When I was a little girl, my sister and I spent our days exploring our tropical hometown—climbing guava trees, “fishing” for tadpoles, and wandering freely through a world that felt both small and infinite. In our countryside town, everyone knew everyone, and there were always watchful eyes keeping us safe.
Our grandmother wasn’t nearby to call us home; we watched the sun’s position to know when to return for lunch. We tracked seasons by which trees were fruiting, weather by the smell of rain in the air. Our world ran on rhythm and intuition—not pings in our pockets.
Years later, I stood in the dead of winter in Washington Heights. I’d just said goodbye to my sister—the phone card had run out of minutes. I remember looking at the handset and wishing it had a little screen so I could see my family any time I wanted.
Eventually, that wish came true. First came IM. Then texting. Then the three little dots that made your heart skip—someone was about to reach out.
Like most of us, I was ecstatic at first. But the gift of constant connection came at a cost.
What We Weren’t Told
No one warned us that always being connected might feel like always being on call. Or that we’d become emotionally saturated by nonstop chats, alerts, and micro-updates (Broxis, 2024)—unable to locate stillness again (Fletcher et al, 2017). Few were prepared for the misfires that happen when tone and timing are stripped away (Kelly et al, 2018)—or how texting habits can mimic narcissism through entitlement, urgency, and disregard for others’ rhythms.
Emerging research is catching up to what many of us have felt for years. Ghosting—even in friendships—can lead to lasting psychological distress (LeFebvre et al., 2023). Constant digital interruptions raise cognitive load and emotional strain. And ambiguity erodes relationships, with ambiguous relationships being the most harmful to wellbeing (Aronson, 2018).
So I wrote myself a charter—not to shut people out, but to protect the integrity of my presence. Boundaries don’t just guard time; they preserve attention, honesty, and trust, and protect my relationships (Kushlev et al. 2022). These practices help me resist the drift toward disconnection—and stay anchored in relational integrity.
Protecting Relationships and Nervous System Recovery
Research shows that constant interruptions negatively impact personal relationships (McDaniel et al 2019). Without boundaries protecting these, we default to hyper-responsiveness—often at the cost of peace, rest, and real presence.
Rule 1: No Notifications After 7:30 p.m.
My phone enters wind-down mode to protect sleep, evenings with my son, and my nervous system.
Why it matters: Nighttime disruptions impair sleep, which affects mood and emotional bandwidth .
Rule 2: In-Person Time Is Phone-Free
When I’m with someone, my phone is out of reach unless it’s urgent.
Why it matters: Divided attention erodes trust. Full presence is rare—and powerful.
Rule 3: When I’m Low Capacity, I Say So
If I can’t show up, I say, “I’m swamped—can I circle back when I have space?”
Why it matters: Without context, silence can feel like rejection. Naming it restores clarity.
Rule 4: I Don’t Reply When Flooded—But I Name the Pause
If I’ve read a message but need time, I say: “Sitting with this. Will circle back soon.”
Why it matters: Regulated responses reduce ambiguity, harmful in relationships.
