By Mia Di Panfilo

The morning light barely touches the windowsill in Haneil Chowdary’s Toronto apartment before his hand reaches instinctively toward his phone.

The glow of the lock screen reflects in his eyes before he’s even aware of what he’s doing. 6:43 a.m. He hasn’t even gotten out of bed. Notifications bloom across the screen like digital confetti—group chats, emails, memes, breaking news, a story view from someone he hasn’t spoken to in months. His thumb hesitates, then swipes.

“I told myself I wasn’t going to start my day like this¹,” Chowdary mutters, half to himself, half to the ceiling. 

He pulls the duvet over his head in defeat.

Chowdary, 21, is a third-year Graphic Communications student at Toronto Metropolitan University. He’s smart, self-aware and overwhelmed—like many in his generation—by the steady digital hum that frames every moment of his day.

It’s not just about being distracted, he says. “It’s about needing to be distracted.” Chowdary recently attempted a week-long digital detox after realizing his screen time had topped 10 hours per day. It didn’t last three days. “I was twitchy,” he says, laughing without humour. “Like something was missing. Because something was missing—even if I hated it.”¹

The idea of digital detoxing isn’t new. In fact, it’s become something of a cultural cliché—like juice cleanses or January gym memberships. Unplug, breathe, reset. But for many, the truth is more complicated.

The more useful our phones become, the more essential they feel. They wake us up, track our steps, guide our commutes, serve our meals, answer our questions, and fill the silence between thoughts. But behind this utility is something more deeply wired: a psychological dependency born from repetition and reward.

Dr. Jonathan Mills, a psychology professor at Chaminade College who specializes in technology and behavioural habits, explains this with clinical precision. “Every time you check your phone, you’re creating a neural pathway—a loop. And the more you repeat it, the stronger that loop becomes,” he says.²

Mills likens phone usage to slot machines. “You get a little dopamine hit when there’s a message or a like. It’s unpredictable, which makes it addictive. That’s classic operant conditioning.”

He leans back in his office chair, the glow of his desktop monitor catching the edge of his glasses. “And when you try to stop, you’re not just bored—you’re battling a physical impulse.” ²

It’s late afternoon when Chowdary finally decides to go for a walk without his phone. He tucks it inside a kitchen drawer and shuts it with the deliberate finality of locking away a weapon. The silence in his apartment is uncanny.

“I used to love being outside,” he says, tugging his hoodie over his head as he steps out. “But now it’s like… without music or podcasts, my brain starts yelling.”¹

His feet slap against the sidewalk as the street bustles around him—cars passing, a man arguing on a Bluetooth earpiece, kids laughing through their own headphone bubbles. Chowdary’s hands twitch toward his pockets several times. They’re empty.

“There’s this fear I get,” he confesses. “Like someone’s going to need me and I won’t know. Or I’ll miss something important.”¹

The fear of missing out—known more popularly as FOMO—is more than a cultural buzzword. It’s a psychological response to the perceived disconnection from peers and experiences. Chowdary, like many, doesn’t just fear missing a message. He fears missing life.

That fear is what keeps Angelica Torelli, a 21-year-old freelance marketer, from attempting her own detox. Her fingers move expertly across her phone screen as she talks, sending emails, toggling between tasks, checking Instagram. She’s had an average screen time of 11.5 hours per day for the last six months.

“I work through my phone. I socialize through it. I make money through it. If I unplug, I disappear,” she says. “And disappearing is not an option.”

Torelli isn’t being dramatic. Her industry—fast-paced, remote, brand-driven—demands visibility. Being offline is almost synonymous with being unemployed.

But the cracks are showing. “I have migraines almost every week. I forget stuff all the time. I’ll close an app and re-open it three seconds later, not even realizing I did it,” she says. “It’s like my brain is stuck in a spin cycle.”

She once tried turning off notifications for a day.

“I had full-blown anxiety,” she says, rubbing her temple. “It wasn’t relaxing—it was torture. I realized I wasn’t addicted to my phone. I was addicted to being reachable.”

