There used to be a time when we used to sit with a thought, read a few pages without touching our phones even once, or watch something without reaching for another screen halfway through. We were able to have so much fun and yet get so much work done, and that was the life I personally loved. This love has now turned into a craving. All that most people (myself included) do is scroll without thinking, switch between apps without even noticing, and struggle to stay focused on a single task for more than just a few minutes. This is not just wasting our time but is quietly changing the way we think, focus, and even exist. What may feel like “harmless entertainment” is actually training our minds to crave nothing but distraction and leave us mentally restless and perpetually unsatisfied.

When I first started “doom-scrolling” at the very wrong time (I had a big professional examination coming up soon), it was as if my brain and mind had already given up on the thought of even passing the examination. The instant satisfaction I received from scrolling reels and YouTube shorts was slowly killing my ability to study or do anything I wanted to. I love writing. But here I am, writing something after almost 4 months. Who is to be blamed?

I totally became a victim of doom-scrolling, and I probably still am. But now, I am at least aware. And yes, I will not run away from the fact that this issue had become so bad in my case that it almost killed the studious, ambitious, and creative soul inside me. I hate the way I have given all my examinations in the past 2 months or so because I know I never worked at my full capacity. I know what my dreams and career demand from me, but I never gave them that much importance. Deep down, only I know how I killed my ability to perform at my highest efficiency more than anyone else. And to be honest, it sucks. The reality is ugly, and I just wanted to run away from it.

This article shall be focused entirely on my ugly experience with doom-scrolling, and to all those who would relate, I promise you’re screwed, because I am!

When I first noticed Something was off:

One day, while randomly bed-rotting, I decided to just check my screentime. It used to be 3-4 hours usually because of college and studies, and I thought that was just fine (this might vary for a lot of people). I opened the settings app, and it said 8 HOURS 11 MINUTES. I was honestly in shock because even though I was spending THAT much amount of time on my phone, the funny part is that I wasn’t even noticing that things had become this bad. When I actually thought about it very deeply, I realized that, more than anything and more than disappointing everybody around me, I was hurting myself. I was hurting my career, hopes, and dreams. A girl who had planned so much for her future, who was so ambitious a few months back that she could quit social media for her career, had now become a victim of doom-scrolling.

Earlier, during my end-of-semester examinations, I used to delete Instagram and not consume a lot of content in terms of YouTube shorts, movies, web shows, etc. But now I could see myself being literally cooked (guess where I picked that term from?!) for the examination the very next day, not know more than half the syllabus, yet have the audacity to keep scrolling and wasting time. The funny part is, even after regretting, I would still keep doing it. Even now, I might have been able to reduce it, but who knows if it is for the long run or yet another failed “social media detox”?

I also figured out the reason for not having the “time” to write. Writing has been such an amazing passion for me. My nani gave me this platform, this very opportunity to actually write and express my opinions to the world in the best way possible. After she died, it almost seemed like she had passed on her creative legacy to me, and I would be more than just proud to carry that forward. But my sheer procrastination and lack of “motivation” and creativity shook me to the very core of my existence. I mean, 4 MONTHS and no content whatsoever?! Even though I did have a bunch of examinations and an internship from September to December, I just don’t find that to be enough of a justification for not showing up for 4 months straight.

I Can’t do Just One Thing Anymore:

This right here is the very core of the problem. I have lost my focus entirely. I can’t watch a video without keeping it at 2x speed, I can’t keep switching tabs, and guess what, I can’t even think of one single thought at a time. This has completely driven me crazy. There is so much information so easily accessible that all it has caused is confusion. I don’t know if I should watch a show or if I should scroll reels, and in the middle of trying to do both, I’m actually unable to do even one of them properly. I know that these problems are very common, especially for Gen Zs like me. But all we must remember is our end goal. We haven’t woken up early to scroll and have no time when we thought waking up early would give us a LOT more time during the day. Doom-scrolling has just rewired our brains and has made us so content with immediate information and entertainment that we almost forgotten to work hard. Just like now, I am struggling to write this with full focus. I know a lot of you are struggling to get your work done, but let’s just keep doing what we love. And I know we love to do a LOT more than just bed-rotting and scrolling!

