THERE is a strange kind of comfort in the scroll. One minute you intend only to check the weather, and suddenly 45 minutes have passed. You find yourself knee-deep in a reel about the collapse of democracy, another about a looming recession, one more about an influencer鈥檚 petty drama and then a final clip of tragedy from halfway across the globe. You pause, your heart beating a little faster, your eyes strained, your stomach slightly hollow 鈥� but you keep going. You reassure yourself: 鈥榡ust one more鈥�. And then another.
In an age saturated with connectivity, it is ironic that so many of us are trapped in a cycle of isolation, eyes glued to illuminated screens. This is the reality of doomscrolling: a compulsion that masquerades as information-seeking but leaves us exhausted, anxious and strangely hollow.
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Illusion of control
IT IS a curious obsession. The world seems to be caught in an endless loop of crises, and our devices promise a window into the raw, unfiltered truth. We tell ourselves we are staying informed, preparing for the next shock, or at least demonstrating civic awareness. Yet beneath this mask of obligation often lies a simpler, more primitive urge: the desire to control what is uncontrollable.
When chaos reigns, grasping at the latest headline offers a fleeting impression of mastery. The problem is that this mastery is illusory. Knowledge in itself does not necessarily reduce uncertainty and in the case of doomscrolling, it more often deepens anxiety. It becomes less an act of preparedness and more a form of compulsive self-soothing 鈥� one that feeds on the very insecurities it tries to relieve.
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Vicious circle
THE irony is cruel. This pursuit of information does not leave us better informed; it renders us more distressed and confused. Instead of empowering us, it drains our mental reserves, leaving us helpless. The ceaseless flood of negativity distorts our perspective, convincing us that the world is darker and more dangerous than it truly is.
The cumulative effect is subtle but corrosive. Our sense of youthful hope diminishes, optimism shrinks, and cynicism takes root. Doomscrolling convinces us that catastrophe is not only constant but inevitable. And yet, paradoxically, we keep returning to the very feed that unsettles us.
Why? Part of the answer lies in our biology. The human brain is conditioned to attend more closely to threats 鈥� a survival mechanism honed across millennia. Bad news is urgent, good news is not. Social media platforms, designed to maximise engagement, exploit this instinct. Their algorithms amplify emotionally charged content because outrage, fear and despair keep us hooked. Thus the vicious circle is set: the more we scroll, the more negativity we consume, and the more compelled we feel to scroll again.
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Emotional cost
BEYOND habit, doomscrolling functions for many as a form of dissociation. Life feels overwhelming, responsibilities accumulate, and the world grows ever more complex. Against this backdrop, scrolling becomes a passive method of connection: even if that connection is mediated through tragedy.
But the emotional cost is undeniable. Studies increasingly link chronic doomscrolling to disrupted sleep, reduced concentration and deteriorating mental health. It narrows our worldview, presenting the illusion that everything is collapsing everywhere, all the time. And when the mind is conditioned to expect only the worst, hope itself becomes difficult to sustain.
In this sense, doomscrolling is not merely a bad habit; it is a modern affliction, born of the marriage between technology and human psychology.
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Recognition
THE cycle need not be permanent. The first step in breaking it is recognition. For me, this came with noticing the tell-tale signs: the mindless thumb flicking, the subtle quickening of heartbeat, the rising sense of dread 鈥� and yet, the stubborn continuation. Naming the behaviour for what it was gave me a chance to resist it.
The second step lies in setting boundaries. Hard limits on news and social media use, particularly before bed or immediately after waking, make a tangible difference. Algorithms thrive on unlimited access; setting constraints reasserts control. Choosing content more carefully also matters. Balancing the bleak with the constructive or hopeful reframes the narrative.
Digital detoxes 鈥� an hour, a day, even a weekend 鈥� can help reset the habit. The time reclaimed can be redirected into pursuits with tangible rewards: taking a walk, talking to a friend, returning to a book, or learning a craft. These may appear simple acts, yet they provide the kind of grounded satisfaction that scrolling never can.
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Culture of pause
THE larger question is not only personal but cultural. We live in an era that prizes immediacy, rewards outrage, and confuses awareness with incessant consumption. A culture of pause is needed 鈥� one that recognises that constant vigilance does not make us safer or wiser, but more anxious.
There is also a civic dimension. An electorate paralysed by fear and exhaustion is less capable of constructive engagement. If the constant feed convinces citizens that decline is inevitable, democracy itself suffers. To resist doomscrolling, therefore, is not merely a matter of personal wellbeing; it is a form of collective resilience.
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Looking up
ULTIMATELY, the challenge is to remember that the world is more than the tragedies and crises amplified on our screens. It is also the quiet of an evening walk, the laughter of a friend, the promise contained in small, hopeful acts. These realities seldom trend, but they exist nonetheless.
The spiral of doomscrolling feeds on our attention; breaking free requires reclaiming it. It is not easy, and like any habit it requires persistence. But even small shifts 鈥� choosing to look up from the screen, to pause rather than refresh, to listen rather than scroll 鈥� can create ripples of change.
The world is not short of crises, but nor is it short of beauty. Perhaps the question each of us must ask is simple: would it not be wiser, at least some of the time, to step back, catch our breath, and look up?
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Tahsin Raysha Mallik is a student of BRAC Business School, BRAC University. Dr Syed Far Abid Hossain is an associate professor of BRAC Business School, BRAC University.
