A quick note before we begin:
I’ve made a quiet commitment to myself to start sharing more of what sits just beyond the canvas. This space usually centers on needlepoint, but today’s post is a little more personal. It’s about something that’s been deeply important to me lately—and I hope, in some way, it resonates with you too.
A few months ago, I started feeling this overwhelming sense of momentum. Noise everywhere—thoughts racing, content piling up, ads chasing me around the internet. I felt anxious, disconnected, and strangely behind, even though I was always plugged in.
That’s when I began what I now think of as my journey back to analog.
At the time, I was averaging 7–8 hours a day on my phone. Between work emails, FaceTimes, every form of social media, online shopping rabbit holes, Kindle books, "just browsing” ecommerce sites, my Mahjong app, and just... the internet in general—it all added up. I liked to think of myself as reflective—but not once did I stop to reflect on that.
So how did I get here? What finally convinced me to put my phone down?
It actually started with a high school Spanish class word I never forgot: nomofobia—the anxiety of not having access to your phone. At the time, it seemed funny and kind of exaggerated. But now? It feels uncomfortably familiar. I wouldn’t have called myself addicted, but when I looked around, I realized how many of us are. Whether we admit it or not is another story.
There was this underlying malaise I couldn’t shake. Infiltrated. Like my attention was constantly being hijacked—by notifications, by noise, by a rhythm that wasn’t mine. I needed to disconnect—not because phones are evil, but because life was passing me by. This isn’t a doomscroll-y, fear-based essay. I’m not anti-tech. But I wanted to share my story because for the first time in a while, the pressure in my chest is starting to ease up. And that shift feels worth naming.
You might be wondering: how on God’s green earth did I end up here? (And maybe also: what does this have to do with needlepoint? If you stay with me, I just might answer both. No promises *wink*) I came across a TikTok that stuck with me. The creator’s thoughts were surprisingly thoughtful, and while I didn’t act immediately, the idea lingered.
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Then I saw another video—one of those “your life in dots” visuals that maps your time across decades. It hit hard. When you see your life reduced to rows on a page, it forces you to reckon with what truly matters.
One habit I’ve always wanted to build is reading physical books. Not on a Kindle, not listening while doing dishes—just reading. But it never seemed to stick. The idea was better than the execution, and my bookshelf turned into a stack of good intentions.
Eventually, I went down a YouTube rabbit hole and found Jared Henderson (he’s here on Substack, too). He’s probably my nerdiest subscription, but his videos are incredibly thought-provoking. A few that got me thinking deeply: Why we can’t stop scrolling, We are burned out. Here’s why, and Why we can’t focus. They’re not flashy, but they stayed with me—and pushed me further down this path.
So I committed. I wanted to reconnect with analog—to sleep better, be more present, have real conversations, spend time outdoors, look up. I’ve gone from 8 hours of screen time a day to around 5. That feels like real progress—but I’m still working on it.
So how I even begin to unplug?
The biggest shift, honestly, was charging my phone in another room at night and cutting out scrolling before bed. That single boundary made all the difference. I used to struggle with insomnia, and now—according to my Oura ring—I usually fall asleep within 6 to 10 minutes.
I knew that if I wanted to break the phone habit, I needed to get busy with things that pulled me into something else—things that required my hands, my brain, and ideally, my curiosity. I wish I could remember where I heard it (frustrating, because I’d love to link it), but the idea was this: if you ask people when they’ve felt most fulfilled in life, it’s usually during a season when they were learning something new.
I didn’t start with some perfect plan. I just tried things. Books, walks, a little cooking. I wasn’t trying to change my life—I just needed something else to think about. So yes—I distracted myself at first. But distraction led to discovery.
So what am I doing with the “free time” I’ve reclaimed from my phone?
I started with books. I began tracking them on StoryGraph (a Goodreads alternative—because I have a bit of a personal vendetta against Amazon, which is a story for another time). I’d failed my reading goals for years until I figured out what works: start with a “cheater book”—fast-paced, fun, a little indulgent—before wading into the more informational reads I always say I want to read.
Next came music. I wanted to connect more with it, so I started learning an instrument. It turns out, it’s never too late to start. And then, movement. I’d hit a wall with pilates and needed something fresh. I found myself taking adult ballet classes. Which—let me just say—is a LOT harder than it looks. I didn’t dance as a kid—no muscle memory, no reference point. Just me, a barre, and a room full of mirrors.
Trying something new as an adult—something you’re totally bad at—is wildly humbling. But it’s also freeing. You get to be a beginner again. And that’s something we lose when everything is filtered, edited, and performative.
So where does needlepoint fit into all this?
Lately, I've been spending more time dreaming up needlepoint designs—and not just for fun. I've mentioned Le Fil on TikTok, and while we haven't launched yet, it's something we've been quietly building behind the scenes. This isn't just a few sketches or a moodboard—it's a real company, and it's coming together.
We're still a couple months from launch, but the foundation is there. The ideas are flowing, the branding is locked, and the excitement is very real.
And maybe that’s what this whole analog shift gave me: the space to think clearly, to create without pressure, and to continue to build something I believe in.
If you’ve been feeling the same pull—to slow down, to focus, to make something—tell me about it. I’d love to hear what your version of “getting back to analog” looks like. You can always find me on TikTok or Instagram, or just reply here.
See you in my next one,
P.S. In case you missed it, here's an update on the needlepoint business we're building:
This is so beautiful, friend. Seconding the above—adored every word!
The words and thoughts on all of our minds - adored every inch of this.