Last month, I watched a tiny bug crawl out of my laptop’s keyboard.
I was watching a reality TV show titled "Nude and In Love." While devouring a Caprese sandwich — with crumbs undoubtedly falling into my computer, providing a snack for some small insects. It was quite unpleasant, everything about it — from the excessive TV watching to finding bugs in my workspace, not to mention having stayed indoors for two whole days.
I had maintained this habit of spending four to seven hours each day glued to the television as an undisclosed part of my life for more than 12 months. Teaching creative writing, I often advised my pupils that indulging in digital diversions can stifle creativity. Yet, were I a figure in one of those tales, I'd likely come across as a melancholic, middle-aged part-time instructor living solo without any animal companionship, nourishing myself primarily with processed carbs and reruns of reality shows along with pervasive feelings of inadequacy—hardly embodying leading-man charisma.
Last year was particularly tough. For the first time ever, I found myself unemployed after losing both of my full-time positions which previously offered stable finances. On the job front, I began experiencing severe anxiety attacks akin to panic episodes that would last for extended periods. During one such incident in a video conference call, I completely broke down and hid underneath my desk since I couldn’t figure out how to turn off the camera or mute myself. Meanwhile, my colleague could hear me sobbing from behind their screens. After quitting this position, I took up another role hoping for a fresh start. However, just a couple of weeks into it, I locked myself inside the restroom attempting to regain composure. Eventually, I abandoned that post as well, walking away with my computer still running on the desktop.
It was clear that maintaining a full-time job wasn't feasible for me, so I stitched together part-time teaching positions and freelancing work, pushing through classes until I could return home. Television turned into an outlet to avoid confronting my shattered state. By spending hours glued to "Dance Moms," I found comfort knowing that staying indoors meant not risking losing control outside; stepping out of my apartment posed uncertainties. What began as a mere distraction evolved into a daily lifeline.
I realized that not changing would lead to further deterioration. Stepping out of my apartment was challenging enough with the constant pounding of anxiety in my head, where even minor sounds felt deafeningly loud and life seemed overwhelmingly hectic. Having become accustomed to the dulling effect of binge-watching "The Bachelor," "The Bachelorette," and "Bachelor in Paradise," I had lost touch with functioning beyond episodes filled with rose ceremonies and collective outings.
If I continued on, I’d only allow my life to unravel further. I pictured not showing up to class and staying home to watch Bravo until my landlord would eventually knock on the door to ask about unpaid rent. I decided to do a 30-day TV detox in an attempt to regain control of my life before it was too late.
The guidelines were straightforward: 30 days without television.
No “American Idol,” no “Selling Sunset,” no “90-day Fiance.” A month seemed like a good chunk of time to test whether my life would improve. I hoped that changing one habit might influence others. I wanted to eat better, sleep better, be better. And possibly figure out why I felt so on edge all the time.
Initially, it was terrible. By dinner time on the very first day, I found myself sadly consuming spaghetti alone, while the sound of the humming refrigerator mingled with the noise of passing cars outside my flat. Deprived of my usual nighttime television, I retired for the night at 7 p.m.
During the initial week, I wrote in my journal about feeling extremely unhappy. I was unable to watch "Severance." And "The White Lotus." I found myself compelled to pick up books once more. Though I used to be an enthusiastic reader, I had halted this habit to make room for binge-watching series with eight or more seasons instead. Returning to literature initially seemed strange, yet before long, I rediscovered solace and joy in diving into novels again. This renewed passion encouraged me to retrieve my own manuscript from the back of the closet where I'd left it, convinced it lacked quality.
The discomfort of having to sit with my thoughts in the evenings and the weekends was profound. I knew that if I didn’t replace watching TV with another (ideally healthier) habit, I wouldn’t make it to the 30-day mark. I decided to take 10,000 steps every day. That, too, started off miserably.
“Walking is boring, it takes forever,” I thought, passing the same cookie cutter houses each day. Not one to jog, or run, or go to the gym, I could only commit to taking a stroll around my neighborhood, until I eventually veered onto an urban hiking trail where other people were outside walking dogs and sticking to their New Year’s resolutions.
