Lent is a season Christians observe as 40 days of turning away temptation, practicing restraint, and refocusing the soul. Like Jesus in the desert for 40 days, we are all have temptations. This year, I realized how rarely I turn away from mine. 

My temptation is quieter: fifteen-second dopamine hits, endless scrolling, my thumb moving before I even decide to. It sounds smaller than hunger in the desert, yet it killed my attention and hollowed out my days. I admitted my weakness and chose to work. For 40 days and 40 nights, I fought my addictive habits and tried to build better ones. 

It feels almost laughable to compare my daily temptations to those of a man starving in the wilderness. My desert dunes are endless feeds, notifications, and algorithms that know me better than I know myself. I would open my phone without realizing, and look up twenty minutes later, unsure of what I had even seen — only that I felt worse.  

In that space, sin slips in quietly: envy disguised as curiosity, lust masked as content, deception in the version of myself I post, sloth in everything I avoid, and addiction in how often I unwillingly return. The desert looks different now, yet the struggle has not changed.  

If a starving man could refuse bread, I could refuse my phone. 

The first few days were harder than I expected. I felt phantom notifications and reached for my phone constantly. Jesus fasted under a relentless sun, hungry and alone, while the devil offered him easy escapes: bread, safety, and glory. I missed the insignificant things: streaks, DMs, stories, and trends. Like Jesus though, I had to turn away from temptation and accept my journey. I felt oddly invisible, like the world was happening without me. No vibrations in my pocket, no notifications lighting up my screen; just silence. It felt as though I had stepped off a moving sidewalk, watching everyone else glide forward while I stood still, unnoticed. 

Instead of giving in, I turned that discomfort into motivation. I stopped following trends and began branching into my own interests. With nowhere to escape online, I stopped relying on my phone. I read, played with my pets, took walks, listened to music on CDs, tried new recipes, and learned how to play the guitar. A part of me missed the instant connection social media offered, but I realized those connections were passive, lacking real depth or substance. Slowly, life without social media stopped feeling like deprivation and began to feel intentional. 

When boredom crept in, I did not reach for my phone. I looked around my room instead. One afternoon, I lay upside down on my bed, staring at the ceiling fan, studying my space as if I had never seen it before. I realized that without boredom, I had lost curiosity. I had never understood how much anxiety social media gave me until I stepped away. The time apart grounded me and showed me that the world works more gently when I stop obsessing over what is not working for me. 

The parts my phone had numbed were finally allowed to surface. It felt like a relief to experience curiosity and wonder again, instead of than having everything available at the click of a button. In those 40 days, I formed more ideas than I would have in a year of scrolling; discovering what hugely entertained me and brought real joy, leaving me feeling less sluggish and more connected. 

What began as a Lent challenge became a new way of living. When I stepped out of the endless scroll, I did not lose a world; I found a fuller one.