Chronic Illness

What the actual fuck is ‘Doomscrolling’? I swear, our country creates the most useless, stupid labels on the planet. Oh, America.   To answer the question, doomscrolling is America’s new rollercoaster – a ride we never asked to board. Each swipe of our phone drags us higher with headlines of chaos, then plunges us into loops of fear, outrage, and despair. Unlike a theme park ride, there’s no thrill at the end – only exhaustion that lingers long after we put down the phone.   I don’t doomscroll. I’ve never fallen into the habit of endlessly refreshing news feeds, chasing the next piece of grim information, or tumbling down rabbit holes of outrage. But I’ve watched people I care about do it, and I’ve noticed something that worries me deeply: they come away carrying stress that doesn’t even belong to them.   It isn’t their tragedy. It isn’t their burden. But after a half-hour of scrolling headlines, they look heavier, more worn down. Their anxiety has been borrowed, absorbed from a stream of strangers, and it clings to them like second-hand smoke.   That’s the heart of what doomscrolling does: it transfers the world’s suffering into our pockets, then into our minds, until we feel it as though it were our own. And while empathy is one of the best parts of being human, borrowed anxiety doesn’t make us kinder or more connected – it makes us fearful, exhausted, and divided.   Doomscrolling as a Psychological Transaction   Current articles online will describe doomscrolling as a bad habit: people get stuck scrolling, can’t stop, and wind up anxious. That’s true – but it doesn’t capture the deeper psychological exchange at work.   When you doomscroll, you’re not just reading the news. You’re engaging in a kind of anxiety transaction:        • Input: endless negative headlines, disasters, scandals, and tragedies.      • Exchange: your brain takes on stress hormones – cortisol, adrenaline.      • Output: you carry that stress into your mood, your relationships, and your worldview.   The brain confuses exposure with involvement. If you read about wildfires, violence, or corruption for long enough, it feels like these threats are not only constantly happening but also directly pressing on your personal safety. Your nervous system doesn’t know the difference between your neighborhood and the full-blown chaos three states away.   The irony? Most people doomscroll not because they like feeling bad, but because it gives the illusion of control: “If I just know more, I’ll be better prepared.” But the knowledge isn’t preparation. It’s paralysis.   The Cost of Borrowed Anxiety     Borrowed anxiety doesn’t just live in the mind. It spreads like that wild fire you just read about fifteen montes ago:        • In households: families argue more, not about personal conflicts, but about the issues they’ve absorbed from online outrage.      • In workplaces: doomscrolling during breaks leads to increased irritability and distraction when people return to tasks.      • In communities: conversations shift from sharing hope to sharing despair, from solutions to cynicism.   On a larger scale, borrowed anxiety distorts our shared reality. If enough people believe the world is collapsing – regardless of actual data – society begins to behave as though collapse is inevitable. Hopelessness becomes a kind of self-fulfilling prophecy.   That’s the hidden danger: doomscrolling doesn’t just harm individuals; it shapes the mood of an entire culture.   A Compassionate Concern   I want to be clear: I don’t see doomscrollers as weak, ignorant, or foolish. Quite the opposite. Most people who doomscroll are deeply empathetic. They care about what’s happening in the world, and they don’t want to look away from suffering.   The problem is that algorithms exploit empathy. Social platforms are designed to reward outrage, fear, and sensationalism. The more you care, the more you click. The more you click, the more the system feeds you reasons to worry.   It’s like empathy weaponized against itself. People want to stay informed, but the firehose of negativity leaves them hopeless instead of empowered.   From the outside, it’s painful to watch. I don’t doomscroll, but I live with its ripple effects. I see how borrowed anxiety changes the tone of conversations, how it darkens moods, how it keeps people up at night. And I wonder, what kind of future are we building if we all carry stress that isn’t ours to bear?   Moving Toward a Healthier Information Diet     If borrowed anxiety spreads through constant exposure, the way forward is not total disconnection. Shutting out all news is its own form of denial. The goal isn’t ignorance – it’s balance.   Here are a few approaches that may help:        1) Choose a single trusted source.Instead of grazing across dozens of feeds, commit to one or two outlets you believe in. Trustworthiness matters more than speed.      2) Set a time boundary.Pick a specific time of day to check the news – and stick to it. Constant updates create constant unease.      3) Replace passive scrolling with active reading.Reading a long form article or analysis engages the mind more deeply and constructively than skimming headlines.      4) Balance negative input with solution-based news.There are outlets dedicated to reporting progress, innovation, and resilience. Seek them out to remind yourself that not every story is catastrophe.      5) Ask: “Does this truly belong to me?”Before absorbing a story, pause and ask whether this anxiety is yours to carry. Sometimes compassion means action – donating, volunteering, calling representatives. Other times compassion means acknowledging the pain but not internalizing it.   What Would It Feel Like to Stop Borrowing Anxiety?   I often wonder how American society would feel if we weren’t burdened with each other’s constant fear. Imagine walking into a conversation where people were sharing ideas instead of outrage, curiosity instead of cynicism. Imagine logging onto social media and seeing stories of resilience