Compost #8: Doomscrolling
Bloomscrolling as a harm reduction tool
The day after Renee Good’s murder, doomscrolling made me physically ill. Instead of taking a quiet lunch break at work, I scrolled and scrolled and scrolled until my head hurt so badly that I got dizzy and threw up. Which, in my defense, is a perfectly healthy response to witnessing such brutality and reading such vitriolic comments.
My intentions were good. I wanted to stay informed, but at what point does doomscrolling become self-harm?
In my last post, as a journal prompt, I asked what you’re addicted to. Not to inflict shame, but to initiate an honest conversation. I think we’re all addicted to something. It’s nearly impossible to be fully present as an American right now. Craving a little Novocaine makes perfect sense.
Over the past several years, I’ve removed bulimia, alcohol, and cannabis from my life. And yet, I still cope imperfectly. I still reach for my phone as a distraction. This is what it means to be human.
The problem is that my algorithm has morphed into trauma porn, and I can’t look away. Social media, for me, feels an awful lot like drinking. Once I open Instagram or TikTok, I don’t know when I’ll be able to stop consuming poison.
Throughout life, we will have
to choose what we will carry
and what we will let go.
You see, the things in our hands
are evidence of what we value most.
If we hold onto bitterness, healing suffers.
If we hold onto pride, humility suffers.
If we hold onto judgment, kindness suffers.
If we hold onto anger, peace suffers.
We must decide if the weight
of what we are holding onto is
really worth letting the others
slip through.
Because we were built to
carry a lot at once but we
can’t carry both the poison
and the antidote.
-ullie-kaye
Last week, my average screen time was 3 hours and 19 minutes per day. Morally speaking, this is not right or wrong, good or bad. Wildflowers do not judge.
It does make me wonder, however, if this phone in my hands is evidence of what I value most.
Do I value distraction more than my senior dog, whose time on this earth is dwindling? Do I value social media more than Mother Nature? Do I value comment section arguments about how the Britney Spears clone theory is dismissive of her trauma more than my nervous system?
If I hold onto poison, humanity suffers.
If I hold onto trauma porn, health suffers.
If I hold onto overconsumption, creativity suffers.
If I hold onto doom, blooming suffers.
I must decide if the weight of what I’m holding onto is really worth letting the beautiful, precious things slip through.
On January 1, I started an Instagram page for my writing called The Wildflower. I made a conscious decision to fill my feed with nothing but poets, writers, and artists. That algorithm feels like a breath of fresh air compared to my other social media feeds. It feels like bloomscrolling, instead of doomscrolling.
Now, more than ever, poetry, writing, and art are health care. In a world that wants me numb and desensitized to manufactured chaos and violence, I must hold onto softness. If I want to survive, I must compost poison.
Let me be clear. I’m not suggesting toxic positivity or burying my head in the sand, both of which are pillars of whiteness. All I’m saying is—these are hard times. Self-harm won’t fix anything. Like any addiction, gentleness and self-compassion are at the root of change.
Bloomscrolling is a perfect (lunch break) harm reduction tool.
The next time I feel the urge to doomscroll, I will remember that throughout life, I must choose what I will carry and what I will let go.
Wildflowers are built to carry a lot at once, but they can’t carry both the poison and the antidote.
🌱 Doomscrolling Compost Equation:
Carbon (trauma porn, overconsumption, doom) + nitrogen (poison, manufactured chaos and violence) + water (tears) + oxygen (deep cleansing breaths) + the art of decay = a nutrient-rich product used to fertilize wildflower soil
🌷Affirmation: I use bloomscrolling as a harm reduction tool.
🌼 Journal Prompts: What is your average screen time per day? Are you carrying the poison or the antidote? What do you value more than your phone?
🪻Next Up: TBD. Next Sunday is my 38th birthday. I might write. I might not.
💐Related bonus essays:
