Social Media Saturation

A quiet invitation to step away from the scroll and return to the sacred rhythm of creativity.

Some mornings, before I even rise, the world starts shouting.
Notifications, reels, headlines—all competing for a slice of my attention before I’ve even whispered a prayer or sipped my coffee.

I used to think I could keep up, that the noise was just part of modern life.
But lately, I’ve realized something quieter and truer: my soul was never built for this much noise.
It longs for texture, for slowness, for the rhythm of creation instead of consumption.

We’ve all felt it—
the overwhelm of trying to maintain, let alone grow, a writing or art platform on social media.

And if you’re not a writer or artist, processing the sheer volume of images and words coming your way can feel like swimming against unruly ocean waves.

The Subtle Weariness of the Feed

A blessing and a curse for sure.
I can see what my grandkids are up to—blessing.
I can pour hours into a post only to receive a few views—curse.

It connects me to friends and family across miles—blessing.
It tempts me to measure my worth in likes and views—curse.

Then there’s the barrage of bad news if you can’t help yourself and watch a rogue reel.
Analytics kick in and you’re barraged with more bad news, because bad news gets views.

And you’ll be fed whatever political persuasion you’re leaning toward until you’re convinced reasonable people think like you.

It floods my mind with the heartbreak of the world—sometimes more than one heart can bear. And yet, I keep scrolling, convincing myself it’s necessary.

But creativity cannot thrive in constant comparison.
The muse whispers; she doesn’t shout.

When we trade silence for saturation, we lose the capacity to listen—
not just to others, but to ourselves.

Finding Stillness Again

I’ve started small.

Leaving my phone in another room for an hour.
Painting without posting the result.
Walking without a podcast, just listening to wind and bird song.

It’s awkward at first, this quiet.
The mind doesn’t know where to rest without a screen.
But slowly, the noise subsides—and wonder begins to hum again.

Joy returns in tiny, tactile ways:

• The smell of acrylic paint drying.

• The feel of paper between my fingers.

• The laughter of a grandchild tugging me toward play.

• This is presence.
  This is art.
  This is the peace that scrolling can’t deliver.

A Few Soulful Substitutes for Scrolling

If you, too, feel weary from the world’s constant clamor, try:

• Morning minutes without media. Let silence set the tone.

• A walk without looking at your phone. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve tripped when I couldn’t resist.

• One small creative act each day. Paint, write, sew, plant—whatever calls you back to yourself.

• Reach out to a person, not a platform. Phone a friend. Laugh until your heart lifts.

• Play with your kids or grandkids. My grandchildren love when we enjoy a hearty game of hide-and-seek. And when I forget, they remind me, “Grandma, no-phone rule, remember?”

The world will keep spinning.
You don’t have to keep scrolling.

A Closing Reflection

Life is too short to watch it through a glass rectangle.
When your final moments come, may the memories that flash before your eyes be your own—brushstrokes, laughter, conversations, sunsets, stories.

Because the soul wasn’t made for this much noise.
It was made for music, for meaning, and for moments that matter.

Author’s Note

If this reflection resonated, take ten minutes today to create something with your hands. Sketch. Cook. Garden. Journal.
Let beauty interrupt the noise.

And if you’d like gentle encouragements like this in your inbox—short reflections on art, faith, and creative renewal—subscribe to my Substack below or share this post with someone who needs a pause.

Together, let’s make space for the kind of quiet that awakens art again.