Finding the motivation to go on walks was hard. I asked my mom to help keep me on track. We’d chat on the phone, and she’d listen to my pent-up complaints about everything in my life, from my money-related worries to my career anxieties. Once, she innocently suggested that perhaps I should hold off on the no-TV thing until another time.
“Absolutely not!” I yelled into the phone. “This is something I have to do!”
I had pledged to myself to make some changes. Occasionally, I would message her saying I was about to put on my running shoes, and she'd respond with a heart emoji.
One of the deepest insights I gained towards the conclusion of my detox journey was recognizing that television served as an escape for me when feeling lonely. When "Real Housewives" wasn't filling up space with their arguments, I faced solitude head-on. Having access to reruns of “Love Island” at close range prevented me from confronting just how limited my existence felt. This void of sound and absence of social interaction became overwhelming. Choosing isolation protected me from exposing myself to those closest to me—those who might witness the extent of my suffering due to anxiety and depression. It made me feel like recovering should be solely my responsibility, even though this struggle seemed both self-inflicted and potentially infectious to others.
It became quite evident that when my obsession with television shows reached its height over the course of a year, many of my friendships started fading away. Every time someone close to me invited me out for dinner or suggested attending an event together, I would come up with reasons not to join them so I could stay home and binge-watch "True Detective: Season 4." As weeks passed, communication with those dear to me dwindled significantly.
The detox gave me a chance to make a fresh start, so I began saying yes to almost all invitations for social interactions. Nonetheless, I remained quite clumsy during most of these talks. It seemed as though I had a nametag stating, "Hello, I'm Julie, and I haven't got everything figured out." Despite feeling this way, I tried hard to move forward. My dearest friend even accompanied me on several weekend strolls. Our discussions revolved around literature, which led me to favor spending time with people over watching television.
At times, I relapsed by spending one or two hours watching my go-to YouTube astrologer. (When I initially began my digital cleanse, I hadn't clearly set boundaries for what constituted television viewing.) Additionally, I caught myself wasting parts of my morning browsing through social media feeds. While I was not prepared to completely abstain from using screens, I did refrain from accessing any streaming platforms throughout this period.
By the end of the 30 days, I’d lost a pound, read six books, and finished writing a short story. I’d applied for higher paying jobs, had begun taking multivitamins, and routinely ironed my pants. My friend commented that my skin looked good.
I felt confident that I’d moved past binge-watching for good. But by day 37, I folded. I watched a couple episodes of “The Bachelor,” but the experience felt different. I wasn’t hooked. In fact, I was bored by the same tired themes. The shift signaled that I’d put in the work to enjoy my real life more than a reality show.
I still miss Hulu, Netflix, Max and Apple TV. I’ve even planned a week, over spring break, to binge-watch all the shows I missed out on during my detox, but other than that I’ve decided to stay the course and keep deleting the emails from streaming services begging me to come back. I’d been trying to cover up sadness with consumption for too long. And that only made the sadness worse. Now, I look forward to seeing familiar faces out on the trail and stopping to watch a white egret fish in the stream.
A month has passed since then, and I'm feeling much improved. Looking back at the period when I relied on television as a way to deal with my sorrow, I now approach those times with understanding. Television seemed like a sanctuary, yet it actually held me back from moving forward. Taking long walks taught me that I could manage navigating through life outside my comfort zone. Nowadays, my body craves movement more than ever before. My mind feels sharper as well; I've picked up writing once again. Recently, I came across this idea: we're always either taking in content or generating our own. I aspire to become one of those individuals who create rather than just consume. To pursue this further, I also consulted a TV-writing mentor about my hidden aspiration—dreaming of joining a writers' room someday and offering insights for fantastic series productions.
I share with my creative writing pupils that the essence of crafting an outstanding character lies in demonstrating their ability to surmount challenges. Abstaining from television for 30 days does not transform me into a compelling character, yet it has rendered me more engaged in my daily existence, enabling me to seize control and pen a superior follow-up season.
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