New Life Series: For the woman who wants her peace back. • The Revenge Factor • Wear the Dress

Unreachable: Remember When Your Phone Didn't Give You Anxiety?

It's on the bedside table. It's the last thing you look at and the first thing you grab. It buzzes, and something in your chest does a little jolt — who wants something now?

There was a time, and it really wasn't that long ago, when you were completely unreachable. Out the front door meant gone. Nobody could get to you, see you, ping you or weigh in on you. And it was absolute bliss — we just didn't know it yet.

Let me take you back there for a minute. And then let me show you how to take some of it back, because you're allowed to.

Remember When You Were Actually Unreachable?

Cast your mind back. You left the house in the morning and you were simply… gone. Off the grid. Unreachable until you got home and chose to be reachable again.

You walked round to your mate's house and knocked on the door. If they were out, they were out — you didn't know where they were every second, and you didn't need to. The phone was bolted to the hall wall, and if it rang while you were having your tea, you could let it ring. You picked up the landline when you fancied it. Nobody expected an instant reply, because an instant reply wasn't possible.

Here's the whole difference, in one sentence: back then, access to you was something you gave. Now it's something everyone just has — all day, all night, whether you like it or not.

Now Everyone's Got a Key to You

That phone in your pocket is a door. And somewhere along the way, you stopped being the one who decides whether it's open.

Now everyone's got a key. Work. The group chats. Family. The school WhatsApp with its 200 unread. The people who drain you, the ones who compete with you, the ones you'd cross the road to avoid — all of them, pouring through the same little glowing door, at any hour they fancy. It sits buzzing on your bedside table while you sleep, like a guest who's let themselves in and won't go home.

We were never built for this. You were never meant to be available to hundreds of people at once, every waking minute. That's not connection. That's just an open door with the lock taken off.

Why It's Giving Everyone Anxiety (It's Not Just You)

Here's the mechanism, because once you see it you'll stop blaming yourself for feeling frazzled.

Phone anxiety runs on a horrible little loop. The phone keeps you in a constant low buzz of alert — something might need me, something might be happening — and the only thing that soothes that buzz, for about four seconds, is checking the phone… which immediately tops the buzz back up again. Round and round. You're never quite on, and you're never quite off. Your nervous system spends the whole day faintly braced.

And then there's the arena. Open the thing and you walk straight into people competing, performing, arguing, and showing you the shiniest, most exhausting versions of their lives. You can't even pop on to check one thing without stepping into a row you didn't start or a highlight reel that leaves you feeling a bit less-than. Of course we're all anxious. We've each got a pocket-sized colosseum that never closes.

You Get to Take the Key Back

So here's the bit nobody says out loud, and it's the whole point of this: you're allowed to be unreachable again.

Not all the time — you've got kids, a life, people who genuinely need you. But you get to decide who has access to you, and when. You get to put the lock back on the door and be the one holding the key. Access goes back to being a gift you hand out on purpose, not a right every random person and app gets to claim.

And the loveliest part: you reach out because you actually want to. Because you fancy a proper natter with a friend, or you miss someone, or you've got something to share — not because the phone demanded it, not because you're bored and scrolling, not because you want something. Real connection, given freely, both ways. That's how it's meant to work.

You were never anxious. You were available. Available to everyone, all the time, with no off switch — and your nervous system has been quietly footing the bill. Make yourself a little bit unreachable again, and watch how fast the calm comes back.

How to Make Yourself Unreachable Again

Small, doable, and gloriously old-fashioned.

1 Put the door back on its hinges at night

Get the phone out of the bedroom. Buy a cheap actual alarm clock like it's 1995. When the phone isn't the last thing you see or the first thing you grab, the day stops opening and closing with everyone else's noise.

2 Set your own opening hours

You are not a 24-hour shop. Decide roughly when you're reachable and when you're not, and reply when it suits you — not the instant it buzzes. A message is an invitation, not a summons. Most people won't even notice the gap.