Scrolling without really “meaning” to:

There are innumerable times when I pick up my phone for something important. It could be to ask a doubt from a friend or to just find something useful on my phone. But an hour later, I will still find the phone in my hand, with my main task undone and something else opened. It is THAT easy to get distracted. When I was a child, I used to picture myself as this perfect girl who would be able to achieve her dreams no matter what. Who would be a hustler, a topper, and somebody who just never gives up. She tries because she knows what she deserves. But now, after growing up and becoming this person, who gets satisfied with mediocrity, it just scares me. Did I plan something totally out of my capacity as a human being, or were my expectations far from my reality?

I always thought that focus for me was supreme. No matter what other people did, I knew I could focus. I knew it wasn’t that hard to actually work hard. But it took a while before I knew the reality. It wasn’t that easy for me, like I know it wasn’t easy for a lot of other people, young and ambitious, but just a victim of doom-scrolling.

I just want each of us to remember that-doom-scrolling is a CHOICE. I know people who have switched off their phones and disappeared for months. Yes, MONTHS. They are also otherwise doom-scrolling. But they know when to stop. They have control over themselves, which I don’t think I do, and I am sure so many others also don’t. The people who don’t let this habit take control and work hard towards fulfilling their dreams and goals are indeed rewarded. They pass the test, lose the weight, and learn the skill. But what they actually don’t show off is their dedication and immense effort that has led them to that position. And we sit here, thinking – “isse kaise hojata hai sab yaar”(“how does he/she do everything man”). But what we don’t remember is- they gave up something that ended up holding us back. They didn’t scroll; they switched off their phone. They didn’t waste time in this virtual world; they tried to make their reality way better than it and that is what matters eventually. I am not saying that the people who doom-scroll don’t work hard. But the people who don’t end up having a competitive advantage very easily because of the sheer lack control over themselves. All that we lack is that control. The day we realize that we had actually picked up our phone to ask a doubt and not watch somebody’s makeup videos on YouTube Shorts, we will gain that control back. I know it will be tough, but it’s definitely worth giving a try. Don’t you think so?

Why EVERYTHING feels too long now:

I used to watch a lecture for 1 hour, in 1 hour earlier. Now, even at 2x speed, the same lecture easily takes me 2 hours.

This baffles me, but it is the reality. I try to juggle a million tasks together instead of just focusing on 1 at a time and easily lose control. In the zest of wanting to do everything, I actually end up doing nothing.

Reading books, watching lectures, attending classes, and having conversations have never felt this long. This is a first for me. I want everything instantly. I want to learn every concept in a minute and have all conversations as quickly as possible. And trust me, this is not how I am, but this is who I have become. And I would definitely use one term for her- PATHETIC.

The only solution that I am actually trying to incorporate in my life is to relax, breathe, slow down, and take each day as it comes. I don’t expect a lot to be done, just something. Even if I read 1 page of that book, even if I watch 1 lecture instead of 5, and even if I have a good conversation with my family, that’s enough. Not pressurizing and stressing myself out more, but ensuring that I am changing my habits slowly, yet steadily, because I know these are the efforts that will probably compound. If you’re reading this and facing the same issue, I hope you do the same and share the changes you see in yourself, as I would love to share my experience, but I would love to hear yours a lot more. I hope we can together make an impact on each other’s lives in a way more positive way than we could ever think of. Let’s just TRY.

My Brain is always Tired:

Imagine not doing anything productive throughout the day, yet still feeling exhausted. Yes, trust me, that happens. Whenever I am at home for many days, I have realized this is that all I do is “pretend to work”. Even if my laptop is switched on, my mind is rushing towards the television screen. Even if I have to attend a lecture, I just keep pausing it throughout the day and find a million reasons to keep getting up.

And at the end of the day- I’m exhausted. But exhausted doing what?

Watching television. Doom-scrolling. And yes, just avoiding the most important tasks on my to-do list. This level of mental exhaustion is so real that I don’t even feel like leaving my bed for long hours. All I can do is lie down with my phone in my hand and doom-scroll, of course.

