It hit me during my Calculus lecture at 8 AM: I couldn’t retain a single word about derivatives because my brain was replaying an instagram reel from three days ago. When was the last time I had a thought that was actually mine?
I decided to go one full week without consuming any content. No Instagram, no YouTube, no podcasts, no Twitter threads. Nothing. Just me and my own thoughts.
Day one felt like voluntary solitary confinement.
The First 48 Hours: Withdrawal
I reached for my phone 47 times before 10 AM on Tuesday. Each time, I’d unlock it, stare at the blank home screen, and feel this weird hollow panic. What was I supposed to do? Just sit here with my breakfast like some medieval peasant?
Walking across campus without earphones, the silence was deafening. I could hear my footsteps, the wind, and a bird I’d never noticed because I was always plugged into a true crime podcast.
In programming class, when we brainstormed coding approaches, I went completely blank. My usual process of scrolling for inspiration wasn’t possible. Without external input, my mind was a computer trying to boot with no operating system. Just empty.
That night, staring at a problem set for thirty minutes, I realized every “original” idea I had was just recycled tweets or video essays. I literally could not tell where my thoughts ended and where the consumed content began.
The Terrifying Midweek Realization
By Thursday, something unsettling happened. Walking from the library, a fully formed thought about campus mental health resources appeared in my head. My own thought.
Except, was it? I frantically tried to remember if I’d heard this on a podcast or seen it on Twitter. Had someone mentioned it weeks ago and I’d unconsciously filed it away?
I couldn’t tell. That’s what terrified me.
I was a walking playlist. My personality was algorithm-curated. My opinions were trending takes. My humour was recycled reels audios. Even my dorm decor was derivative. When was the last time I’d made a choice that had not been influenced by something I’d seen online?
The Weekend: Confronting the Silence
Saturday was brutal. My roommate went home, leaving me utterly alone with no distractions.
I cried; not movie tears, but the kind that comes from somewhere deep and uncomfortable. I’d been running on a treadmill for years, and someone finally hit stop. I stumbled.
Without the constant stream of other people’s lives and thoughts, I had to confront my own emptiness. I’d spent so much time consuming that I’d forgotten how to create. How to just be.
Day Seven: The Shift
By Sunday, something changed. Bored enough, I picked up a book I’d bought freshman year; not for class, not because of BookTok, just because it was there. I read for three hours straight.
Then I walked without my phone. Had an actual conversation with someone at the bus stop, fully present instead of half-thinking about what to binge-watch later.
That night, I filled four journal pages. The thoughts weren’t revolutionary or perfectly articulated, but they were honest, messy, and completely original.
What I Learned
I’d become so addicted to consuming content that I’d forgotten how to create and think independently. My brain had outsourced entertainment, education, and emotional processing to an endless feed.
The algorithm knew me better than I knew myself because I’d let it. I’d traded authentic curiosity for curated content. Real experiences for parasocial relationships. Original thoughts for optimised takes.
I’m not saying all content consumption is bad; I’m literally writing this for online publication. But there’s a difference between intentional consumption and mindless scrolling. One enriches you. The other replaces you.
What Now?
Yes, I redownloaded my apps after the week ended. But something fundamental shifted. Now I notice when I’m reaching for my phone to avoid my own thoughts. I catch myself forming opinions based on my independent thinking.
I take morning coffee without any audio input now. Sometimes my thoughts are stupid or embarrassing. But they’re mine.
I’m relearning how to be okay with boredom. To sit in silence. To let my mind wander without reaching for external stimulus. It’s uncomfortable as hell.
But in that discomfort, I’m finally figuring out who I actually am when I’m not performing for an algorithm or absorbing someone else’s curated life. And that person? She’s kind of interesting. A little weird. Definitely imperfect.
But at least she’s original.
