Big Girl Panties Diaries - Entry #25: Ping. Scroll. Repeat.
I remember when I got my first cell phone — I used to forget to answer it. It would ring from the bottom of my purse, and I’d think, “Oh yeah, that thing.” Now? Forget it. We can’t live without it. It’s an addiction wrapped in necessity.
There’s a special kind of tension that lives in your shoulders when you’re always waiting. Waiting for the next ping. The next “Can you talk?” The next “Just circling back.” A dopamine drip disguised as a push notification.
I swear my nervous system flinches every time my phone buzzes — even if it’s just Ann Taylor reminding me about a sale I definitely don’t need to know about right now. Or — my personal favorite — text whining from my girls: “MOM. The Wi-Fi is terrible. MOM. What’s for dinner? MOM. Can you bring me [insert thing they forgot]?”
And then there’s the nighttime version — waking up at 2 a.m. thinking, “I should check and see if someone needs me.” Or the scrolling when you can’t sleep — eyes half open, brain wired. Or my personal favorite: that moment when you wake up in the morning, can’t even see yet, and reach for your phone before your glasses, your coffee, your breath.
Sometimes I get in the car and my phone already knows where I’m going — because I’m that predictable. Comforting? Creepy? Probably both.
We talk about being “always connected” like it’s an achievement. But really, it’s an invisible leash — tugging at you while you’re making dinner, doing yoga, or trying to squeeze out one real, coherent thought.
Some days I genuinely want to run my phone over with my car — just to hear it not ding for once.
And let’s be real: my spine is permanently shaped like a question mark from doom scrolling at midnight. My eyes burn. My shoulders live up by my ears. My brain? It can’t even finish a thought before the next ping swats it away like a fly.
No wonder we’re burned out. We joke about burnout like it’s just another line on the work badge, but half the reason we’re fried is we never truly shut off. Even when our bodies stop working, our brains keep pinging. No rest, no recharge — just ping, scroll, repeat.
It’s exhausting. And addicting. And absolutely normal — which should terrify us.
And here’s the bigger question: What are we actually avoiding while we stand still in the elevator, eyes glued to the screen? Silence? Boredom? That uncomfortable feeling we keep trying to outrun? It’s easier to check for a new ping than check in with ourselves.
And what am I teaching my girls when they see me glued to this thing? That constant stimulation is normal? That quiet is scary? That you should always be on call for everyone but yourself? Not the lesson I want them to download.
The kicker? We literally use our phones for everything: Food ordering, banking, photos, travel, music, searching anything — cue instant gratification. It’s not evil — it’s essential. But maybe the real work is remembering it’s a tool, not a master.
It’s wild how the thing that connects us can keep us feeling so far away from ourselves — and the people right in front of us.
Confession: I once missed the world’s best eye-roll from my teen because I was too busy checking an email that could’ve waited. That’s on me.
So, here’s my tiny rebellion: try leaving it in another room for an hour. Go for a walk without it. Let the world do what it does while you remember you have an actual nervous system — and a life — outside that glowing rectangle.
🩲 Big Girl Panties Rule:
If your phone owns you more than you own your phone, it’s time for a boundary check. Put it on Do Not Disturb. Let the next ping wait for you for once. We don’t have to live like this. One ping at a time, we can reclaim a little quiet — and maybe our sanity too. Digital detox needed.
Tell me: Do you remember your first phone? Does your phone know your habits better than you do? Do you wake up scrolling before you can even see straight? Have you ever fantasized about flattening it, too? What are you really avoiding when you’re always scrolling — and if you’ve got little eyes (and text whiners) watching, what do you hope they see instead?
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