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Sometimes, it’s a plan to reply later, a pause in the rush of digital life. Sometimes, my Instagram and TikTok therapists whisper in my ear that it’s okay to dwell beneath a rock, cocooned in solitude, and I take their advice to heart. Sometimes, I just don’t want to respond. Sometimes, I simply cannot. And sometimes, I need to breathe, to settle my heart before words spill out—especially when the text at hand tugs at something raw, a wound too tender for quick answers.

The save button used to feel like a promise. A little digital pinky swear: "This matters. This is worth coming back to."

We don’t often think of the internet as a gentle place.

There’s no lie anymore, which is the scariest part. I don’t tell myself I’m just taking a break or that I’ll stop after ten minutes.

There was a time when buying shampoo was simple. You had hair. You washed it. That was it.

I remember a conversation with a friend, a novice investor, his eyes alight with newfound wisdom gleaned from a YouTube guru. "You have...