Why I Schedule Regular Digital Detox Periods To Stay Grounded

My phone is part of my working life. It carries messages from producers, speaking enquiries, family updates, travel details and the daily stream of information that keeps a public career moving. I am grateful for that connection, yet I have learned that constant availability can quietly pull me away from myself.

A digital detox, for me, is not a dramatic escape from modern life. It is a planned pause from screens, notifications and the pressure to respond immediately. I still value technology, social media and the opportunities they create. I simply choose regular periods when they do not get the first claim on my attention.

That choice has become especially important as my work has expanded around broadcasting, writing, advocacy and speaking. When I am helping people think about resilience, leadership or women’s wellbeing, I need to be present rather than merely switched on. Time away from devices gives me the space to hear my own thoughts before I offer them to anyone else.

The Noise We Carry

A phone rarely feels heavy in the hand, yet the mental load attached to it can be enormous. Every ping suggests an unfinished task, a possible problem or a person who may need something from me. Even when the message is harmless, my nervous system can begin operating as if I am permanently on call.

The effect is subtle. I might sit down to write, then check one notification. A quick glance becomes a scroll through headlines, comments and other people’s lives. Twenty minutes later, I have consumed plenty of information but created very little. My attention has been divided into tiny pieces, and the day feels strangely rushed.

Public-facing work makes this harder because visibility can become confused with responsibility. Being accessible is useful; being endlessly available is exhausting. I have had to recognise that a fast response is not always a wise response, and that a quiet period does not mean I am neglecting the people who matter.

What A Digital Detox Means To Me

I use the phrase digital detox simply. It means deliberately stepping away from my phone, laptop, tablet and social platforms for a defined period. Sometimes that is an evening. Sometimes it is a full weekend, particularly after a demanding run of events, travel or media commitments.

The key is that the pause is scheduled rather than left to chance. If I wait until I feel completely depleted, I am already trying to recover from overload. Putting a screen-free block in my diary gives the boundary the same respect I give a television appearance, a meeting or a flight.

Before I disconnect, I deal with practical matters. I let close family know, finish anything genuinely urgent and make sure I have the information needed for the next commitment. Then I put the phone away rather than keeping it face down beside me. A device within reach still asks for part of my attention.

My personal story has included periods of change, pressure and reinvention, and those experiences taught me that grounding is an active practice. Digital rest is one small way I return to the person beneath the roles, deadlines and public expectations.

Why Regularity Matters

Occasional exhaustion can make anyone want to throw their phone into a drawer. Regular digital boundaries work differently because they prevent the build-up in the first place. I think of them as maintenance, much like sleep, movement or taking time to eat properly rather than running on coffee and good intentions.

I usually protect a few screen-free evenings each week. I also create longer breaks when my calendar allows. During a busy period, I may shorten the window, but I try not to cancel it altogether. Keeping a small promise to myself matters when the rest of life feels crowded.

The first part of a break can feel surprisingly uncomfortable. I notice the impulse to check the time, look something up or reach for a conversation that can wait. That restlessness is useful information. It shows how much of my attention has become trained towards interruption.

After a while, my mind settles. I read several pages without checking a message, make food without photographing it and allow a thought to develop without turning it into content. The pause begins as a restriction and becomes a form of freedom.

Grounding In An Australian Rhythm

Australia has a particular relationship with distance, travel and time. A workday can involve a long Sydney commute, a flight between Melbourne and Brisbane, or a video call with someone three time zones away. When my schedule crosses states, a digital detox helps me notice where I actually am instead of mentally living in the next airport lounge.

I love simple local rituals: walking along the coast, spending time in a Melbourne café without opening my phone, or taking a slow morning in the Dandenong Ranges. In Western Australia or the Northern Territory, the vastness of the landscape makes constant digital chatter feel especially out of proportion. A short period offline can restore a sense of scale.

There is also something healthy in the Australian habit of saying, “No worries,” while still making room for a proper pause. An afternoon walk, a swim, a barbecue with friends or an unhurried cuppa can be grounding when it is not interrupted by a stream of updates. These ordinary moments are not empty; they are where relationships and perspective deepen.

For people working remotely, managing school pick-up, commuting from regional areas or doing FIFO work, the boundary may need to look different. A full weekend offline is not always realistic. Even a protected hour after an arvo walk, with the phone left in another room, can give the brain a clear change of gear.

Boundaries That Hold

A detox only works when the rules are clear enough to follow. My usual boundaries include turning off non-essential notifications, removing social apps from the home screen and charging my phone outside the bedroom. I do not need a dramatic declaration; I need fewer automatic invitations to return to the screen.

I also separate urgent contact from general contact. Family and key colleagues know how to reach me if something truly matters. Everyone else can wait until I am available again. This distinction has helped me release the fear that every message deserves an immediate answer.

Travel requires extra planning. At an Australian conference, I might be moving between a hotel in Sydney, an event venue and a breakfast interview before sunrise. I download essential details, save addresses and let the relevant team know when I will be offline. Preparation makes disconnection feel responsible rather than careless.

Social media needs a particularly firm boundary because it can feel like work even when it is presented as relaxation. I check what is necessary for my professional commitments, then step away. My media and press work is important, but I do not want the demands of public attention to occupy every private moment.

What Returns When The Screen Falls Quiet

The first thing I regain is concentration. Without the constant possibility of interruption, I can stay with a book, a conversation or a piece of writing for longer. That sustained attention is valuable in broadcasting and public speaking because strong communication begins with the ability to listen fully.

I also become more aware of my body. I notice whether I am tired, hungry, tense or carrying stress in my shoulders. Screens can help me avoid those signals by giving me something else to focus on. A walk without a podcast or phone call often tells me more about my state than another hour of scrolling.

Creativity returns in a quieter form. Ideas appear while I am washing dishes, driving familiar roads or watching the light change across a room. I do not have to capture every thought immediately. Some ideas need space to mature before they become an article, a talk, a book passage or a conversation.

The greatest benefit is emotional proportion. Online platforms compress distant crises, personal criticism, advertisements and cheerful updates into one continuous feed. Time away allows me to remember what is close, what is actionable and what can be released. Groundedness is not indifference; it is the capacity to respond with care instead of reacting to everything at once.

A Practice Worth Protecting

I do not see digital detox as a badge of discipline or a competition to see who can stay offline longest. Technology supports much of the work I care about, from reaching women with useful conversations to connecting with organisations across Australia and beyond. The aim is a healthier relationship with connection, not a rejection of it.

The practice has also changed how I lead. When I arrive at a corporate event or speak with a group about resilience, I am more present when I have protected some quiet beforehand. I can read the room, listen for what is beneath the question and respond with warmth rather than delivering words on autopilot.

These are the patterns I return to when life becomes crowded:

A regular offline period gives me a way to come back to my values. I remember that my worth is not measured by response time, engagement figures or how visible I remain. I am a broadcaster, author, speaker and advocate, but I am also a woman who needs quiet, laughter, rest and unhurried time with the people she loves.

That is why I schedule these pauses before I think I need them. They protect my energy, sharpen my attention and make room for a life that cannot be fully experienced through a screen. When I reconnect, I do so with more intention—and with a stronger sense of where I am.