I was sitting on the sofa one evening, scrolling through Instagram reels, laughing, killing time when my husband leaned over and asked what I was watching. I showed him a few videos I found funny. But then he stopped me and said, “You do know those are AI-generated, don’t you? … and this is how you can tell…”
But the truth is, I couldn’t tell. I had accepted the videos as real because, to me, they looked real.
In the days that followed, I questioned my relationship with my phone, with technology in general and how that relationship – if at all – was shaping my experience of reality.
What unsettled me wasn’t that the videos were artificial, but that I hadn’t noticed. I had accepted them as videos made by someone using their phone or camera without question, and in doing so, I realized how easily my attention could be manipulated and misguided.
Something easily taken for granted is just how important our attention is.
Attention is the force that shapes how we experience life. What we attend to determines what we notice, how we feel, what we remember, and what takes root within us. More than simple focus, attention carries energy and meaning, influencing which habits, fears, desires, and relationships grow stronger over time. Through repeated attention on something, our experiences solidify into patterns that quietly shape our identity and values.
In a world now flooded with information thanks to the internet and social media, human attention has become a scarce and valuable resource—so valuable that great measures are taken to capture and hold it. These measures include the manipulation of algorithms, curated content, notifications, and endless streams of stimuli designed to pull our focus and keep us engaged, often without our conscious awareness. Our attention is actively sought, shaped, and monetized—by design—and AI is only making this easier to do.
The dangers of this were at some point easy to ignore. They weren’t as tangible but as screen use and the content on social media is designed and manipulated to be more and more addictive, the side effects of this are ringing alarm bells. At least for me.
There are, of course, both positive and negative impacts of using the internet and social media, but the negative impacts worry me most because they appear in unexpected ways. I find that during periods when my screen time has been excessive, I feel anxious, depressed, and depleted. I develop feelings of self-doubt and feel increasingly disconnected from reality. I no longer feel like a co-creator of my own life, but rather that my experience is being filtered through the constant stream of information I receive instead of through direct, lived experience.
Looking into this further, I discovered that there are, in fact, real dangers to excessive screen time.
Screens offer easy relief under stress—but little nourishment. Scrolling through social media, watching endless videos, or checking notifications provides immediate distraction and emotional modulation. It can feel comforting after a stressful day, but it doesn’t offer long-term satisfaction. Unlike reading a book, creating something, or engaging in conversation, it rarely leaves you feeling grounded or enriched.
Disconnection from lived experience weakens self-trust. This is a big one for me. I talk here about having feelings of self doubt about myself in ways I didn’t have before. I think this comes from constantly comparing yourself to others and wrongfully thinking that you are suddenly not good enough because you are exposed to curated content in which people seem to be doing things much better than you. You then stop doing things because you feel you are not good enough. Maintaining real self confidence depends on problem solving in the real world and building on our own experience of whatever we are trying to accomplish. Without these lived moments, self-trust can erode, leaving us uncertain in our own judgments and capabilities.
A meaningful reset is about redirection, not restriction.
I feel that my relationship with technology is in need of a hard reset. I know that technology isn’t inherently harmful. Using a phone to connect with a loved one, following a tutorial, or accessing a story that inspires you can be enriching. The challenge arises when use becomes habitual, reactive, or unexamined—when scrolling turns into an autopilot escape rather than a conscious choice.
What I crave now—and need—are practices that require reciprocal presence: ones that demand focus, thought, and care, and that in return offer insight, calm, and a sense of accomplishment. Even simple acts—preparing a mindful meal, tending to a plant, taking a walk, or photographing moments of ordinary beauty—restore a sense of connection and presence.
The goal isn’t to eliminate screens, but to create rituals that intentionally redirect attention in ways that nourish rather than drain.
x Martina
