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“Technology appeals to us most where we are most vulnerable.”
That quote from Massachusetts Institute of Technology psychologist Sherry Turkle has rung in my ears for over a week since I included it in a recent article. There I applied it to the vulnerability inherent in childhood and adolescence, but the quote continued to confront me with uncomfortable truths about my own internet addiction as an adult.
During my first semester as an opinion writer, I made it my goal to inform readers about current technology and give them the tools to consume the media found on that tech more mindfully. What began as a casual endeavor to write as a film student became a larger attempt to help other people — as well as myself — make sense of the world.
In doing so, I became hyper-aware of my own habits. Writing about the downsides of media and tech has been somewhat akin to preaching the dangers of nicotine with a stogie in my mouth. I know I need to reduce my screentime. I even allude to it with an occasional quip about Kevin G or One Direction fanfiction. But if I’m so aware of it, why can’t I just knock it off?
Grab some snacks and a blanket: It’s time to talk about our feelings.
When it comes to an internet addiction, most people seek their answers in the future. We see the potential results of quitting a bad habit and use them as motivation.
Thanks to Dr. Turkle, I’ve been reflecting on the past instead.
As with many terrible stories, this one begins in middle school. Like anybody undergoing the inelegant era of adolescence, I struggled to find a group of genuine friends to connect with. So, I connected to the internet. Web games, especially social ones, became my source of escapism. In my mind, of course, my internet usage wasn’t a solution to anything. I was just hooked.
Current technology is creating a “paradox of connection,” mental health expert Dr. Tyia Grange Isaacson has said. With instant messaging, our social lives are at our fingertips. At the same time, we sacrifice the emotional context of verbal communication for convenience’s sake. It’s reaching out without the exertion, which is particularly appealing to, well, a lonely middle schooler.
As technology evolves to mimic human speech, devices like AI chatbots offer a handy, albeit hollow, alternative to real companionship. In a 2025 survey of people using generative AI for mental health support, 90% cited accessibility as its major draw.
While one may be tempted to believe they themselves would never succumb to such an extreme as, say, befriending an AI chatbot, it’s much easier than you think. Social media and other addictive tech features are the most palatable to people in times of emotional need, and when we’re in need, accessibility to care is often prioritized over its quality.
Technology also hinders our ability to feel the emotions we need to feel. That’s what makes Instagram Reels such a magnet during vulnerable times in our lives. Sad, stressed or scared? TikTok will set that on the back burner for you. Clinical psychologist Dr. Narineh Hartoonian has said doomscrolling is a way for us to distance ourselves from our feelings.
“People don’t scroll for information. They scroll for distance. And once the nervous system realizes, ‘This gives me temporary protection,’ it recruits scrolling as a shield, not a pastime,” Hartoonian wrote for the Rowan Center for Behavioral Medicine.
Come to think of it, I downloaded Pinterest the day my dog died.
Fast forward to college. To say it’s been disenchanting would be an understatement. My freshman year met me with a wave of social isolation and imposter syndrome that made a good doomscroll all the more enticing. Between my lack of camaraderie and a nagging feeling that I was in the wrong line of study, my phone became a crutch.
At the beginning of last semester, I resolved to maintain a 15-minute limit on my daily screen time. And I was doing pretty well for a couple of weeks. But after seeking connection from place to place only yielding fruitless or just plain disastrous results, I jumped back down the rabbit hole. Until Sherry Turkle altered my brain chemistry, I never really thought about why I did it.
It’s no secret that excessive internet usage negatively affects our brains. Scores of tips are out there on how to kick the habit. But how do you kick a habit if you don’t know why you began in the first place? We scroll to fulfill a need. We can’t stop if we don’t fulfill that need in another way. That’s why so many methods to quit, like Apple’s screentime limit, fail. These escapes don’t actually replace whatever we are seeking when we unlock our phones.
Personally, I turn to my phone for two reasons. It lets me feel a sense of community without the frightful steps of reaching out. At the same time, the endless algorithms stimulate my mind just enough to avoid feeling the emotions I need to feel.
When I scroll on my phone, I’m not just feeding into a bad habit — I’m attempting to fulfill my own needs. Simply “cutting it out” isn’t enough. Identifying why I scroll — to avoid my vulnerability — has been a key part of stopping it. If I can pinpoint those needs by looking within myself, I can create a plan with tangible results.
Knowing I need connection, I can search for another outlet.
Instead of avoiding my emotions, I can sit with or even log them in a journal. Replacing what your phone does for you is going to yield better results than simply reducing your screentime. It starts with being aware of what those things are.
Why do you doomscroll?
Emma Howard (she/her) is a sophomore studying journalism.
What’s so guilty about that guilty pleasure playlist?