5 ways to get free from your epidemic screen addiction
Introduction
Many Americans spend nearly half of their days looking at a screen even before the outbreak. In 2019, market research firm Nielsen discovered that the average American spent about 12 hours each day in front of their televisions, cellphones, and laptops.
And, as a result of the tremendous shift to remote employment, growing reliance on virtual meetings, and the never-ending stream of news, that number is likely to have risen in the last year.
"We feel like we're performing due diligence, but in reality, it's causing extra, what I call ambient anxiety," said Doreen Dodgen-Magee, Psy.D., a psychologist and author based in Portland, Ore.
Overuse of technology, according to Dodgen-Magee, can result in a reduced ability to focus on one task at a time, an inability to resist distractions, and a greater difficulty returning to a peaceful state of mind. Addiction to screens may lead to physical concerns such as frequent headaches, eye strain, and poor posture.
"The body has to contort itself into all kinds of pretzels," Nancy Colier, a psychotherapist in New York and author of The Power of Off: The Mindful Way to Stay Sane in a Virtual World, explained. "At the same time, people are suffering from sadness at epidemic levels, and the screen has come to symbolize not just the lack of sunlight, but also the lack of change and possibilities — in a word, hope."
While most individuals don't have the choice of completely avoiding screens, experts say there are ways to rebalance technology and utilize it in healthier ways.
Here are five suggestions to help you.
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1. Recognize that there is a problem.; Admitting you have a problem, like with other addictions, is the first step in overcoming your screen viewing urge.
Although technology addiction isn't officially recognized as an addiction in the United States, Dodgen-Magee pointed out that it has many of the same indicators as other addictions and triggers the same neurotransmitter release.
Because we rely on technology to conduct our work and interact with others, most individuals don't have the choice of going cold turkey when it comes to technology, therefore Dodgen-Magee suggests treating a screen addiction like an eating condition. To survive, we must eat, and to operate in the world, we must utilize technology.
"I am a huge believer in learning to take steps of moderation rather than thinking about things like cold turkey or technology fasts," she added.
Rather than attempting to live without technology entirely, she suggests setting your wireless router to turn off and on at specific times of the day, encrypting your phone or laptop, organizing your phone so that there aren't too many apps cluttering your home screen, and turning off all unnecessary phone notifications. She claims that whatever you can do to reduce digital stimulation and encourage moderation would aid you in weaning yourself off your gadgets.
2. Enhance your sensory experience; It might be beneficial to increase the sensory options in your environment as you attempt to reduce screen usage.
"We will always fail if we only say 'no' to our smartphones and screens without giving ourselves alternative options," Dodgen-Magee added.
She suggests using candles or oil diffusers to make your room smell nice and having little non-cognitive fidget toys on hand. Consider keeping a Koosh ball or rail spinner on your desk instead of a cognitive toy like a Rubik's Cube to catch your attention and offer you something to do rather than engage with screens.
3. Make a schedule for your workday.; Because the fast move to remote work has blurred the border between work and play, it might be beneficial to set your own limits.
Colier suggests shutting off all electronics for the first half hour of the day to set your own objectives rather than letting your inbox or the news cycle determine your day. She also advises individuals to turn off all electronics, including televisions, for the last hour of each day and read a book, sit quietly, or listen to peaceful music to help their bodies and minds rest.
It can also assist to sprinkle in tech-free intervals between activities, in addition to adding physical bookends to your days. Colier suggests getting up and taking a tech-free stroll around your neighborhood or house every 90 minutes, or after you've finished a chunk of work, to clear your thoughts and shift gears from your head to your body, from being externally focused to being inwardly engaged.
"Get off your phone for at least a half-hour every day," she said. "And it alters your whole life if you can break away from electronics for a full day once a week."
4. Your screen time should have a clear purpose.; If you're not careful, Internet rabbit holes may quickly gobble up hours of your day. Make sure you have a clear objective in mind every time you check your inbox, open a tab, or pick up your phone to avoid mindless scrolling.
Before you pick up the phone or turn on your computer, take a moment to assess your objectives, suggests Mari Swingle, Ph.D., is a Vancouver-based clinical psychologist and the author of I-Minds: How and Why Constant Connectivity is Rewiring Our Brains and What to Do About It.
You may break reflexive behaviors by increasing your awareness of your habits and placing time restrictions on your usage.
