40 Days Off Social Media: What a Digital Sabbatical Taught Me (+ How to Re-Enter Intentionally)
Ever wondered what really happens when you step away from social media for more than a weekend? In this blog, I’m sharing my honest experience with a 40-day social sabbatical—why I left, what the first two weeks felt like, and what quietly came back when the noise dropped.
We’ll cover:
✻ The nudges that led to a break (and why “users” isn’t an accident)
✻ The tipping point: when scrolling stopped inspiring and started paralyzing
✻ Weeks 1–2: detox, phantom reach, and the connection gap
✻ Weeks 3–4: glimmers of creativity, deeper presence, and actual margin
✻ Five aha’s to notice in your life this week (no judgment—just data)
LETS DIVE IN 🖤
Okay. As I’m recording this, I’m in the final stretch of a forty-day social media sabbatical—ten days to go. I wanted to sit down and give you a neat list of magical takeaways… but honestly? I could use forty more days.
One thing that keeps happening: every time I tell someone I’m taking a social break, they say some version of, “Ugh, I’m jealous.” So I know this isn’t just a me thing. So many of us feel the pull to be constantly “on.” And if you’re a business owner using social to grow something real, the weight—pressure, comparison, performance—can get really freaking heavy.
So today’s a come-with-me episode. I’m sharing where I’m at in the middle of it, and my hope is you walk away with a fire and some awareness about your relationship with your phone and with social. Next week, we’ll get super practical with tangible boundaries. But first, here’s the line that lit the match for me. In Catherine Price’s book How to Break Up with Your Phone, she writes:
“Imagine every phone you saw in public was swapped for a needle or a bottle. Could we finally admit it — we are addicted?”
That one got me, y’all. Dramatic? Maybe. But the only real difference is that phone addiction is socially acceptable, encouraged, and even rewarded. I started having this visceral reaction to watching people on their phones while life is happening right in front of them. It felt like something was being stolen.
At the very least, our phones are robbing us—of attention, of presence, of creativity, of confidence. And that’s where I want to start today: how social media was robbing me, and why I chose a 40-day sabbatical.
WHY I CHOSE A SOCIAL SABBATICAL—
For me, the “why” behind this sabbatical didn’t come all at once—it was more like a slow drip. Little moments where I’d think, something’s off here… but then I’d move on with my day only to feel that same way again the next day. And in this feeling, there were a few distinct moments that started pressing on my heart.
One came while I was reading Chasing Slow. She shares this scene: middle of the night, feeding her baby, scrolling at 3 a.m.—again. And she suddenly sees herself from above: a miracle baby looking up at her mama… and the mama looking down at a screen. That image grabbed me by the shoulders. Because anyone born in the last decade and a half is growing up competing with a rectangle for the faces they love most. That’s… a lot.
Then, family visited. Our niece’s little girl, Mylah, was bouncing with a story—full sparkle, all hands. She’s telling it to my husband, and he’s half-listening while looking at his phone. I paused the moment: “Babe… Mylah’s trying to tell you something.” He looked up and saw her face. And in that instant, we both felt it—how precious and rare these real-life moments are, and how easily we miss them. Life is short. I don’t want to waste it distracted.
Now here’s the thing: I actually do have decent phone boundaries. I don’t sleep with it. I take screen-free windows. I’m picky about inputs. But these moments kept poking at me—not just as a human, but as a coach. I help women build intentional, focused lives. And I could not ignore the truth that our phones are one of the biggest, quietest saboteurs of that work. If I want to teach the skill of using our phones as tools and not traps, I have to live it first.
Which brings me to the day I finally hit pause.
It was a Tuesday morning, nothing dramatic. I’m at the kitchen island, coffee next to me, laptop open, phone face down but somehow still THERE, ya know? Seventeen tabs open—email, Canva, my podcast host, three “inspo” posts from other coaches, and a half-written caption from the week before that I just couldn’t get to post. The plan was simple: I needed to post, engage, move on.
