I Am Drowning

You read one verse, and your mind drifts. You open a book but keep checking for notifications

Whenever someone complains of feeling lost or disconnected, the first question I ask them is, 'How many hours do you spend on your phone daily?’ Most people pause, look down, and give a hesitant number, often lower than the reality. The truth is, our devices have quietly colonised our lives. They are no longer tools we use; they are environments we live in. We check them before we speak to Allah in the morning, we scroll through them before we greet our families at night, and they have become our companions in boredom, sadness, and even worship. Slowly, silently, they are shaping the way we think, feel, and believe.

Photo by Lukas Robertson on Unsplash

The phone is not merely a distraction; it is a thief of presence. Every notification pulls you from the now, from your prayer, from your thoughts, from the person sitting in front of you. And the dangerous part is that it doesn’t just take your time; it rewires your attention. Your heart no longer knows how to sit quietly. Your mind no longer tolerates silence. The very stillness that is necessary for reflection and connection with Allah becomes unbearable, so you escape into endless scrolling. The result? You may know more facts, more headlines, and more gossip, but you feel hollow, shallow, and restless inside.

This addiction is subtle because it does not feel like a sin. If anything, it often feels “productive”. You are learning, networking, and sharing Dawah posts, but hours later, you realise you didn’t memorise a verse of the Qur’an, didn’t speak to Allah with sincerity, and didn’t even sit and think about your own soul. You consumed everything but never produced khushu‘, never produced a du‘a from your heart, never produced a tear in the stillness of the night. Your phone is not evil, but your lack of discipline is bleeding your heart dry.

What many don’t realise is that the phone is training them to expect stimulation every few seconds. This constant novelty shortens your attention span, making it almost impossible to focus deeply on the Qur’an, on Salah, or on meaningful study. You read one verse, and your mind drifts. You open a book but keep checking for notifications. Even in Salah, your thoughts jump like your social media feed: quick, shallow, restless. This is not coincidence. The brain is being rewired for fragmentation, not contemplation.

Over time, this constant connection to a screen creates a constant disconnection from your soul. You may not notice it at first until one day you wake up and realise you no longer feel close to Allah; you no longer fear death like you used to. You are spiritually numb, not because Allah is far, but because your heart has been coated with endless layers of noise. Ibn al-Qayyim said that sins darken the heart, but heedlessness does too. And endless scrolling is heedlessness packaged in high definition.

Phone addiction also feeds comparison, and comparison breeds discontent. You see perfect lives, curated smiles, staged piety, and slowly you begin to despise your own ordinary life. Shukr becomes rare, envy becomes normal, and you start thinking Allah has favoured everyone but you. This robs you of tranquillity. The Prophet ﷺ said, “Look to those below you and not to those above you, for that is more likely to keep you from belittling the favour Allah has conferred upon you.” But your phone constantly shows you those “above” you until you can no longer see the blessings beneath your feet.

And what of time? Time is life. When hours slip away on a screen, you are literally trading away pieces of your life. You could have been memorising the Qur’an, building a business, exercising, serving your parents, making du‘a, or simply sitting with your own thoughts. Instead, you gave those hours to a black rectangle that will never love you back. On the Day of Judgement, you will not be asked what went viral, but you will be asked where your time went.

The scariest part is that many people no longer know who they are without their phone. They cannot sit five minutes in silence. They cannot make dhikr without a digital tasbeeh counter. They cannot experience awe without taking a picture of it. Life has become something to record, not something to live. And in this constant need to document and broadcast, sincerity (ikhlas) is corroded. Deeds are done for likes, not for Allah. Even acts of worship are subtly turned into performances.

This is not a call to throw away your phone and live in a cave. This is a call to reclaim your agency. Your phone should be a tool, not a master. Set boundaries. Have phone-free hours, especially during Salah times, Quran study, and family meals. Charge it outside your bedroom at night. Delete what is draining your heart. Ask yourself: does this bring me closer to Allah or farther? Every scroll, every click, every conversation is either polishing your heart or scratching it.

Remember: the phone is not neutral. It is a powerful portal that can either be a stairway to Jannah or a rope pulling you to heedlessness. Use it to listen to the Qur’an, to seek knowledge, and to stay connected with righteous company. But if you find it making your Salah lazy, your Qur’an distant, your du‘a dry, then have the courage to say enough. The one who cannot put down their phone will struggle to raise their hands in sincere supplication.

The choice is yours. You can continue to live as a consumer, fed by an algorithm, or you can become a conscious servant of Allah, deliberate in how you spend every moment. If you feel far from Him, perhaps the first step is not another video about spirituality but simply switching the device off, sitting in silence, and whispering, “Ya Allah, I have been away, but I am back.” The first step to breaking addiction is always presence: being fully where you are, with the One who never left.