Back in his apartment, Chowdary’s drawer creaks open. From this drawer, he extracts his phone similar to someone retrieving a relic. The instant he activates the screen, red badges spring to life-36 unread texts, 12 mails, four missed calls. It has been 92 minutes now.

The dopamine rush religiously hits an individual at hours like that when there are benefits from the inducing sugars.

“No, I don’t want to read them,” he says, scrolling. “But I feel like I have to now. Otherwise, it’s like… I’m failing at something invisible.”

Almost seven hours daily spent on screens-up of people below age 30, according to Statistics Canada. Its numbers are even higher among youth, from age 30 and below. Experts assert that digital detoxes are but cursory solutions to an entrenched otherwise cognitive dependence.³

A mobile detox program is sought after by people who plainly call it phone addiction. By introducing phases of “quiet Sundays” or “disconnect-to-reconnect” challenges, social networking will help people regain their lost spirit. However, Dr. Jonathan Mills informed that such brief discontinuance will not change behavior permanently.

“It is akin to curing chronic dehydration by drinking one glass of water,” he says. “And when you come back, all the things that got you hooked are there anyway.”

This explains why so many people, like Haneil Chowdary, can hardly continue with the detox—mostly, people slip back pretty quickly. In that sense, Mills is right; it is not a matter of willpower. “It’s about your surroundings,” he says. “And right now, our surroundings are set up for distraction.”

Usually, they’re not even using the devices. The devices are using them. Every beep of notification, every scroll, every tap is part of an engineering system to catch attention. The companies spend billions to ‘glue’ your eyes to screens. 

Nonetheless, Mills believes there is a path of pragmatism ahead-and it’s not to go offline. “It’s not about cutting everything out,” he explains. “It’s about digital hygiene. Like food-you don’t stop eating because you’ve eaten too much junk. You learn to eat better.” 

He suggests including what he calls “mindful friction.” These are tiny changes that slow things down just a little, making us more aware of what we’re doing. For example, turn off video autoplay. Hide your most stimulating apps from your home screen. Set your phone to grayscale. 

“When you have to work a little bit harder to get the payoff, you start thinking about it,” Mills says. “And that moment of hesitation-that’s where the strength begins.”

Torelli made some of these changes recently. Her Instagram is now only accessible through her laptop. She silences her phone at 9 p.m. and doesn’t allow devices into the bedroom. “I still use it all the time,” she admits, “but now I notice when I use it. That awareness feels like progress.” For Chowdary, it’s gradual. 

Some nights, he leaves his phone outside of the bedroom, instead putting it across the room instead of right next to his bed. He started journaling again, using a real notebook. “It’s weird,” he says. “Sometimes I’ll finish writing a thought and reach for my phone as if I need to post it. And then I’m like-no, this is just for me.” 

He’s not unplugged, and perhaps he will never be, but he is trying to unlearn the urgency. That feels like something. As Chowdary comes home from class, the sun dips below the skyline. His phone is in his bag, zipped away. 

For the first time in weeks, he doesn’t reach for it at the light. Instead, he looks at the clouds. “Feels quiet,” he says, “But not bad quiet. Just…different.” He smiles as if realizing something for the first time. 

Maybe the point is not to escape from our devices, but to remember that we can escape.

Transcript:

Haneil – 

Why did you decide to do a digital detox in the first place?

Well, I hit this point where I checked my screen time, and it said I was averaging over 10 hours a day. I was like—what the hell am I even doing for 10 hours? I wasn’t making anything, wasn’t reading, wasn’t even watching full shows. Just bouncing from app to app. It started to feel gross, honestly. Like I didn’t even want to be on my phone anymore, but I couldn’t stop picking it up. I think it’s about needing to be distracted. I was twitchy, like something was missing. Because something was missing—even if I hated it. So I figured maybe a detox would help reset something.

What was the experience like during those days without your phone?

