As a college student, I heavily rely on technology for assignments and overall communication with the world. My phone is my planner, music player, alarm, news source, and window into the outside world. As I scrolled through Instagram, especially between classes or while answering emails at the crack of dawn, I started to ask myself: Am I using technology, or is it using me? 

The overconsumption of technology isn’t exactly loud or flashy; it’s quiet. It’s the ache in your neck after too many hours hunched over the screen. It’s the inability to focus on one task without having the itch to check your notifications. It’s also the strange guilt of not responding to a message immediately, even when you’re constantly exhausted. We live in a culture where we are continually “on.”

We often discuss technology as a tool, and yes, it can be. But, like any tool, it can become harmful when used without limits. The problem isn’t just that we’re using our phones and laptops; it’s that we rarely stop. There’s no “off switch.” Social media apps are designed to keep us scrolling. Algorithms reward our attention, not our well-being. School systems and work cultures unintentionally support this cycle by expecting constant digital availability.

One of them pulled out the most recent iPhone, and I was stunned. Not just by the fact that a third grader had such an advanced phone, but by what it symbolized. It hit me how drastically the role of technology has changed in such a short time. I reached my breaking point recently while working with a group of third-grade students. 

When I was in third grade, we were still learning to type on desktops, not carrying around miniature computers in our pockets. That moment made everything click. This issue isn’t just about us in college, but it’s generational, affecting younger kids more deeply and earlier than ever.

Some might argue that we’re just adapting to a new normal. That is simply how the modern world works. And, in some ways, that’s true. Technology is woven into nearly every part of our lives. But, normalization doesn’t mean being healthy. When something becomes so expected that we stop questioning it, we risk losing parts of ourselves we didn’t realize were fading.

For example, when was the last time you sat and let your mind wander, without a screen in front of you? When was the last time you felt bored … and didn’t immediately reach for your phone? Those quiet moments matter. That’s where creativity, rest, and reflection live. Constant stimulation doesn’t allow for that. It fills every peaceful moment with noise.

What’s more concerning is how tech overuse affects our sense of connection. We might constantly “talk” through texts and social media, but that doesn’t always mean we’re truly engaging. Real, human connection, the kind that builds empathy and trust, needs more than likes and emojis. It requires time, presence, and depth. Ironically, a tool meant to connect us often makes us feel more alone.

This hit me during a recent event I attended: an immersive soundscape at Moravian’s Writers’ Conference. It was a completely offline experience, just a dimly lit room, soft lights, and the recorded voices of students sharing personal stories. There were no phones allowed, no screens to distract us. Just listening. I didn’t expect something so simple to move me as much as it did. It reminded me what it feels like to pay attention fully and intentionally.

For once, I wasn’t multitasking. I wasn’t switching between tabs in my brain. I was just present. In that stillness, I realized how much I miss that feeling in my everyday life. The soundscape felt like a subtle rebellion against digital overstimulation, a call to return to something slower, quieter, and more human.

Of course, I’m not suggesting we throw our phones in a lake and live off the grid. Technology isn’t inherently evil; it’s powerful, and when used mindfully, it can be empowering. But we need to be aware of its impact. Overuse can be translated as feeling like burnout, distraction, detachment, and emotional fatigue. It chips away at us quietly.

So, what can we do?

We can start by setting boundaries. Not just screen-time limits on our apps, but real boundaries that make space for us to breathe. Put the phone in another room when you’re studying. Set aside dedicated hours to disconnect from emails. Try leaving your earbuds out on your next walk. Let yourself be bored sometimes. Let your mind rest.

We can also create environments like that soundscape that remind us what it’s like to be fully present. Whether through art, nature, conversation, or rest, we need more spaces that don’t demand our attention, but gently invite it.

Ultimately, the goal isn’t to reject technology. It’s to reclaim our relationship with it. To use it without letting it use us. To remember that while we can access everything through our devices, we experience life through our senses, our presence, and our relationships.

We don’t have to be “always on” to be enough. Sometimes, turning off is exactly what we need to reconnect with others and with ourselves.