Is regular digital detoxing essential for our wellbeing? Three solo and offline days later, L360’s Katie Sipp-Hurley shares her thoughts.
When the third season of HBO’s The White Lotus aired this year, I’d already been feeling increasingly resentful of my phone. The season’s finale left many viewers with unanswered questions — but as the credits rolled, all I could think about was how envious I was of the characters who, whether willingly not, had surrendered their phones to the hotel’s amnesty box and spent their stay completely unplugged. Why?
Most of us live in a “state of low-level alert, flooded by micro-decisions and fragmented attention”, says Amy Brann, neuroscience expert and author of Make Your Brain Work. Even mindless scrolling wears down the brain’s prefrontal cortex — the part responsible for focus, decision-making and emotional regulation.
Amy likens the brain to a “worn muscle that needs rest to grow stronger”. Digital downtime, she says, supports better sleep, sharper focus and reduced anxiety.
Hector Hughes, co-founder of digital detox retreat company Unplugged, agrees. He believes time away from screens should not be treated as novel, but as a regular part of our mental health routine. The brain, he explains, is “supposed to be calm and present”. Even short breaks encourage it to return to its optimal state.
Curious to see if I could reach this state myself, I signed up for a 72-hour solo stay at one of Unplugged’s off-grid cabins. The company have 35 dog- and family-friendly cabin options across the UK, and one in Barcelona, but this one was on the edge of Spains Hall Estate, a rolling expanse of farmland near Finchingfield, a tiny village in the Essex countryside.
Inside, the set-up was sparse and intentional. A corner bed faced wide windows spanning one whole wall and almost half another, framing the estate’s surrounding fields. A compact kitchen, bathroom, log burning fire, radio and books added just enough of a homely touch. On the table: a wooden lockbox, ready for my phone.
Disconnecting from the digital world
Within hours of switching off, the urge to share innocuous, hourly updates with loved ones — something I normally lean on during solo ventures — had faded. Somewhat guiltily, I felt relieved to not have to be available to anyone. I hadn’t realised just how much energy I spent being ‘on’ or how tightly this bound me to the digital world.
“It takes 15 minutes to regain full focus after checking your phone,” Hector had told me. Since most of us check our phones more frequently than this, we spend nearly the entire day distracted and overstimulated.
Hector had warned that the first day might bring withdrawal symptoms — phantom pocket buzzes and the urge to check — but instead, I felt untethered.
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Released from the constant tug of notifications, I felt calm and ready to explore. The cabins come stocked with analogue alternatives to the usual essential digital holiday tools: a map, instant camera, compass, even a retro Nokia for emergencies. Introducing — or reintroducing — this forgotten layer of friction to life lets us build, as Amy puts it, the “clarity to be present”.
Spains Hall Estate spans around 2,000 acres of woodland, wetland, working farmland, walking trails, private residences and a smattering of mystery buildings — I let my imagination fill in the blanks. After the trip, I learned the Elizabethan country house at the centre of the estate, Spains Hall, is now owned by none other than celebrity chef Jamie Oliver — a reality I couldn’t have dreamed up if I’d been there for three weeks, let alone three days.
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Surprisingly, I navigated the estate sans phone with relative ease, which was a genuine shock considering the last time I’d used a map was during my Duke of Edinburgh expedition aged 15, and I distinctly remember cheating.
Buoyed by this small triumph, I struck up conversation, voluntarily, with more than a handful of locals — more strangers than I’d normally speak to in a month in London.
Keith, the co-owner of the local village pub, Fox on the Green (formerly a 16th century coaching inn), was the first. He was familiar with my lodgings, gifting me two pints of milk and a loaf of freshly baked sourdough after realising I’d bungled countryside shop closing times. Keith expected nothing in return, just that I enjoy my stay in the area. The fact I booked in for a pub lunch the next day was a welcomed, but entirely incidental, bonus.
Rest without the distraction of technology
Back at the cabin, I passed long afternoons (or was it days?) just observing the view. Birds of prey circled above, trees swayed, rabbits hopped over distant ditches and, to my delight, a family of deer leapt across the field in perfect single file. With no phone to capture it, I simply took it in.
With ample time and no tangible responsibilities, I felt weightless. Somatic therapy practitioner and TikTok creator James (@soma.reset.toronto) says there are two conditions necessary for true rest: safety and time. “If these conditions aren’t met, no matter how restful the activity seems, your body won’t fully let go and rest.”
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‘Safety’ here means being free from danger, but the focus is on potential dangers. The ping from your phone isn’t dangerous in itself, but what the notification represents — an email from your boss with an urgent task, a message from a family member, a bill you haven’t paid — has the potential to trigger stress, which your nervous system perceives as a threat.
Removing these ‘dangers’ gave me space to truly rest. Though I’ve struggled with sleep for years, I napped easily and often, soothed by stillness and, perhaps, by Hector’s philosophy: “We’re built for our minds to wander. We’re meant to be bored — it gives us space for important internal processes.”
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By the final day, the dread of returning to screens — and the obligations synonymous with them — had started to creep in. Even so, I felt rested, content and a calm I’d eagerly return to. The trip didn’t magically overhaul my digital discontent overnight, but it gave me the clarity and motivation to start building restorative pauses — like this one — into my routine.
Going offline doesn’t have to involve a holiday or weekend away, though. Weeks later, I’ve set screentime limits on my phone to curb doomscrolling, and I go on regular solo walks leaving my phone behind (only during the day, but for safety you could always wear a smartwatch).
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If you’re unsure you have the willpower to do it alone, phone- and digital-free hangouts, like the ones hosted by The Offline Club (@london.theofflineclub), are popping up all over London (and the world) offering space to be offline and truly present.
And while spending a few hours — or even days — offline won’t solve everything, it can certainly offer just enough quiet away from the noise to make a difference. As Hector says: “It might not change your habits, but it changes your perspective.”
Feature Image: Rebecca Hope
