I didn’t plan to go phone-free for a month. My phone fell into a toilet during a particularly unfortunate bathroom moment, and I just… didn’t replace it right away.

Originally it was supposed to be a week. Tops. Just until I got around to ordering a new one. Then a week became two weeks, and somewhere around day sixteen I thought: let’s see what happens if I actually commit to this.

Here’s what happened.

Week one: Constant phantom reaching

My hand didn’t get the memo.

I’d reach for my pocket every fifteen minutes, minimum. Waiting for the kettle to boil—reach. Walking to the bus stop—reach. Any pause in conversation—reach. The phone wasn’t there, but my hand kept looking.

I also experienced something I can only describe as panic when I couldn’t check the time compulsively. I bought a €12 wristwatch on day three. It helped.

The weirdest part? I kept wanting to photograph things. A nice sunset. My lunch. A dog wearing a sweater. The impulse was so automatic. When I couldn’t capture something, I felt a small grief—followed by the odd realization that I’d been looking at life through a camera for years without noticing.

Week two: Boredom arrived

I got bored in ways I’d forgotten were possible.

Doctor’s waiting room. Bank queue. Sitting on the bus. Times that would normally evaporate into scrolling suddenly had weight. I could feel the minutes.

At first this was uncomfortable. By day ten, something shifted. I started noticing things. The woman across from me reading a novel. The specific shade of grey clouds out the window. How the bus driver sighed at every red light.

My brain, having nothing to consume, started producing thoughts instead. Some useful. Many random. But thoughts nonetheless.

The social friction

This part wasn’t fun.

Friends couldn’t text me updates about where to meet. I missed three gatherings because plans changed and I didn’t know. My sister got annoyed that I didn’t respond to her message for days (I was checking email on my laptop once per evening, but she didn’t know that).

Coordinating anything spontaneous became complicated. I had to actually plan ahead—make concrete agreements about times and places and stick to them. Novel concept, apparently.

One night I got lost walking to a restaurant in an unfamiliar neighborhood. No Google Maps. Just me, some street signs, and the old-fashioned approach of asking a stranger for directions. (She was helpful. I arrived fifteen minutes late. The world didn’t end.)

Week three: Something loosened

Around day eighteen, I noticed I was calmer.

Not dramatically so. No spiritual awakening. Just… less reactive. When something frustrated me, I didn’t immediately have the urge to vent to someone. I sat with the feeling instead. Usually it passed faster than I expected.

I was sleeping better too. No late-night scrolling, obviously, but also no checking the phone first thing in the morning. I’d wake up and just… be awake. Lying there with my thoughts for a few minutes before getting up.

And I read three books that week. Three. In seven days. I used to tell myself I didn’t have time to read.

The things I genuinely missed

Let me be honest: this wasn’t all revelation and growth.

I missed music. I had an old iPod buried somewhere, but for most of the month I just… didn’t have portable music. Walking in silence is fine. Sometimes great. But sometimes you really want a soundtrack.

I missed maps. My sense of direction improved out of necessity, but I also walked in circles more than once.

I missed quick googling. Small arguments with friends couldn’t be settled instantly. Questions I’d normally answer in ten seconds just… lingered.

And I missed the camera. Genuinely. Not for Instagram—I don’t really use it—but for capturing moments I wanted to remember. Some things happened that month that I now only have in memory.

Coming back

At the end of month one, I ordered a new phone.

When it arrived, I felt a mix of relief and disappointment. Relief because logistics would be easier again. Disappointment because I knew I wouldn’t be quite the same.

I wasn’t.

I kept some things from the experiment. Phone stays out of the bedroom. Notifications are almost entirely off. I still don’t check it first thing in the morning (most days).

But the old habits crept back too. The reaching. The filling of empty moments. The low-grade sense that I should be consuming something instead of just existing.

It’s a struggle. I’m not going to pretend I’ve solved it.

Would I recommend it?

That depends.

A full month without a phone is genuinely inconvenient. Our world is designed around having one. Certain things—banking, transport apps, two-factor authentication—become unnecessarily difficult.

But if you can manage even a weekend? Or a single day?

What you’ll learn is this: you existed before constant connectivity, and you can still exist without it. The world feels different when you’re not looking at a screen. Sometimes worse. Often better.

At minimum, you’ll discover how often your hand reaches for something that isn’t there.

My phone is in the other room right now. I’m going to leave it there until tomorrow morning. Small steps.