I'm just not built for 24/7 communication

activity status: exhausted.

I watched When Harry Met Sally for the first time recently (I know, I know). Aside from falling head over heels for this absolute masterpiece, I found it wildly refreshing to watch a film where mobile phones simply didn’t exist.

There’s a scene where they’re on the phone in bed—cord and all, and I felt an unexpected pang of nostalgia for another time. A time when communication wasn’t instant, when waiting for a call was an event, not an interruption. I couldn’t help but feel a little sad, knowing how much better I might have thrived in a world without the pressure of constant connection.

Don’t get me wrong—I like my phone. I love taking photos, creating content, dumping my silly little thoughts into my notes app. I like how it gets me from A to B without (too much) faff. I like sharing a food shopping list with my partner, mostly to see what snacks are on our collective mind. I like the security it gives me when I leave the house alone.

But there’s a big problem (huge). I’m utterly incapable of instant communication. Which, when you think about it, is hilarious given that I’m from the MSN messenger generation—the one that chose to sit at the family computer after school, chatting online with people we’d spent all day with. Those were the days.

I could chalk up my communication struggles to the way my brain works, but the simplest way to put it is this, I find the mental load exhausting. And when that load becomes too big, I bury my head in the sand and ignore conversations for days.

My responses end up looking like this:

“I’m SO sorry for the delay in getting back to you”

“SO sorry I missed this, it’s been a week”

“Omg, I missed this message”

Some friends are understanding (thankfully). Others? Not so much. Unsurprisingly, those friendships tend to drift.

But is instant communication—this 24/7 revolving door of conversation, actually sustainable? Am I apologising for something completely unreasonable?

I think (hope) so.

I can’t help but wonder how much more people noticed before they could be contacted constantly. How much better their in-person meetups were, even their landline calls. I bet they paid attention to odd little details—the peculiar shape of a cloud or the way bubbles in coffee join to form a little face. It must have been nice, not always being so switched on.

Did everyone feel a bit lighter back then? Without the nagging voice in the back of their minds, whispering reminders about overdue apology texts. Did they have more to say? Did deeper conversations happen? Was it easier to notice when someone wasn’t quite themselves—to sense that they needed more than the surface-level exchange of “How are you?” and “Yeah, not bad, you?”

There’s no going back now. I’m not about to proclaim my separation from my smartphone (it’s practically a limb at this point). Honestly, I don’t even know anyone but my parents who still have a landline. But maybe it’s time to stop being so instant—or at least stop apologising for not being instant.

I’ve already taken small steps: scheduled notification summaries, do-not-disturb modes, the removal of certain apps. The real mountain, though, is WhatsApp. Managing that feels like the ultimate test of strength.

So, for starters, I’m not sorry I didn’t reply instantly.

I’ll get back to you in a working day or two.

Hopefully, you enjoyed this post, if you did I would be eternally grateful if you would share/restack so I can reach more people like you ♥️

Have a lovely day, Allie ☁︎

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