Instead, I did the thing I’d caught myself in a loop of doing —
I opened Instagram “just to check my DM’s in case.” Two scrolls in, I’m knee-deep in everyone else’s wins—launch recaps, sold-out programs, perfect reels, engagement and comments and likes. Cue the inner dialogue: Her posts have so much engagement; maybe I need to post more…or maybe it’s just me. Her membership just launched 50 new people on the first morning; what’s wrong with mine? Basically. All the comparison, right?
I flipped to Canva to “tighten the graphic,” back to IG to “see what’s converting,” over to my notes to “clarify the message.” Ten minutes. Twenty. Forty. My caption blinked at me. I changed one word. Changed it back. Thumb hovered over “Share.” I didn’t post.
Then life kicks in. The dogs have been cooped up inside all day. The laundry is still sitting in a pile on the living room floor. My husband, Charlie was going to be home soon and I hadn’t finished my work for the day. Real life was asking for me. I ignored it to re-read a sentence for the eighth time because—this is what stung—I couldn’t hear my own voice over the noise anymore.
It wasn’t just scrolling. It was this habit and pattern and loop I got caught into that was siphoning my courage. I wasn’t creating; I was consuming. I wasn’t building; I was comparing. And it didn’t make me take more action—it paralyzed me into no action.
That was the line in the sand. The thing I was using to “grow” my business was dismantling the part of me that built it in the first place: my voice, my creativity, my confidence.
But I didn’t just rage-delete and disappear. I opened my calendar and picked a hard start date—because there’s never a “good time,” only the time you decide. Then I built a simple plan so life and business could keep flowing:
I listed out what needed to go: Instagram, Facebook, TikTok—off the phone.
What would stay (in a limited way): email on my computer once per day; The Sisterhood (TSM) community check-in on desktop once per day.
I pre-scheduled the essentials: podcast episodes, Sisterhood content, and my monthly newsletter—so the women I serve still felt supported.
I told my people in advance—both on social and via my newsletter—that I’d be stepping back for forty days, why I was doing it, and how to reach me if needed. Clear expectations, clear boundaries.
I committed to the date. No going back. I was fully invested.
I didn’t know what would happen to the algorithm, engagement, or sales. I just knew the hamster wheel was costing me more than it was giving me. I wanted my voice back more than I wanted another reel.
THE FIRST TWO WEEKS—
Day one felt…loud and quiet at the same time. Quiet outside—no dings, no dots, no “one new message.” Loud inside—my brain kept reaching for the next hit that wasn’t coming.
The first thing that happened? My body exhaled. Not metaphorically—like, full-on nervous-system-release. I was bone-deep tired in a way I hadn’t let myself be. I needed a daily nap before dinner and I was having a hard time waking up in the morning. There was even one morning I did my full routine and then went back to bed. No shame.
Then there was the uneasiness of space. I caught myself doing it instinctively when there was a gap to fill. Like I was waiting for a text reply so I went to where Instagram used to be and realized it wasn’t there to open. When I was having a creative slump I reached for my phone. That reflex was really eye opening bc how many tiny moments had I been filling instead of feeling?
And then came the connection gap. Social had been my quick hit of “I’m in the loop.” And without it I started to feel a little lonely.
Here’s where it got interesting: the gap forced a choice. If I wanted connection, I had to be intentional. So I texted a friend to walk the beach. I started calling people on my walks instead of listening to a podcast. I helped a friend who’s training for a marathon by meeting her for a portion of her 20 mile run. We served with our church and had dinner with friends. It took effort. But the conversations? Fuller. Slower. Human.
Practically, the first two weeks looked like this:
Sleep: Earlier nights, deeper sleep. Lots of naps.
Mornings: Morning routine without having to document it
Work blocks: Lots of sitting with the discomfort of my creativity being zapped.
Triggers I noticed: Transition moments (after finishing a task), boredom (waiting rooms), and emotions (feeling behind → reach for a hit). Naming the trigger helped break the loop.
I won’t sugarcoat it—there were awkward parts:
I felt fidgety when I couldn’t “just check” something.
I felt left out when I didn’t know the latest thing everyone was discussing (totally missed the whole Coldplay concert affair thing 😅)
I felt itchy in the spaces that used to be filled with scroll.
