Open any social media app this week and it feels like stepping into a storm. Arguments flare between friends. Strangers lock into loops that go nowhere. A post that begins with good intentions can end in hostility. Even our own RELEVANT feed wasn’t immune — a recent post spiraled into such toxicity among believers that we had to archive it. If scrolling has felt exhausting lately, you’re not imagining it. And if you’re looking for a reason to finally do something about it, Lent just gave you one.
The 40 days between Ash Wednesday and Easter have always been about clearing away what crowds out God. Fasting isn’t punishment — it’s eviction. You remove the thing that’s taken up residence in the space that belongs to something better. This year, for most of us, that thing has a screen.
We weren’t built to absorb this much conflict. Social media trains us to stay plugged in, to treat every update like breaking news and every notification like proof of our worth. What begins as connection mutates into compulsion. Each swipe delivers another hit of outrage or affirmation, and before long our moods are shaped by the algorithm instead of reality. Many of us know this in theory, but for some it becomes impossible to ignore in practice.
Author Rebekah Lyons has described how deeply the pull can reach.
“I began to experience withdrawal,” she said. “My hand would twitch for my phone, my body craving the dopamine hit of connection.”
That craving is more than habit — it’s evidence of how the platforms rewire our instincts. If reaching for a phone feels automatic, it means the tool has stopped serving us and has begun to control us. Yet withdrawal is only the first stage. On the other side of it, something better can surface.
“I began to notice the beauty of everyday moments again. A sunset. A child’s laughter. The sound of silence,” Lyons said. “I didn’t feel the need to capture them for anyone else. They became mine alone to savor.”
Her reflection points to what a break can restore. When the pressure to perform fades, presence returns. Not everything has to be broadcast. The world regains its wonder when we allow ourselves to simply experience it.
That’s precisely what Lent is asking for. The tradition isn’t just about subtraction — it’s about substitution. The hours you’d spend scrolling become hours you spend in prayer, in Scripture, in the kind of quiet that actually changes you. The ancient practices the season invites — fasting, reflection, confession — don’t trend, but they restore us in ways no feed ever will. Lent doesn’t just remove the noise. It replaces it with signal.
Lyons explains the shift this way.
“I realized I had been missing the point,” she said. “Social media had promised connection, but it had stolen my presence. It had given me an audience but robbed me of intimacy.”
That reversal is the reality many of us feel. We log on for community but end up lonelier. We look for information but leave overwhelmed. And when arguments flood our screens — as they have these past few weeks — the cost is more than annoyance. It’s discouragement. It’s fatigue.
That’s why the decision to archive that divisive post mattered. Online arguments won’t resolve themselves, and they rarely change anyone’s mind. But we don’t have to keep subjecting ourselves to them. Choosing to log off is a way of protecting our peace, and in the process, protecting our ability to actually engage with each other well.
This isn’t to say social media has no value. It can spread stories that deserve to be heard and connect people who might otherwise never meet. But when it turns into a steady stream of anger or comparison, it drains more than it gives. A Lenten fast doesn’t mean rejecting the digital world — it means remembering we were never designed to live entirely inside of it.
Lyons has seen what’s at stake.
“Every time I unplugged, I felt like I was getting my life back,” she said. “I began to remember that I was more than what I produced, more than what I posted, more than the likes I received.”
That’s the freedom 40 days can bring. Not just relief from stress or protection for your mental health, but the slow recovery of who you are outside the gaze of others. The reminder that your worth is secure even in silence.
Lent ends at Easter. The whole arc of the season moves toward resurrection — toward something better on the other side. A social media fast works the same way. You don’t give it up just to suffer through the absence. You give it up because you’re making room for something worth showing up for. Close the apps. Let the arguments continue without you. Fill the space with what the season is actually for. You may find that by Easter, you don’t miss it the way you thought you would.