3 Silence everything that isn't a person you love

Turn off the notifications, the badges, the little red dots all clamouring for you. Let the phone be a tool you pick up when you choose, not a master that taps you on the shoulder a hundred times a day.

4 Leave the arena — block them all

The competing, the arguing, the accounts that leave you feeling small or wound-up: block, mute, gone. You don't have to be in the fight, and you don't have to watch it. Step out of the colosseum and shut the gate behind you.

5 Reach out on purpose

Once a day, message or ring someone because you genuinely want to talk to them — not out of boredom, not mid-scroll. That's the good stuff, the connection the phone was supposed to be for. Give your access as a gift, to people who give theirs back.

6 Go properly unreachable, on purpose

Leave the phone at home for the walk. Go to the shop without it. Out the door, off the grid, just like the old days — even for half an hour. Notice your shoulders drop about three inches. That feeling? That's what we lost. You can have it back whenever you like.

Let Them Wait

You can't go back to the landline-on-the-wall days, and honestly you wouldn't want to lose all of it — some of this stuff is genuinely brilliant. But you can take back the one thing that actually mattered: the lock on the door. The right to be out of reach. The right to choose.

So be a bit unreachable. Let the phone buzz away on the side while you have your tea. Let them wait. Reply tomorrow. Knock for a friend because you want to see her face, not because an app nudged you. You don't owe the whole world an open door and an instant answer.

Lock the door. Keep the key. And go and live a life that isn't available for comment.

Frequently Asked Questions

Why does my phone give me anxiety? +

Because it keeps you in a low, constant state of alert — and the only relief on offer is to check it again, which feeds the loop. Every buzz is a small "who wants something from me now?" and your nervous system never fully switches off. Add the pressure to be reachable around the clock, plus the comparing and arguing you scroll past, and it's no wonder you feel wired and frazzled. It isn't a personal failing. The thing is genuinely designed to keep you on edge.

Why do I feel anxious about being reachable all the time? +

Because being available 24/7 is an unnatural amount of access to give. The expectation that you'll always answer creates a constant background sense of obligation — work bleeds into home, messages feel like summonses, and you never feel properly "off." Humans weren't built to be on call to hundreds of people at once. The anxiety is your system telling you the door has been left open far too wide.

How do I make myself less reachable? +

Decide that access to you is something you give, not something everyone automatically holds. Keep the phone out of the bedroom, turn off notifications from anything that isn't a person you love, and set your own "open hours" rather than replying the instant it buzzes. Block or mute the accounts that drain you, and leave the phone behind sometimes so that going out means being genuinely out of reach again. You're allowed to choose when you're available.

Is it OK to not reply to messages straight away? +

Completely. A message is an invitation, not a summons. Replying when it actually suits you isn't rude — it's a healthy boundary, and most people barely notice the gap. The expectation of an instant reply is a habit we all picked up together, and you're allowed to opt out of it. Answer when you've got the time and the head for it, not the second the screen lights up.

Why does everyone seem so angry and competitive online? +

Because these platforms reward reaction — the more heated or showy a post, the more attention it gets, so arguing and one-upping rise to the top. What you're seeing isn't real life; it's the loudest, most provocative slice of it. You don't have to wade in, and you don't have to take it on board. You can simply block the people who thrive on it and step out of the arena entirely.

More on the blog:
• The Revenge Factor: Block, Smile, Walk Away
• You're Not Bad at Sleeping, You're Taking Revenge
• Wear the Dress
• Explore all posts

A gentle note: This is a fond bit of nostalgia and a nudge towards a calmer relationship with your phone — not medical advice, and I'm writing as someone who also grabs it first thing, not as a professional. A bit of phone-related frazzle is very normal. But if anxiety is a daily, heavy thing for you — racing thoughts, dread, panic, trouble sleeping that won't lift — that deserves proper support, and you don't have to manage it alone. Please have a chat with your GP, or find a qualified therapist through the BACP directory here in the UK. Your peace is worth protecting — on the phone and off it.