Disconnected & Distracted?
A 40-Day Social Media Fast: Setting Down Our Phones to Pick Up What Matters
On our latest All Things Possible episode, I had the joy of talking with Wendy, a California girl turned Dallas mama of three boys, about something close to every family’s daily life: screens. Specifically, what happens when we choose a 40-day social media fast—not as a stunt, but as a sincere invitation to trade numbing for real connection with God and the people right in front of us.
Wendy’s story didn’t start with screens. It began with honest conversations about “triggers” in motherhood—the moments that pull impatience and anger out of us faster than we can catch them. In those early days, she invited moms to experiment with a 40-day sugar fast. The surprise? It turned out to be less about a physical detox and more about a spiritual re-orientation. When the urge hit to self-soothe with something sweet, these moms turned to the Lord instead. That pivot—away from quick comfort toward true communion—sparked the question: What else are we running to instead of Jesus?
Enter the phone.
Most of us don’t set out to idolize a device. We slip into it, the way a child gets carried downshore by a current without noticing. “I’m just checking the soccer schedule.” “Let me answer this one DM.” Two reels later, dinner’s late and patience is thin. We feel it in our homes: when we zone out to cope, interruptions from our kids or spouse feel like intrusion. It’s no wonder tempers run hotter when our numbing gets nudged.
Wendy reminded me of Deuteronomy 11 where the Lord speaks to the parents: “I’m not talking to your kids—I’m talking to you.” That lands. God cares deeply about our maturity. Our children need present, responsive, warm-eyed parents—eyes lifted to the Lord and turned toward them, not hidden behind a glowing rectangle. One mom told Wendy, “I enjoyed my kids so much more during the fast.” Maybe they were also more enjoyable, because they didn’t have to act out to compete with a screen for attention. Negative attention is still attention.
This isn’t just about parenting, though. It touches marriage and friendship, too. If one spouse is shaped daily by a feed the other never sees, you can end up living under different weather systems. Even “harmless” content reorders priorities—spending, body image, home makeovers, you name it—without a single malicious post. Devices are devices, but they can also be divisive. The enemy doesn’t need us entertained with evil; he’s content with us being endlessly distracted from what’s most important.
Jesus offers a better way:
“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
—Matthew 11:28 (ESV)
A 40-day social media fast is a practical “come to Me.” It’s not anti-tech or anti-connection; it’s pro-presence. It’s trading the sugar-high of dopamine for the deep, steady nourishment of Christ Himself. As Wendy puts it, many of us go from sugar high to sugar high—or scroll to scroll—instead of going to the Most High.
If you need your accounts for work or logistics, you can still fast with integrity. Set guardrails: fifteen intentional minutes to post what’s needed, ten to check the team group later—then log off. The heart of a fast is not legalism; it’s lordship. It’s making a clear, embodied confession: “Whatever keeps me from my Bible, my prayer, my people—that thing isn’t neutral.”
“But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.”
—Matthew 6:33 (ESV)
What might fill the space you clear? Scripture reading before the feed. A walk at sunset enjoyed—not performed. Face-to-face laughter with friends. Board games on road trips instead of glow-lit silence. Conversations with your spouse that align your hearts under the same truth. You’ll likely feel the tug to “just check,” and that’s where fasting becomes formation. Every urge becomes a cue to reach for Jesus: a breath prayer, a Psalm, a text to a friend asking how you can pray. You’re not just quitting; you’re redirecting your hunger.
Ask the Lord to search you:
“Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts!
And see if there be any grievous way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting!”
—Psalm 139:23–24 (ESV)
That prayer is not condemning—it’s kind. “It’s the kindness of God that leads us to repentance.” He’s not shaming you for the time you’ve lost; He’s inviting you to reclaim the next forty days and to reset what sits on the throne of your attention. It’s not about proving your willpower or earning spiritual points. It’s about clearing the noise so you can hear the Shepherd’s voice—and be more present to the flock entrusted to your care.
If you’re sensing a nudge, don’t over-engineer it. Start. Name the apps you’ll step away from. Tell your family or a friend. Put your Bible on your nightstand and your phone across the room. Replace the reflex with a rhythm: Word before world, prayer before post, presence before pixels. And if you slip? Receive grace, get back up, and keep going. Jesus is better, and He stands ready to meet you in the quiet you create.
Two Major Takeaways
Fasting from social media is not deprivation—it’s re-direction. You’re not merely saying “no” to a feed; you’re saying a louder “YES” to Jesus and the people in front of you. Expect your patience, joy, and connection to grow as your attention realigns.
Formation happens where your reflex meets your Redeemer. Every urge to scroll becomes a cue to seek Christ—anchoring your day in Scripture and prayer, restoring presence in your home and unity in your marriage, and resetting who (and what) sits on the throne of your heart.