My mind feels like it’s constantly processing something. Notifications, half-finished thoughts, reminders of things I need to do, things I forgot to do, and things I should be doing instead. Even when I’m sitting still, my brain isn’t. It keeps jumping—from one thought to another, from one worry to the next—without ever fully settling. By the time I try to focus on something important, my mental energy already feels spent.

Simple tasks now feel overwhelming. Reading a few pages requires effort. Watching a lecture means rewinding multiple times because I zone out without realizing it. Even conversations can feel exhausting when my mind drifts midway, and I have to pull myself back. It’s frustrating because it makes me question my discipline, my motivation, and sometimes even my intelligence.

What’s worse is the guilt that comes with this tiredness. I tell myself I’m being lazy or unproductive. I compare myself to people who seem to manage everything effortlessly and wonder why my brain can’t keep up. But deep down, I know this isn’t laziness—it’s overstimulation. Constant scrolling, constant consumption, and constant switching have left no space for my mind to rest or reset.

My brain isn’t tired because it’s doing too little. It’s tired because it’s doing too much—without depth, without pauses, and without silence. And until I learn to slow down, to be present, and to give my mind moments of real rest, this exhaustion feels like something I’ll keep carrying with me.

The Guilt of not being Productive:

There are days when I do nothing, yet I feel exhausted—and somehow guilty for it. Guilty for not studying enough, not being focused enough, and not ticking things off a to-do list that I mentally carry everywhere. Even rest doesn’t feel like rest anymore; it feels undeserved, as if I haven’t earned it. I sit still, but my mind keeps reminding me of everything I should be doing.

What makes this guilt heavier is how easily it gets confused with laziness. From the outside, it might look like I’m procrastinating—scrolling on my phone, staring at a screen, taking “too many breaks.” But inside, it doesn’t feel like I’m relaxing. It feels like I’m stuck. My brain is overstimulated, jumping from one thought to another, yet unable to commit to even one meaningful task. And when the day ends, I blame myself for not having done enough.

We live in a world that constantly glorifies productivity. Hustle culture, study routines, “that girl” schedules, and perfectly timed days flood my screen, quietly setting a standard I feel pressured to meet. Somewhere along the way, productivity stopped being about doing meaningful work and started becoming a measure of self-worth. If I’m not productive, I feel like I’m failing—not just at work or studies, but at life.

The irony is that this guilt often makes things worse. Instead of motivating me, it paralyzes me. I spend so much energy feeling bad about not starting that I don’t actually start. A task that should take an hour stretches across the entire day, accompanied by constant self-criticism. By the end of it, I’m mentally drained and emotionally disappointed, even if I technically did nothing wrong. What I’m slowly realizing is that being overstimulated is not the same as being lazy. Constant notifications, endless scrolling, and information overload exhaust the brain in ways that aren’t always visible. My mind is tired, not unwilling. But because this exhaustion doesn’t come from physical labor, it feels invalid—something I’m supposed to “push through.”

There’s also guilt in resting without a clear purpose. Sitting quietly feels uncomfortable. Doing nothing feels wasteful. I catch myself trying to justify rest by turning it into “productive rest”—listening to podcasts, watching educational videos, or planning future tasks. Simply being present feels strangely wrong, as if silence itself is unproductive.

I’m still learning to unlearn this guilt. To remind myself that rest is not a reward for productivity but a requirement for it. That my worth isn’t tied to how much I produce in a day. And that sometimes, the most productive thing I can do is allow my mind to slow down without judging it.

Trying (and failing) to fix my Focus:

At some point, I realized my inability to focus wasn’t just a phase—it was becoming a pattern. So naturally, I tried to fix it. I downloaded productivity apps, set screen-time limits, made detailed to-do lists, and promised myself I would “do better tomorrow.” Every attempt started with motivation and ended the same way: frustration.

I began with the obvious solution—reducing my screen time. I deleted Instagram for a few days, turned off notifications, and even put my phone in another room while studying. For a moment, it felt like progress. But the silence that followed was uncomfortable. Without my phone, my mind didn’t automatically focus; instead, it felt restless. I kept reaching for a distraction that wasn’t there. When the boredom became too loud, I found other ways to escape—opening random tabs, reorganizing notes I didn’t need to reorganize, or just staring into space.

