My phone is a pacifier

And it’s really embarrassing

I was on the overground today, sat across from an older man in a flat cap who spent the entire journey just looking around. No phone, no headphones, no book. His ability to sit with his own thoughts made me aware of my inability to do the same. I looked around to see how many other people were on their phones. You will not be surprised to hear that everyone else in the carriage was glued to one. Somehow chastened by this man and the thought that he must be judging the rest of us, I stayed off my phone until I exited the train, feeling every uncomfortable minute.

I’m not someone who always hated the siren call of the smartphone. If anything, I’ve enthusiastically leaned into my addiction, almost never attempting to limit screen time or leave my phone behind when it’s not needed. This week though, as I’ve been feeling low and anxious, I realised how much I use it as a therapist. Except that’s not quite right is it? Therapy is supposed to give you tools to cope with life. Your phone merely gives you fleeting reassurance. It would be more accurate to say that I use my phone as a pacifier, which is both fairly humiliating and kind of sad. I am a grown up who is unable to have a discomforting thought without checking online to see if someone else has had the same thought. I want to know if this ache is normal, or if this vague feeling of doom means anything. I will type in a variety of key words, altering or adding if I don’t get the hit I want. “Pms + chest pain + shoes” “perimenopause + Sertraline / city living” “anxiety + ocd + Reddit x woman - dog,” a chain of increasingly specific and frantic sentences which depressingly, often show me results in red, meaning it’s a rabbit hole I’ve been down before.

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