Rather of grazing through your inbox all day, consider setting out specific periods through the day to check your email. Consider acquiring a watch if you find yourself checking the time on your phone and then being caught in by alerts. Swingle pointed out that a phone is no more just a phone, and that if you want it to be a communication tool again, you'll need to modify your habits and tweak your device settings.
"You can change your behavior somewhat so that it's more about the human connection than the ding," Swingle added. "Make sure that each activity has a purpose. It's a big red flag if you're going in because you're bored or want to feel good."
5. Allow yourself to be silent for a while; According to studies, 10 minutes of meditation every day can have a significant impact on many parts of our life.
For each person, those ten minutes do not have to be the same. You may use them to practice mindfulness meditation, focused boredom, or simply sit quietly. According to Dodgen-Magee, regardless of how you use that time, it has the ability to reduce stress and increase gray matter in areas of the brain that are reduced by screen use.
Out from the well-documented advantages of daily meditation, setting aside time each day for quiet thinking and breathing is a great way to take a break from our computers.
"All day long, technology shouts information at us," Colier added. "We value the knowledge, but it produces a cacophony in our heads, and stillness is one of the most restorative experiences we can give ourselves."
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Why Smiling Can Feel Like the Hardest Thing
The Unbearable Weight of a Smile: When Your Face Refuses to Lie Anymore "Just smile," they said, as if my face were a light switch I could simply flip. As if the muscles required to curve my lips upward hadn't become so heavy that lifting them felt like deadlifting my own despair. As if smiling—the simplest, most automatic human expression—hadn't become the most exhausting performance of my entire day. I'm standing in line at the coffee shop, and the barista is making small talk. "How's your day going?" she asks, cheerful, genuine, expecting the standard response. My jaw tenses. My face feels like stone. I know what I'm supposed to do—smile, say "great, how about you?", participate in this basic social ritual that I've performed thousands of times without thinking. But I can't. My face won't cooperate. The muscles required to form a smile feel paralyzed, or more accurately, weighted down by something too heavy to lift. I force it anyway. The corners of my mouth move upward mechanically, but it doesn't reach my eyes. It doesn't feel genuine. It feels like I'm wearing a mask that doesn't quite fit. "Fine, thanks," I manage, and the barista's smile falters slightly. She can tell. Something's off. My smile is wrong somehow—too tight, too forced, too obviously fake. I take my coffee and leave quickly, exhausted by the thirty-second interaction. My face hurts from the effort of that brief, failed smile. And I still have an entire day of this ahead of me. When Your Face Becomes a Traitor I used to smile easily, automatically. It was a reflex, an unconscious response to humor, kindness, joy, social situations. I never thought about it, never had to try. Now every smile is manual labor. Every upward curve of my lips requires conscious effort, deliberate muscle activation, sustained energy I don't have. My face has become resistant, like it knows I'm lying and refuses to participate in the deception. In meetings at work, I'd notice other people smiling, laughing, their faces animated and expressive. And I'd try to match them, to mirror their expressions, to look like I was engaged and present. But my face wouldn't cooperate. It would freeze in this neutral, flat expression that read as either bored or angry, even though I wasn't trying to look either way. I just... couldn't make my face do what faces are supposed to do. "You look upset," my boss said after one meeting. "Is everything okay?" "I'm fine," I said, and tried to smile to prove it. But even I could feel how wrong it looked—this grimace that pretended to be a smile, this contortion that fooled no one. "If something's bothering you, you can talk to me," he pressed. Nothing was bothering me. At least, nothing specific. I wasn't angry or upset about work. I was just... unable to smile. Unable to make my face perform the basic signals that tell others I'm okay, I'm engaged, I'm a functioning human being having a normal interaction. The Exhaustion of Performance Every day became a marathon of forced facial expressions. Wake up. Try to smile at my partner over breakfast. Fail. See his concern. Force a smile to reassure him. Feel my face muscles strain with the effort. Get to work. Try to look pleasant and approachable. Feel my face settle into that blank, heavy expression despite my best efforts. Force periodic smiles during conversations. Feel exhausted by 10 AM from the sheer effort of manipulating my own face. Lunch with colleagues. They're laughing about something. I hear the joke, understand it's funny, know I should be laughing too. Try to make my face do the laughing expression. Produce something that's almost a smile but not quite right. See them notice. Feel them pull back slightly, unsure how to read me. By the end of each day, my face would actually ache. Not from overuse, but from the constant tension of trying to force expressions that