I also tried structuring my day better. Timers, study techniques, productivity hacks—things that work for so many people. I told myself I’d focus for 25 minutes, then reward myself with a break. But even within those 25 minutes, my thoughts wandered. I would read the same paragraph repeatedly without absorbing anything. The timer would go off, and instead of feeling accomplished, I felt defeated. If I couldn’t focus even with a system in place, what did that say about me? What made it harder was the constant comparison. Everywhere I looked, people seemed disciplined, focused, and in control. Study routines, “day in my life” videos, perfectly planned schedules—it all made me feel like the problem was me. I wasn’t trying hard enough. I wasn’t serious enough. So I pushed myself more, which only made focusing feel heavier and more forced.

Eventually, I realized that my attempts to “fix” my focus were all rooted in the same mindset: forcing productivity without understanding the exhaustion underneath it. I was treating lack of focus as a discipline problem when it was actually a mental fatigue problem. My brain wasn’t refusing to concentrate—it was overwhelmed. Years of constant stimulation had trained it to seek novelty, not stillness. And no app or timer could undo that overnight.

Failing to fix my focus taught me something uncomfortable but important: there is no quick solution. Focus isn’t something you can bully yourself into having. It needs patience, space, and a lot of unlearning. I’m slowly understanding that progress doesn’t look like suddenly becoming productive; it looks like forgiving myself on unfocused days, allowing boredom without panicking, and rebuilding attention gently instead of aggressively.

I still fail. I still get distracted. I still have days where nothing seems to work. But I’m learning that failing doesn’t mean I’m broken—it just means I’m human in a world designed to pull my attention in a hundred directions at once. And maybe fixing my focus isn’t about control at all, but about kindness toward a mind that’s simply tired.

Learning to sit with Boredom again:

I didn’t realize how uncomfortable boredom had become until I actually tried to sit with it. No phone, no background noise, no music playing softly in my ears—just me and my thoughts. What I expected was calm. What I felt instead was restlessness. A strange urge to do something, check something, consume something. Silence wasn’t peaceful; it was unsettling.

Boredom used to be normal. As a child, it meant daydreaming, staring out of windows, letting thoughts wander freely. Now, boredom feels almost unacceptable, like wasted time. The moment there’s nothing to engage me, my hand automatically reaches for my phone. Not because I need it, but because I don’t know what to do without it. Stillness feels awkward, and silence feels loud.

When I try to sit without distractions, my mind starts racing. Random thoughts surface—unfinished tasks, old worries, imagined scenarios. Instead of letting them pass, I panic slightly, as if this mental noise needs to be silenced immediately. Scrolling becomes my escape. It fills the space, numbs the discomfort, and keeps me from being alone with my own mind. But it also keeps me from resting. What I’m slowly realizing is that boredom isn’t the enemy—it’s the entry point. It’s the space where the mind resets, where creativity quietly exists, where thoughts finally get the chance to settle. By constantly avoiding boredom, I’ve trained myself to fear it. I’ve mistaken stimulation for engagement and noise for productivity.

Learning to sit with boredom again feels like learning a lost skill. It’s awkward and frustrating. There are moments when doing nothing makes me anxious, as if I’m falling behind just by being still. I feel guilty for not multitasking, for not optimizing my time, for not “using” every moment effectively. But deep down, I know this guilt is learned—not natural.

On days when I resist the urge to distract myself, something interesting happens. After the initial discomfort, my thoughts slow down. I start noticing small things—the way time moves differently, the way my breathing settles, the way ideas form without effort. It’s not dramatic or instantly rewarding, but it feels real. Honest. Human. Boredom teaches patience in a world that thrives on urgency. It reminds me that my worth isn’t tied to constant engagement. That my mind doesn’t need to be occupied every second to be valuable. And that silence isn’t empty—it’s spacious.

