Stolen Focus and Sacred Space: A Journey Back to the Heart
Several years ago, I found myself in a small wooden hut, tucked away somewhere in rural Kent, off-grid with nothing but a small group of horses, my family of four, and the dog for company. At the time, I was at a breaking point. I was navigating the stormy waters of perimenopause—bleeding heavily for long periods, physically exhausted, and working far too hard just to make ends meet. My nervous system wasn't just tired; it was utterly frazzled.
The digital noise of social media had become a constant, aggressive pinging in my pocket, demanding my input and my attention with useless information while pulling me away from the only thing that mattered: the present moment.
When we first arrived at the hut, on discovering we were off-grid (because I had chosen to keep that part secret on purpose), the atmosphere was somewhat tense. My children were anxious, exhibiting a kind of "withdrawal" because they didn't have their digital fix at playtime. But then, as the days passed, they began to relax and to rediscover the deep, immersive joy of being surrounded by nature. It wasn't that they didn't enjoy this aspect of our world before; we would enjoy walks on the beach or forest regularly, but it was that they were too often distracted to truly embrace it wholeheartedly.
The Phantom Limb of the Digital Age
Switching off, after years of being tethered to one device or another, initially felt... unsettling. It was a strange sense of loss, as if a limb had gone missing or a small part of my identity had died. Being in my mid-50s, I remember the expansive freedom of the pre-smartphone era. When they first arrived, I resisted; I valued my autonomy too much to be reachable at every second. It wasn't until a boyfriend bought me one—a gift to "stay connected"—that I finally relented and joined the masses.
Yet now, stepping back feels infinitely harder than it was to step forward. These habits are etched into our neural pathways, but I have learned a vital truth: habits can be rewritten, and focus can be reclaimed.
In his book Stolen Focus, Johann Hari argues that our collective attention didn’t just collapse; it was "fracked" like a resource. We are being mined—our data, our time, our money, and ultimately our sovereignty—by systems designed to leave us depleted, addicted, and unable to set healthy boundaries. Whether it’s a business "selling" us a lifestyle or the relentless ping of a notification, these devices hijack our focus, pulling us away from the richness of the present. I realised that to stay authentic—to ensure my writing, my work, and my entire life pulse with real energy—I had to stop the drain. I had to clear the noise to make space for my own imagination and reclaim the natural rhythm of my own flow.
Let’s be clear: devices can either shrink us or connect us. I am not anti-social media, nor am I anti-AI. I see technology like a knife. A knife can be used to prepare a delicious, nourishing meal; it can be used by a surgeon to heal and repair; or it can be used to wound and destroy. The tool itself is neutral; the outcome depends on the intention of the user and the predatory design of the apps we are sold.
Because it is so easy to slip from "connection" into "addiction," I knew it was time to draw a line in the sand—for my own sanity, and for the health of my family. If you are struggling with the particular storm of perimenopause and the constant digital drain, you might find it helpful to read my post on herbal support for perimenopause.
The Sunday Digital Sabbath: A Family Rebellion
This year, after reading The Anxious Generation, I decided to stage an act of rebellion: The Sunday Digital Sabbath. No phones. No screens. Just us.
To be honest, my husband isn't fully convinced yet - sometimes I think he loves his phone almost as much as I, and there are still plenty of "I’m bored" groans from the kids throughout the day. But research shows that boredom is the birth canal of creativity. When we stop the constant dopamine hits, our brain's Default Mode Network (DMN) finally has the space to "defrost."
The most beautiful result has been watching my 12-year-old daughter. When she is "plugged in," she can fall into those heavy, "stroppy tweenager" mood swings. But on Sundays? She regresses to her truest, most joyful self.
She makes eye contact and cracks jokes.
She feeds the chickens she usually ignores.
She "bedazzles" everything in sight with sparkles.
We even started writing a cacao cookbook together.
She isn't a different person; she’s just finally present.
From Shallow Breathing to Sacred Space
This "reset" is the same medicine I offer in my ceremonies. When people step into a sacred circle, they instinctively know to turn off their phones. 99% of the time, I don't even have to ask.
There is a profound physical shift that happens when we unplug. I see it in the breath. We move from the shallow, "high-cortisol" panting of a busy life into a deep, belly-centred softening. In my Shaman’s Way training, we spend 13 moons learning to show up without the "mask." In the digital world, we pretend we are okay to protect ourselves from being seen as vulnerable. In the circle, we allow ourselves to be perfectly imperfect.
The risk of not doing this isn't just "being busy." It is total soul-disconnection. When we are addicted to the unfulfilling scroll, we forget to listen to our own bodies. We ignore the thirst, the hunger, or the need to simply be. We trade our "village" for a "feed," and our spirits pay the price.
The nervous system needs more than willpower to recover from this kind of chronic overstimulation — it needs nourishment. I write more about this in my post on herbal support for the nervous system [IL3], which pairs beautifully with the practices in this post.
Building the Training Wheels: Tools for the Rebellion
It’s important to be kind to ourselves here. We aren't failing because of a lack of willpower; we are up against thousands of developers whose sole job is to keep us scrolling. Sometimes, we need a little help to hold the line. Think of these as "training wheels" for your soul while you relearn how to be still.
For the "Mindless Twitch": I highly recommend an app called One Sec. When you tap an addictive app, it forces you to take a 10-second deep breath before it opens. Often, by the time that breath is over, the "urge" has passed, and you realise you didn't actually want to be there.
For Deep Work: Tools like Freedom or AppBlock can lock you out of specific sites across all your devices. If you’re a writer or creator, these are game-changers for staying in your own lane.
For the Family Sabbath: If the "groans" are too loud, try a physical Timed Lock Box (like a KeySafe). You put the phones in, set the timer for 4 or 8 hours, and the lid literally stays shut. It takes the "argument" out of the room—the box is in charge, and you are free to be a family again.
For a Touch of Magic: Forest is a lovely app where you plant a virtual tree. If you leave the app to check a notification, your tree withers. It’s a gentle, visual reminder that your focus is something living that needs to be tended.
My Invitation to You: Reclaim Your Focus
To protect my energy and the quality of what I share with you, I have implemented two non-negotiable rituals.
Firstly, daily, whilst writing or creating courses using a computer, I work in 25-minute bursts. Between these, I step away from the screen to stretch, breathe, and tune back into my body for anywhere from 5 to 30 minutes. I refuse to let my energy go flat, because I want to offer you that same pulse of vitality—whether you are reading my words, sitting in circle with me or joining me for a healing session.
Secondly, I honour my weekly Digital Sabbath. A full day digital detox to remember who I am, aside from the taxpayer, producer and consumer our capitalist world demands us to be.
My challenge and question to you is this: Can you take one full day with no phone from the moment you wake up until the next morning?
How does that idea make you feel? If it sparks a flicker of fear, let that be the compass pointing toward your healing. Use the "training wheels" above if you need them—there is no shame in using a tool to regain your freedom.
If you find it too difficult to do alone, fill that space with activities that make you feel truly alive. You are always welcome to join me; perhaps for a Cacao Ceremony, where we turn off the world to tune into our own heart, or by joining the Shaman’s Way training for a year of deep, in-person, authentic, offline connection.
I may be slow to respond to your messages today—and for that, I don't apologise. I am likely off-grid, nurturing my garden, feeding my hens, or "bedazzling" something with my daughter. I’ll be back soon, but first, I need to play, be present and rest.
And I suspect you do, too.
