Know Thyself.

I am a writer to my very bones, so when I decided that my anxiety of late had become untenable, my immediate response was to begin writing in my journal about it.

I wrote about what seemed to spark my anxiety, if anything, and when and how long it lasted, the severity, and what my thinking and feelings were like in those moments. Although I didn’t intend this when I started the process, it has become one of my most powerful therapeutic tools to date: something about noting my anxiety, examining it with a critic’s eye, has helped me to gain distance from it.

But I’m not here to talk about that.  I want to talk about my phone.

As I examined the triggers for anxiety, I found some that made a lot of sense: hearing about bad weather and flights, for example, sparks my flying anxiety.  Reading sad and bad stories was more likely to make me anxious—of course.  But I have also come to realize, to my surprise, that simply being on my phone can be a sort of proximate cause.

Don’t we all know that?

I don’t think we do—at least, not in the sense I mean it.  Yes, we know that too much time looking at models on Instagram and Tiktok can harm the self-image of young women and that reading depressing things makes us depressed.  To that end, a lot of “tech detox” mitigation strategies look something like this: “Get rid of the apps and websites that make you sad, and use the ones that keep you cheerful.”

But my journal tells me something a little different.  It tells me that even when I am on my phone looking at pics of pandas, or reading about a recipe I want to make, I am more apt to become anxious, sad, frustrated.  I am more likely to ruminate. 

As I began to wonder why this was, and the ramifications for my faith, I started thinking about environmental influence.

A fun story: when I was in Vacation Bible School as a child, one summer I found myself in a class of eight year old girls.  We were all interested, in our childlike way, in dress-up and makeup and jewelry.  So one night, as the “prize” for a game we won, our teacher brought in her “jewelry box” and let us raid the contents.

Oh, the glory!  Looking back, I know the items she offered up were only costume jewelry pieces that no one wanted any more, but we were amazed.  Cubic zirconia brooches!  Dangly earrings!  Necklaces and lockets and rings!  To think that we could take as much as we wanted boggled the mind.

To this day whenever I think of “hoards of jewels” or extravagant excess, I think of that jewelry box.  The presence of it transformed our Sunday School class from a plain-painted church room to a dragon’s treasure vault.  The introduction of this object into our daily lives made us feel like queens, like heroes, like characters in a story.

And so it goes.

We already know from research that our environment influences the habits we develop and the way we think.  Walking shoes by the door makes you more likely to go out; pajamas by the bathtub encourage you to prep for bed when you emerge.  Walk into any cathedral and the hush of the environment and the scent of the candles asks your reverent focus.

I am particularly prone to this.  I often take advantage of it.  My home and my work office are decorated in forest hues that make me happy, contain objects that evoke fond memories and spark creativity.  My Bible and my journals sit on an elevated wooden shelf just above my computer, a visual reminder to prioritize God’s word. 

But somehow it had not occurred to me that these habits might shape me in negative ways, might exacerbate my struggles or encourage my fears. Yet my journal reminds me plainly: something about the way I think and the way absorb information from my phone, from mindless scrolling even of only good things, creates in me the mind that grows anxious.  That frets.  That fears.

I’m not writing this to tell you to put away your phone.  Though you probably should.

It just surprises me, sometimes, the way I’m made, and yet I know it never surprises God.  And while there is a level of self-focus that surely grows unhealthy—we ought not think about ourselves all the time—I do think that paying attention to our patterns and our habits, to the why of our what, can make a difference to how we behave and grow spiritually. 

What are you doing when you’re farthest from God?

And what are you doing when you’re closest to Him?

What are the habits that lead you into selfishness, or wrath, or simple distraction?

What creates a fearful mind in you?

When are you most likely to gossip?

When are you mostly likely to reach for God’s word?

Exploring any of these questions over time can produce some fascinating answers—and even if they aren’t satisfying ones, they’re useful.  Because then we can learn how and where we want to grow, and submit our own understanding to the Holy Spirit for guidance.

If we’re blind to our own behavior, we’re also blind to how to change it.

And as for me, unless I really need it, I’ll be putting away my phone.