I’m still learning. I still reach for my phone without thinking. I still struggle to sit through moments of nothingness. But now, instead of running from boredom, I’m trying to acknowledge it. To let it exist without immediately fixing it. To trust that my mind knows what to do when I give it space.

Learning to sit with boredom again isn’t about doing less—it’s about allowing myself to be. And in a world that never stops demanding attention, that feels like a quiet, necessary rebellion.

What I miss about being FULLY present:

I miss the version of myself who could be fully present without trying. The one who could sit with a book for hours and not feel the itch to check her phone every few minutes. Back then, reading felt immersive—like stepping into another world and forgetting the one around me for a while. Now, I read with one part of my mind while the other waits impatiently, wondering what notification might be waiting, what I might be missing elsewhere. Even when I turn my phone face down, its presence lingers. My attention feels divided before I even begin. I don’t just miss reading deeply; I miss the calm that came with it—the sense of being absorbed in one thing without constantly feeling pulled in ten different directions.

I miss listening properly. Listening without thinking about what I’ll say next, without zoning out halfway through a sentence, without my thoughts drifting elsewhere while someone is still talking. Conversations used to feel grounding. Now, they often feel rushed or fragmented. I catch myself nodding while my mind wanders, feeling guilty for not being fully there. It’s not that I don’t care—it’s that my attention feels fragile. Being present with people requires mental stillness, and stillness has become unfamiliar. Sometimes, even when I’m physically with someone, my mind is elsewhere—replaying something I saw online, thinking about unfinished tasks, or simply craving distraction. I miss being able to give someone my full attention and feel connected instead of scattered.

I also miss thinking clearly. Not just thinking, but finishing a thought. These days, my thoughts feel interrupted before they fully form. I start reflecting on something meaningful, only for my mind to jump to something else—another idea, another worry, another impulse. It feels like my brain is constantly buffering. Earlier, thinking deeply felt natural. I could sit with a question, explore it from different angles, and let it unfold slowly. Now, slowness feels uncomfortable. I want conclusions quickly, answers immediately, stimulation constantly. And in that rush, depth gets lost. I miss clarity. I miss the satisfaction of understanding something fully rather than skimming over it mentally, the way we skim content online.

What hurts the most is realizing that this loss of presence didn’t happen suddenly. It happened gradually, quietly, disguised as convenience and connection. Constant scrolling filled small gaps of boredom, but it also filled spaces where reflection once lived. Notifications replaced pauses. Multitasking replaced focus. Somewhere along the way, being present started feeling inefficient—as if every moment needed to be optimized, documented, or shared. I don’t think we were meant to live like this—half here, half elsewhere, rarely fully rooted in the present moment. I’m trying to relearn what presence feels like, even if it comes in short moments: putting my phone away during a conversation, reading a few pages without interruption, sitting quietly without immediately reaching for distraction. I don’t expect to return to the way things were completely. But I hope to reclaim pieces of that presence—the ability to read deeply, listen fully, and think clearly—because those moments, however small, make life feel more real.

I’m Still Figuring It Out:

I wish I could end this with a neat solution—a routine that fixed my focus, a habit that brought back clarity, or a rule I now follow perfectly. But the truth is, I’m still figuring it out. Some days are better than others. Some days I feel present, focused, and grounded. On other days, my attention slips easily, and I fall back into old patterns without even realizing it.

What I’m learning slowly is that growth doesn’t always look like improvement. Sometimes it looks like awareness. Like noticing when I reach for my phone out of habit. Like catching myself halfway through scrolling and asking why I’m doing it. These moments don’t change everything instantly, but they matter. They remind me that I’m not completely disconnected—I’m just learning again.

I’ve stopped trying to “fix” myself overnight. I no longer believe that discipline alone will solve this, or that I’m broken for struggling. My attention didn’t disappear because I failed; it faded because the world I live in constantly demands it. Understanding that has softened the way I speak to myself.

I’m choosing to be patient, even when progress feels invisible. To allow days where focus comes naturally and days where it doesn’t. To believe that attention can be rebuilt gently, without punishment or pressure.

I don’t have everything figured out yet—and maybe I don’t need to. For now, noticing, questioning, and trying again feels like enough.

.    .    .