It’s troubling to admit that I’ve been averaging between five and six hours of screen time over the past few weeks. While not all of it has been mindless scrolling (though a lot has), the numbers don’t lie: A 2024 Pew Research Center study surveying nearly 6,000 US adults found that nine in ten go online every day, with four in ten admitting they’re online almost constantly. (Guilty.) With screen time increasing globally, it’s understandable that people are seeking to cut back. But I speak from experience when I say it isn’t as simple as just putting the phone down.

You’ve likely heard the terms “digital detox” and “detox tourism”: the concept of cutting back, unplugging, or ditching digital devices altogether while on vacation. As demand grows, more properties and tour operators have started offering tech-free getaways — it even earned a nod in the season three premiere of “The White Lotus.” But while I’d love to give it a glowing review, unfortunately, I can’t.

Last year, I was invited to a week-long wellness retreat at Rancho La Puerta in Baja California, Mexico. Following a rough travel day, all worries vanished upon entering the luxurious and serene 4,000-acre property. Our days typically began with a sunrise hike, and from there, guests were left to choose from over 50 different fitness and wellness classes. Everything was taken care of: nourishing meals, entertainment, and comfortable accommodations. There was just one rule: No devices in common areas, including outdoor walking tracks, with phones and laptops only to be used in the limited designated areas around the property.

The rule wasn’t a shock — I knew about it before arriving — but I was honestly nervous about whether I’d be able to stick to it. As a freelancer, I almost never put my out-of-office message on, even on vacation, in case a work opportunity arises. But after the first day, I realized I had no choice. With no reception in our rooms, Wi-Fi only in the designated hubs, and a packed schedule, there was hardly any time for emails, texts, or social media. The sheer structure of the retreat enforced the detox, and I found myself happily surrendering to it.

The digital detox I initially feared turned out to be a breeze, and I loved being disconnected and living in a bubble. For the first time since I was 12, I was falling asleep without watching TV or videos, and despite my usual insomnia, I was falling into a deep, restful sleep almost immediately. Before I knew it, the seven days had flown by and I would’ve done just about anything to have stayed longer. See, while I thought the hard part would be turning off my devices, it wasn’t; it was returning to society and its relentless connectivity.

For weeks after the retreat, my OOO remained on, even though I was home with plenty of time to bring my inbox back down to zero. I avoided texts and social media, and while my mom heard from me here and there, my friends wondered if I’d disappeared off the face of the earth. The only person who really heard from me was my therapist. (I’m very aware of how lucky and privileged I was to have that support.)

The thought of returning to the digital world somehow just skyrocketed my anxiety. It wasn’t just the sheer volume of missed updates but the weight of catching up that felt overwhelming. It’s important to note that my personal life was also a little tumultuous during that time, and I know those unprocessed feelings added to the stress and anxiety. Avoiding everything and everyone felt easier, yet also worsened the feelings as it created a vicious cycle of avoidance and mounting unease.

In my avoidance, I discovered crocheting, my unexpected blessing. As I sought a way to keep busy without doomscrolling, it quickly became my favorite activity and creative outlet. It was a mindful activity that really helped curb my anxiety at its peak by allowing me to refocus on a new task in the present moment.

As my current screen time stats make clear, however, my old digital habits eventually caught up and I returned to my old ways. It may not have been immediate, but I find it interesting that even after the digital detox’s profound impact, my customary online behaviors crept back in without any changes. Here’s the thing: I don’t believe a three-day, seven-day, or even 14-day detox is enough to implement long-term habits.

A study from the National Library of Medicine suggests it takes an average of 66 days to form a new habit, and habit formation is dependent on consistency. When I think about it, the retreat made it easy because I was constantly busy, but once the novelty wore off and I returned to my routine, so did my old habits. In the same way, research also shows that we use smartphones more on weekdays than weekends. On the weekends we’re busy, whether it be with socializing, running errands, or catching up on chores. We don’t need the distraction and don’t have as much opportunity to mindlessly doomscroll.

A digital detox isn’t a cure, nor will it rewrite our relationship with technology. It’s a test — not only of willpower, but of what happens when we quiet the noise of what we crave, what we resist, and what we’re relieved to leave behind. And while I wouldn’t necessarily want to relive the anxiety that followed that retreat, I do give it credit for showing me that stepping away is possible.

Annita Katee (she/her) is a lifestyle writer and editor covering health, wellness, beauty, travel, DIY, and more. She has held editorial roles at the Daily Mail and The Sydney Morning Herald and has written for Travel + Leisure, Well+Good, Lonely Planet, Business Insider, Domino magazine, and Apartment Therapy, among others.