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I’ve got a confession to make: I don’t like cell phones. In a world where people are practically glued to their screens, where there’s an app for everything and everyone is a text, call, or notification away, I’m the odd one out. And it’s not just that I don’t like them—I actively avoid them when I can.

First off, there’s something about the constant connectivity that really gets under my skin. Carrying a phone feels like lugging around a pocket-sized source of anxiety. The relentless buzzing, the endless notifications, the unspoken expectation that I’m always available—it’s too much. It’s like being on call 24/7, even when there’s no real emergency. And if I’m being honest, I don’t think that’s healthy. The incessant pinging creates this low-level hum of stress, a reminder that there’s always something demanding my attention, even when I’m trying to focus on something else.

Then there’s the sensory overload. Cell phones bombard the senses—bright screens, sharp sounds, the odd sensation of tapping on glass instead of real buttons. It’s a lot to process, especially when my brain’s already working overtime. Every time I pick up my phone, it feels like I’m diving into a whirlpool of stimuli I never signed up for. Sure, I could turn off notifications, dim the screen, set it to silent—but even then, just knowing it’s there, waiting, is enough to keep me on edge.

And let’s talk about the social expectations tied to having a cell phone. There’s this unspoken rule that if you have a phone, you should be reachable at all times. Miss a call? Someone’s bound to ask why you didn’t answer. Take too long to reply to a text? People start wondering if something’s wrong. It’s exhausting, trying to keep up with the expectations of constant connectivity. Sometimes, I just want to disconnect, to have a moment to myself without feeling like I’m letting someone down by not responding instantly.

I also can’t ignore how cell phones have changed the way we interact with each other. It’s ironic that these devices, designed to keep us connected, often end up doing the opposite. How many times have I been in a room full of people, only to find everyone’s attention absorbed by their screens instead of each other? Conversations get interrupted by the ding of a notification, and shared moments are lost to the allure of the digital world. It feels like we’ve traded real, meaningful connection for a never-ending stream of shallow interactions.

I get that cell phones are useful—I’m not denying that. They’re incredibly convenient tools that can simplify life in a million ways. But the downsides are steep. The constant interruptions, the sensory overload, the pressure to always be available—it’s a lot to handle. For me, the negatives outweigh the positives.

Maybe it’s because I crave a bit of peace and quiet in a world that’s always on. Maybe it’s because I’d rather have a face-to-face conversation than a back-and-forth over text. Or maybe it’s just that I’m wired differently, and the constant barrage of stimuli that comes with having a cell phone just doesn’t sit well with me. Whatever the reason, I’ve made peace with the fact that I don’t like cell phones. They’re not for everyone, and that’s okay.

So if I take a little longer to respond to a text, or if you can’t reach me right away, know that it’s not personal. It’s just me, trying to navigate a world that’s a little too connected for my liking. And maybe, just maybe, it’s a reminder that it’s okay to unplug, to step back, and to find a little bit of quiet in the midst of all the noise.