling. Perhaps Instagram, TikTok, Facebook, online shopping, news, or scrolling in general.

2. Remove access for four weeks.

Delete the apps from your phone, log out, or use a blocker. If you need certain platforms for work, consider accessing them only from a computer during predetermined work hours.

The goal is to make the behavior less automatic and less available, not to become unreachable or abandon your responsibilities.

3. Expect to feel uncomfortable at first.

You will likely feel bored, restless, irritable, anxious, or convinced that you need to check.

According to Dr. Lembke, it’s common to feel worse before feeling better. That discomfort doesn’t mean the experiment isn’t working, it’s just revealing how accustomed your brain has become to constant stimulation.

4. Pay attention to what you gain in its place.

After a few weeks, ask yourself:

Am I more present in conversations?

Can I sit in silence more comfortably?

Am I noticing small moments of beauty again?

Do I feel more motivated to read, walk, cook, pray, create, or connect?

Does ordinary life feel richer?

5. Decide what relationship you want with it moving forward.

At the end of four weeks, you may choose to reintroduce the behavior with clear boundaries or you may discover that you don’t miss it as much as you expected.

Maybe social media stays off your phone.

Maybe you only check it from your computer.

Maybe your phone remains outside the bedroom.

Maybe you create phone-free hours when you’re with your family.

The point isn’t to reject technology or eliminate pleasure, it’s to regain balance and the ability to choose.

And perhaps, underneath all that noise and stimulation, rediscover your sensitivity to the kind of joy that was there all along.

A hug from your child.

Morning light coming through the window.

The first sip of coffee.

A deep breath.

A quiet moment when you realize:

I’m here. This is my life. And I can feel it again.

We are in this together. 

** A four-week reset may not be realistic for everyone right now. But even noticing the impulse to reach for your phone is meaningful. Awareness is often where change begins. 

And when you find yourself tempted to scroll or make an impulse purchase, consider a 3-minute breathwork session in the Lindywell app. It’s the perfect way to interrupt the pattern and stay present. Click here to try breathwork for free.