wouldn't come naturally, of fighting against muscles that wanted to remain flat and unresponsive. I started avoiding situations that required me to smile. Stopped going to social gatherings where I'd have to perform happiness I didn't feel. Turned down invitations to celebrations, parties, events where smiling would be expected and my inability to do so would be conspicuous. My world shrank to environments where I didn't have to pretend—mostly my apartment, alone, where my face could rest in its natural state of heavy neutrality without judgment or concern. Understanding the Impossibility "Why can't I smile?" I asked my therapist, genuinely baffled by this loss of what seemed like the most basic human function. "I'm not trying to look miserable. I just... can't make my face do it anymore." She explained it in a way that finally made sense. "Depression doesn't just affect your mood—it affects your motor functions, including the facial muscles. The neurotransmitters that allow for spontaneous emotional expression are depleted. Your face isn't refusing to smile. Your brain isn't sending the signals that create smiling." She showed me research about something called "facial feedback"—the way our facial expressions both reflect and influence our emotional state. When you smile, your brain registers that feedback and generates corresponding positive emotions. It's a two-way street. But in depression, that street is blocked. Your brain can't generate the positive emotions that produce genuine smiles, and forcing smiles doesn't trick your brain into feeling better—it just exhausts you with the effort of manually operating machinery that's supposed to be automatic. "It's not laziness," she emphasized. "It's not attitude. It's a literal neurological impairment. Your brain has lost the ability to generate spontaneous positive facial expressions." Knowing this didn't make it easier, but it helped me understand why something so simple had become so impossibly hard. The Social Cost The inability to smile carries a staggering social cost that people who've never experienced it can't understand. Humans are wired to read faces. We make split-second judgments about people based on their expressions. A lack of smiling reads as unfriendly, unapproachable, angry, or unstable—even when that's not what you're feeling at all. My relationships deteriorated. Friends stopped reaching out because interactions with me felt flat, heavy, unrewarding. I wasn't fun to be around anymore. Not because I was actively negative, but because I couldn't reflect back the warmth and positive energy that social bonds require. My partner grew increasingly frustrated. "You never seem happy to see me," he said one night. "I come home and you just... look at me. No smile, no warmth, nothing." "I am happy to see you," I insisted. "I just can't make my face show it." "That doesn't make sense," he said, hurt and confused. "If you're happy, why can't you smile?" How could I explain that happiness and smiling had become disconnected? That I could feel some small sense of gladness that he was home, but that feeling couldn't translate into facial expression? That the pathway between emotion and face had been severed? I couldn't explain it in a way that made sense to him. And eventually, he stopped believing I was happy to see him at all. The Judgment and Misunderstanding The worst part was the constant judgment from people who didn't understand. "You should smile more!" Random strangers, usually men, felt entitled to offer this advice, as if my face existed for their viewing pleasure. "Cheer up, it might never happen!" People would joke, assuming my expression meant something bad had occurred, when really it just meant my face was resting in its default depressed state. "Why are you so angry?" I wasn't angry. I was just unable to smile. "You need to work on your attitude." My attitude was fine. My face just couldn't show it. People assumed my lack of smiling meant I was rude, unfriendly, hostile, or miserable. They couldn't see that I was simply exhausted from trying to operate machinery that had stopped working. Even well-meaning people hurt me with their attempts to help. "Just fake it till you make it!" they'd say. "Force yourself to smile and you'll feel better!" But forcing smiles didn't make me feel better. It made me feel like a fraud. It highlighted the gap between what my face was doing and what I was actually feeling. It made the depression more obvious, not less, because the smile never reached my eyes, never looked genuine, never fooled anyone including me. The Breaking Point The crisis came during my niece's birthday party. She was turning five, excited, adorable, having the time of her life. She ran up to me with a drawing she'd made, her face lit up with pure childhood joy. "Look what I made for you, Auntie!" I looked at the drawing—a colorful, enthusiastic rendering of the two of us holding hands. She'd drawn me with a big smile. And I couldn't smile back at her. I tried. God, I tried. This innocent child showing me something she'd made with love, and I couldn't produce even a small smile of acknowledgment. My face remained flat. Heavy. Unresponsive. Her face fell. "Don't you like it?" "I love it, sweetheart," I said, my voice breaking slightly. "It's beautiful." But she'd already seen my expression—or lack of it. She walked away, confused and a little hurt, and I stood there holding her drawing, hating myself for not being able to give this