We’re Not Addicted to Our Phones, We’re Addicted to Escape

It hit me in the middle of a grocery store aisle in Los Angeles.

I was standing there, frozen in front of the shelves, phone in hand, scrolling through food lists that led to recipes that sucked me into the latest health trends. Ten minutes earlier, I’d come in for a bottle of almond milk. Now I was knee-deep in articles about the “five fruits to reverse aging” and a thread debating which pasture-raised vs organic eggs. My cart sat empty, my body stood still, but my thumb kept moving.

I didn’t even notice how far I’d drifted until a stranger passed by and asked gently, “You good?”

I wasn’t good

I laughed, embarrassed, and shoved my phone into my bag, but the question followed me all the way home. Because the truth was, I wasn’t. I’d been using my phone like a flotation device, clinging to it just to stay above the surface of my own exhaustion. I wasn’t just searching for information. I just needed to feel less… less tired, less behind, less like the world was asking more of me than I had to give.

It wasn’t really about the phone. I wasn’t addicted to notifications, apps, or algorithms (or maybe only slightly). I was addicted to escape — escape from the endless lists waiting at home, escape from the grief I hadn’t processed, and escape from the pressure to keep showing up as if nothing was wrong.

After the Palisades fire, nothing was the same. We were displaced, our routines scattered, the places that once felt safe reduced to ash and memory. Every corner of life held a reminder, forms to fill out, possessions to replace, children to reassure, a future to rebuild from nothing. Outwardly, I kept moving. Inwardly, I was crumbling.

The phone became the doorway out. A scroll was easier than facing insurance paperwork. A text thread felt lighter than holding the heaviness of my children’s fears. An email, even a meaningless one, offered more control than staring at the ruins of our neighborhood.

I wasn’t checking my phone to stay connected; I was checking it to disappear.

I realized that day that the scroll wasn’t proof of laziness. It was proof that I was overwhelmed, that my nervous system was begging for a break, and that the quickest exit was glowing in the palm of my hand.

The real pull of the screen

We love to blame technology for our distractions. We talk about dopamine hits, screen time limits, and the evils of social media. But our devices wouldn’t hold us so tightly if we weren’t already carrying unbearable weight.

We reach for our phones because they offer a quick exit — a way to slip out of the pressure of the undone tasks, the grief we don’t want to touch, and the loneliness we don’t want to admit. It’s not the glow of the screen that keeps us hooked — it’s the relief of avoidance.

And that’s a very human impulse. Who doesn’t want a break from the overwhelm of modern life? But the cost is that we never actually get the rest we’re craving. We come back from the scroll just as tired, just as unsteady, sometimes even more so.

What we’re really looking for

When I think back to that moment in the grocery store, I realize I wasn’t craving information or even entertainment. I was craving ease, a pause, and the ability to put down the heavy things I was carrying without anyone needing me for a minute.

That’s the deeper addiction, not to technology, but to escape. Because our bodies are desperate for a break, and the fastest break available is always right there in our pockets.

We don’t need more rules and detoxes

So what do we do? As a behavioral scientist, I know that we don’t need more rules or rigid detoxes; that just creates another impossible standard. The shift is gentler than that. It starts with asking ourselves, “What am I trying to get away from right now?” and then offering ourselves a form of relief that actually replenishes.

If I’m reaching for my phone because I’m drained, maybe I should close my eyes for five minutes. If I’m scrolling because I feel lonely, maybe what I need is to text one friend instead of numbly consuming strangers’ updates. If I’m dodging feelings I don’t want to face, maybe I need to step outside, breathe, and remind myself it’s safe to feel them in small doses.

The point isn’t to eliminate the phone. It’s to give ourselves more nourishing ways to rest.

We are not addicted to our phones

The moment I froze in that grocery store, I realized something I’d never quite seen before: my phone wasn’t the problem. My avoidance was. And the more I tried to outrun exhaustion with escape, the more exhausted I became.

We’re not addicted to our phones. We’re addicted to the relief they promise. Which means the way out isn’t through willpower or shame, it’s through offering ourselves the kind of breaks that actually restore us.

Because what we’re really searching for isn’t on the screen. It’s the permission to put everything down for a moment and simply be.

Dr. Zelana Montminy is a psychologist, author, and speaker who has spent years unraveling the science of resilience, focus, and human connection. Her new book, “Finding Focus,” is out now.