Weirdly intense. The first day, I kept reaching for it out of habit—like a reflex. I’d be in the middle of making breakfast and suddenly realize I was looking for a video or a playlist. The feeling didn’t go away right away—it kind of lingered, like I had this low-level anxiety just buzzing. Even though I hated being so glued to my phone, not having it felt worse somehow. Like I used to love being outside, but now it’s like… without music or podcasts, my brain starts yelling.

Did you notice any physical or emotional reactions when you tried to disconnect?

Yes, totally. I felt restless, like I couldn’t settle. I was irritable and fidgety—my hands would literally move toward my pockets even though I knew my phone wasn’t there. There’s this fear I get, like someone’s going to need me and I won’t know. Or I’ll miss something important.

How did you feel during the detox? What was the hardest part?

Honestly, I felt kind of exposed. Like, raw. Without the constant stream of content or messages or music, it was just me and my thoughts—and that was loud. The hardest part was probably the evenings, when I’d usually zone out scrolling. Without that, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I’d try to read or journal, but it didn’t hit the same dopamine level, you know?

Angelica – 

How does your work or industry influence your relationship with being online?

I work in marketing, so I have to be online constantly—checking trends, managing social media accounts, and responding to clients. It blurs the line between personal and professional life. I work through my phone. I socialize through it. I make money through it. If I unplug, I disappear, and disappearing is not an option.

How does all of this connectivity impact your ability to focus or relax?

It kills my focus. Every ping or buzz pulls me out of the zone, and it takes forever to get back on track. I’ll also have migraines almost every week. I forget stuff all the time. I’ll close an app and re-open it three seconds later, not even realizing I did it. It’s like my brain is stuck in a spin cycle. I find it hard to truly relax—even watching TV, checking emails or scrolling. I had full-blown anxiety, it wasn’t relaxing—it was torture. I realized I wasn’t addicted to my phone. I was addicted to being reachable.

Have you ever tried turning off notifications or doing a digital detox?

I’ve tried, but I always end up turning them back on. I worry about missing something important.

Jon –  

How does checking your phone affect your brain and behavior?

Every time you check your phone, you’re creating a neural pathway—a loop. And the more you repeat it, the stronger that loop becomes. It’s like strengthening a muscle, but instead, it’s your brain’s pattern of behavior. The more you do it, the harder it becomes to break free. You get a little dopamine hit when there’s a message or a like. It’s unpredictable, which makes it addictive. That’s classic operant conditioning. So, when you check your phone, your brain is basically being trained to continue the behavior. And it doesn’t stop at just a momentary distraction—it becomes an embedded part of your daily routine.

What makes it so hard to stop using our phones or break phone habits?

It’s not just about boredom when you try to stop—you’re battling a physical impulse. This isn’t just a mental habit; it’s a physical, neurological pull. You’ve created these pathways, and now, they’re part of your brain’s wiring. Imagine it like trying to break a bad habit, but your brain is literally craving the next dopamine hit. It’s akin to curing chronic dehydration by drinking one glass of water. And when you come back, all the things that got you hooked are there anyway. It’s not enough to just try and break the habit in one go. You have to work through those impulses and give your brain a chance to rewire itself, but that takes time. 

What’s the best way to reduce the impact of digital distractions without cutting everything out?

It’s not about cutting everything out—it’s about digital hygiene.  Like food-you don’t stop eating because you’ve eaten too much junk. You learn to eat better. The same goes for technology. The key is making mindful decisions about how you interact with your devices. It’s about being more intentional.

How can small changes make a big difference in reducing phone dependency?

Small changes can have a huge impact because they give you that moment of hesitation. When you have to work a little bit harder to get the payoff, you start thinking about it, and that moment of hesitation-that’s where the strength begins. It’s that split second where you pause and think about whether you really want to engage or not. And it’s in that pause that you begin to regain control. When you make a habit of slowing things down, you start to become more aware of what you’re doing and why you’re doing it. These little actions build up over time, and they gradually shift your relationship with technology, making it more intentional and less reactive.