child the one simple thing she wanted: a smile. That night, I called my psychiatrist. "Something's really wrong," I said. "I can't even smile at a five-year-old. What's happening to me?" The Medical Reality My psychiatrist adjusted my medication and explained what was happening. "What you're experiencing is called 'psychomotor retardation'—a slowing down of physical and emotional responses. It's a core symptom of major depression. Your facial muscles aren't responding normally because the neural pathways that control spontaneous expression aren't functioning properly." She also mentioned something called "anhedonia"—the inability to feel pleasure—which often comes with an inability to express pleasure, even when you're trying. "The medication we're adjusting should help," she said. "But it takes time. Six to eight weeks, possibly longer, before you notice a difference." She also recommended something unexpected: facial exercises. "Research shows that deliberately practicing facial movements—even without the corresponding emotion—can help retrain the neural pathways. It won't cure the depression, but it might make the physical expressions easier." So I started doing these bizarre exercises. Standing in front of the mirror, manually moving my face through expressions. Lifting the corners of my mouth with my fingers to simulate a smile. Holding it. Releasing. Repeating. It felt ridiculous. I felt ridiculous. But I was desperate enough to try anything. The Slow Return The medication took seven weeks to start working. Seven weeks of forced smiles, exhausted facial muscles, and social situations I couldn't navigate properly. Then one morning, my partner said something funny at breakfast and I felt it—a real smile, spontaneous and genuine, breaking across my face without effort. It lasted maybe three seconds before fading. But it was real. It was mine. It happened without me having to manually operate my face. I started crying, which alarmed my partner until I explained: "I just smiled. A real smile. I didn't have to force it." He looked at me with such relief and sadness. "I didn't realize how hard it's been for you," he said quietly. After that, smiles came more frequently. Not all the time—I still had days where my face felt weighted and unresponsive. But the genuine smiles started outnumbering the forced ones. The effort required diminished. My face started cooperating again. Living With the Memory A year later, I can smile relatively easily again. Not effortlessly like I used to, and not constantly. But the heavy impossibility has lifted. My face has mostly remembered how to express what I'm feeling without requiring manual operation. But I haven't forgotten what it was like. That period when smiling felt harder than anything else, when my face betrayed me every day, when the simplest human expression became impossible. I'm gentler with people now. When I see someone with a flat expression, with a face that doesn't smile easily, I don't assume they're unfriendly or angry or rude. I wonder if maybe they're fighting this same battle. If maybe their face is as heavy as mine once was. I also don't take smiling for granted anymore. Every genuine smile feels like a gift, like evidence that my brain is working properly again, that the neural pathways are transmitting signals the way they should. The Truth That Needs Telling If you can't smile right now—if your face feels like dead weight, if forcing expressions exhausts you, if people keep telling you to cheer up and you want to scream that you're trying but your face won't cooperate—please know this: You're not broken. Your face isn't defective. This is a symptom of depression as real and valid as any other symptom. Your brain's ability to generate spontaneous positive expressions has been impaired by depleted neurotransmitters and disrupted neural pathways. This isn't attitude. This isn't choice. This is neurology. And it's treatable. With the right medication, therapy, and time, your face can remember how to smile again. The heaviness can lift. The effort can diminish. The genuine smiles can return. Don't let people shame you for something you literally cannot control. Don't let them tell you to "just smile" as if you haven't been trying. Don't let them mistake your depression for rudeness or hostility. Your face will cooperate again. The pathways will reconnect. The expressions will come naturally once more. Until then, be patient with yourself. You're not failing at something easy. You're managing something impossibly hard. And you're doing better than you think. When smiling becomes the hardest thing, it's not because you're ungrateful or negative or refusing to see the bright side—it's because depression has literally disconnected the neural pathways between emotion and facial expression. Your face isn't betraying you out of spite. It's malfunctioning because your brain chemistry is disrupted. The effort it takes you to produce a smile is the same effort it would take someone else to deadlift a car. You're not being difficult. You're being incredibly strong, showing up to social situations and manually operating facial machinery that's supposed to be automatic. The heaviness will lift. Your face will remember. Until then, please stop judging yourself for not being able to do something your broken neurology has made nearly impossible. --------------------------------------------- Thanks for Reading!
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