Digital Fast
“Sometimes the most spiritual thing you can do is turn your phone off and be fully present.”
Practice
Start small. Consciously choose 30 minutes in the morning, evening, or both, without screens.
Notice the pull. When you feel the urge to reach for your phone, pause. What are you really seeking? Comfort, escape, connection? Don’t judge, simply notice.
Anchor it in analog. Pair your fast with something tactile: make tea, sit on the porch, play a record, write in a journal with pen and paper.
Walk without devices. Take a 15–30 minute walk with no phone, no headphones. Pay attention. Who is here? What is blooming, resting, changing?
Most of us don’t consciously choose our screens, we drift into them; first thing in the morning, last thing at night, and in every moment of silence and stillness in-between. In truth, silence can lose its peacefulness. Any moment of quiet is immediately invaded by worries, grief, anger, and restlessness. Our screens offer a quick and painless escape—a thousand tiny distractions that keep us from simply being.
The promise of connection through our devices has come at a cost. While we scroll, the world just outside our door, the neighbor across the street, the friend at the table, quietly slips out of view. Research shows that even the presence of a phone nearby can lower our ability to focus. “Media multitasking” is linked to diminished attention and memory, the exact skills we need to notice a neighbor’s face, remember a name, or stay present long enough to really listen.
The courage to be alone with our thoughts is where the work begins. In the early centuries of Christianity, fasting was practiced not only as a discipline of the body, but as a way of attending more fully to God. The Desert Fathers and Mothers understood fasting not just as withholding food, but as a resistance to worldly distraction, an invitation to deeper presence, humility, and love. The practice of fasting is less focused on abstaining from something and more about reorienting us towards someone.
To practice this kind of courage in my own life, I’ve started small. Once a week, I walk my dogs fasting from my headphones. Instead of quieting my thoughts with the voices and banter of others, I let my own thoughts get loud and turn into prayers.
Starting with prayer pleases my sense of achievement, so I let whatever noise is rummaging through my head speak first. I imagine this is what God had in mind on those evening walks with Adam and Eve: here are my raw and unvarnished thoughts. How did I move through them? By noticing each one without judgement, I can wonder about their roots and causes, then release them in a short breath prayer. Nothing dramatic happens, but with each step the stillness becomes more inviting, less threatening.
Over time, that same courage to be still and alone becomes the capacity to look up and truly see someone else. Viktor Frankl once observed that when we can’t bear silence, we reach for distraction, and then carry our unexamined restlessness into every relationship we touch. Today, the practice of a digital fast may be one of the most needed forms of spiritual resistance. In a world of endless noise and instant escape, choosing presence is its own kind of wilderness. But, this practice is one where we are reformed into people who are available to God, to ourselves, and to our neighbors.
Katie Lukashow is the Creative Director for Sacred Place. She is currently living in New Mexico with her husband and their two Iraqi rescue dogs.
