Hooked by the Scroll: How Social Media Hijacked My Mind and Time

I can’t recall the moment when addiction sunk its roots deep inside my skull. It started out innocently—a quick video during a break, a few more clicks, just one more scroll. But then it spiraled out of control. The screen became my escape, pulling me into wormholes of sugary suggestions and DIY marshmallow videos.

One night, I hit a breaking point. My partner arrived home to find me unconscious, sprawled across the bed, my phone still glowing with the endless stream of content. Rainbow buttercream, impeccable piping, and edible gold leaves played on repeat, but I was numb. That was when I had to admit to myself that something was wrong, even though a part of me still didn’t want to believe it.

To prove I wasn’t completely hooked, I queued up Netflix’s documentary, “The Social Dilemma.” The documentary, which aired in September 2020 and was directed by Jeff Orlowski, interviews a handful of Silicon Valley insiders who once had their fingers deep in the operations behind our glowing screens. Mostly white dudes. A few women. All of them suspicious of the psychological tactics implemented to keep us scrolling.

As I watched, I found myself glancing sideways at my phone, sitting affectionately by my side like a loyal yellow Labrador. Was I possessive over it, or was it possessive over me? I fought the urge to unlock the screen and soothe my anxiety with a 30-second cookie decorating clip. I hid the phone under the couch cushion and tried to focus on the film, nodding along with nervous recognition as the tech leaders laid bare their nefarious tactics.

…

In high school, social media wasn’t the beast it is today. Xanga and Myspace were the platforms to connect with friends after school, but no one had smartphones. If we wanted to post pictures from a drunken party, someone had to bring a digital camera, upload the photos the next day, and post them online. Back then, social media felt like a tool—something we could choose to engage with rather than an all-consuming necessity.

But today, things have changed. Kids now have Instagram accounts from the moment a blurry ultrasound image is handed to their parents. I watch my students fighting to resist their phones, tucked inside their backpacks, vibrating with tantalizing messages. And how can I judge them, when I too feel the pull to check my own notifications between classes?

Adolescents today not only face the pressure to be accepted by their peers in real life but also to cultivate influencer-worthy identities online. Social media is no longer just a distraction—it’s a source of stress, a constant stream of comparison and anxiety.

…

The documentary made this clear: our platforms are designed to manipulate us, to keep us engaged for as long as possible to deliver that dopamine hit. I couldn’t help but reflect on a friend’s breakup. She confessed she couldn’t stop checking her ex’s Instagram or the profile of the girl he cheated with, even though she knew it was hurting her. “It’s like a compulsion,” she said. And I understood that all too well. Social media is engineered to prey on our vulnerabilities, whether it’s a craving for validation or the need to keep tabs on someone who’s hurt us.

But what do we do about it? How do we break the cycle of addiction when social media is so embedded in our lives? Deleting my accounts isn’t realistic—my family and friends live on the other side of the world, and social media is how I stay connected to them. I’ve tried setting time limits, turning off notifications, even avoiding the apps until after 6 p.m. But the pull is strong. My subconscious often betrays me, and I find myself scrolling mindlessly despite my best efforts.

The documentary points out that social media has been a powerful tool for raising awareness about political movements and human rights issues, and I don’t deny that. The Black Lives Matter movement, for example, gained global momentum because people shared content and organized protests online. But this same tool can be wielded for harm. Misinformation spreads like wildfire, as former Facebook engineer Justin Rosenstein points out: “The platforms make it possible to spread manipulative narratives with phenomenal ease.”

…

This became all too clear in the 2020 election, as political parties tore each other apart, aided by divisive, emotionally charged headlines designed to trigger our worst instincts. I often debate whether to unfriend acquaintances who post inflammatory content, but I also feel the need to monitor what they’re sharing, even if it raises my blood pressure.

In my classroom, I teach students how to annotate texts, to pull out the author’s opinion, and make their own judgments. It’s grueling work, and they groan about it, but it’s more important than ever. We live in a world flooded with information, and we need to know how to sift through it critically. We need to understand what’s real and what’s designed to manipulate us. But even knowing this, I still struggle with my own social media use. I can educate myself all I want, but breaking free from the addiction is a much harder task.

…

So where do we go from here? The documentary ended, and I was left in a raw, woke state, unsure of the next steps. I’ve come to realize that education is the key. Not just the kind that teaches facts and figures, but the kind that makes us sit with ourselves and ask hard questions. Why do we reach for our phones? What are we trying to escape from? How does it feel to tune out the noise and distractions and be fully present in our lives?

This is the kind of education that matters—the one that requires humility, open-mindedness, and patience. It’s about doing the work, the slow and steady work of unlearning our compulsions, and realizing that maybe, just maybe, this work is better than a click.