But underneath the awkward was something steady: spaciousness. Minutes returned to me. Focus returned in short bursts. I could finish a paragraph without hopping apps. I could make lunch without a video playing in the background. Tiny wins, but they stacked.
By the end of week two, the twitchiness eased. The reach slowed. And the quiet started to feel less like deprivation and more like margin. I wasn’t “fixed.” I was simply less flooded. And that was enough to keep going.
WHAT FILLED THE GAP—
This is where it got a little sweet. I started dreaming again—vivid, in-color dreams about people and places I hadn’t thought of in years. Old parts of me surfaced. Ideas tapped me on the shoulder. I opened my journal and the words didn’t feel quite so forced.
My creativity didn’t come roaring back; it came in glimmers. Not a flood, a trickle. Same with confidence. Not the loud, performative kind—the quieter knowing that I don’t need a feed to validate my voice. After more than a decade of device-driven habits, nothing “magical” happened overnight. I’m still in it. Still wrestling with next steps and purpose—like most of us. The difference now? I’m not drowning in the anxiety of what everyone else is doing.
Presence felt different. Conversations were richer. I caught Charles’ micro-expressions I would’ve missed. I watched the dogs do something ridiculous and just laughed instead of reaching for my phone. My days had margin again—white space, room to hear from God without five other voices piled on top.
Absence didn’t create a void; it created room.
AHA MOMENTS + WHAT YOU CAN TAKE FROM MY EXPERIENCE—
1) Silence is a teacher.
When the world gets quieter, you get clearer.
Try this: give yourself five minutes of true quiet each day (no music, no podcast, no scrolling).
Journal prompt: When I turn the volume down, what do I finally hear? What’s the loudest input I need to lower?
2) Visibility is not value.
A good day isn’t defined by views or likes.
Try this: define three “win” metrics you can control (ex: one deep conversation, a focused work block, 20 minutes outside).
Journal prompt: How am I measuring my days, and what would feel more honest and life-giving to measure instead?
3) Contact ≠ connection.
Hearts and DMs are contact; eye contact and voice memos are connection.
Try this: trade 10 minutes of scroll for a call, a voice note, or a walk with someone you love.
Journal prompt: Who leaves me feeling more “me” after we connect? How can I make that easier this week?
4) Boredom births ideas.
Your brain doesn’t need to be entertained to be okay.
Try this: choose two “micro no-phone zones” (car line, checkout, first 10 minutes of a walk). Carry a small notepad or open your Notes app after the moment to capture ideas.
Journal prompt: What ideas showed up when I didn’t fill the gap?
5) Boundaries are kind.
Not punishment—protection for your values + the people that matter most to you.
Try this: notice your top trigger (transition, boredom, big emotion). Pick one gentle boundary that meets it (ex: phone in a “home” during work blocks, notifications off after 8pm, one daily check window).
Journal prompt: Which boundary would feel kind to me this week—and what support would make it stick?
Your One Job This Week: Notice
Alright friends…next week we are going to come back to this conversation but from a very practical angle where I give you some really awesome boundaries that will help you create some agency and intentionality surrounding how you use your phone. But before we do anything tactical, your one job this week is to NOTICE. I want you to sit with this question:
Why are you online this season— is it to serve, to learn, to connect, to create?
Let that be your filter for the week. And as you move through your days, I want you to encourage you to get curious:
What am I reaching for my phone to feel…or to avoid?
When am I most vulnerable to the reflex (transition, boredom, big emotion)?
How does my body feel before I scroll vs. after I scroll?
What do I actually miss when I’m off it—and what don’t I miss at all?
If I got back 30 minutes a day, what would I love to do with it?
No judgment. Just data. You could even carry a little notes page called “awareness” and jot what you notice.
Next week, we’re getting tangible. I’ll walk you through the exact phone boundaries that are helping me come back slower and steadier—five core rails plus the bonus moves that make them stick. I can’t wait for that conversation with you. But in the meantime, if today’s episode stirred something, share it with a friend who might need a little permission to breathe, share it on your social and tag me…I love seeing what stands out to you and where you’re taking me when we get to have these conversations together. Thanks for being here, friend. Keep taking care of yourself, and I’ll see you right here next week on The Self Care Sisterhood Podcast. 🖤
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