If You’re a Notification Hoarder, Please Read This
Buzz. Buzz.
Before I even reach for my phone, I know who the text is from. For this story, let's call him “Justin”. I met Justin at a bar with a group of friends. He was cute enough, and after three Rum and Cokes he was pretty funny too. So I gave Justin my Snapchat. This sounds like the typical meet-cute, with the potential for a happily ever after, but after snapping for a few days it was clear Justin and I weren’t destined to be together. And that’s where the story should end, right? But it doesn’t. Because Justin and I keep Snapchatting for months afterwards, even though there was nothing there. Why?
Because like most millenials, I love the thrill of having notifications on my phone.
My addiction to keeping my notification ratio fairly high started with rise of Snapchat. It became the primary form of daily communication for me and my friends. There was something intoxicating about keeping constant communication without the pressure of having something substantial to say. It was reminiscent of the silly conversations we had in our dorm rooms late at night, where nothing we said really mattered but it felt like we could keep going forever. Snapchat emulated those interactions perfectly, and eventually I thought it would be fun to have them with more people.
But the more people I started snapping, the more obsessive I became with it. It moved from just Snapchat to text messages as well. I needed to have a certain number of responses waiting for me after class, or I’d feel like people didn’t care about me. I compared my snap streaks with other people to prove which of us was closer to said person. I even snapped people I didn’t even really know that well, just to keep the notifications coming in. That once innocent little red bubble sitting at the top of my favorite apps was now the measure to which I equated my self worth.
That led to me giving my Snapchat and number to friends of friends, strangers at parties, anyone that I felt I could keep up a surface friendship with just to make sure I had notifications. I didn’t care that these conversations held nothing of depth, or that I was setting up an impossible standard to satisfy my ego. I just knew that everytime my phone vibrated, I felt like I was on top of the world.
Pre social media, I don’t remember being this way. My phone was a tiny brick used to text my friends and get directions from one place to another. It was never the source of stress or a system used to rank how important I was. I used my phone for genuine connection, and the numerification system used on so many social media platforms is what drastically changed that relationship. I underestimated the power of technology. I assumed that it could change and evolve without it changing my wants and needs, and I was wrong.
Hoarding my notifications was essentially an ego boost. It was a shield to hide the fact that I was insecure in my friendships and in myself. I could hide behind these numbers and claim that I was loved because I had 300 texts, and no one with 300 texts wasn’t popular. There was something painfully lonely and embarrassing about having no notifications on my phone. It felt indicative of the fact that maybe people didn’t want to talk to me. They made me feel constantly needed, but really, I knew these notifications were essentially empty. None of them were genuine messages and once the thrill of the notification ended, I still felt insecure. I figured out that these notifications meant nothing when I was in crisis and needed a real friend and a shoulder to cry on. I didn’t have 300 friends. I had seven, and that was all I really needed.
I know now that notification hoarding is just an unhealthy coping mechanism for insecurity. My friends care about me, regardless of how many times a day they text me (or if they don’t at all). If no one has texted me, it’s not because I’m not important, it’s because they have their own lives to worry about. I had to recognize that I was worthy of my friendships without having tangible evidence of it. Knowing that I was enough and don’t need to have people waiting for my response every moment of the day is what helped me break the toxic relationship I had with my phone. Having a healthy relationship with my phone first began with having a healthy relationship with myself.
Buzz. Buzz. I hear the sign of another notification come in. And I know it’s Justin.
I open the Snapchat from him, and as expected, it’s a random picture with no context. I decide that it’s time to end this friendship. If I’m going to talk to someone, I’m going to do it because we have a bond, not just to fill the void of an empty notification box.
About the Author
Iyana Jones (she/her) is starting her graduate program in Media Studies with New School. She found her passion for writing in high school for writing for the school paper and now has expanded her interests to lifestyle, pop culture, and identity. Her goal is to write as the missing first generational black female voice she wish she had found earlier in life. Outside of writing, she's likely to be found feeding stray cats or watching bad MTV shows unironically. You can read more of her work on her blog here.
