Breaking the Addiction to Breaking News

The first time I legitimately watched the news was September 11th, 2001. I was 18 years old. It was my day off from my retail job, and the day began with my Mom yelling from the rec room. I slowly made my way to the couch, shaking the sleep from my brain with my comforter wrapped around me. As I looked at the t.v my eyes shifted into focus on the horrors unfolding in real time as the planes hit the twin towers in New York.

I instantly became obsessed with needing to know everything as it happened. I begrudgingly left my post on the couch for work each day as I felt I would miss something. Hours and days went by this way. I became addicted to the red and black flashes of the CNN logo, the intense intro music as each newscaster signed off, and another began. I knew them all by name, and had even chosen my favourites. In 2001 we didn't have access to social media to give updates at the ready; I had to seek it out. I cancelled plans to watch the news. I read newspapers on my lunchbreak. It was all I wanted to talk about in every conversation with customers, friends and family alike. It was becoming a problem.

I remember sitting in that same well-loved couch position with tears streaming down my face as George W. Bush announced his infamous "shock and awe" infiltration of Iraq. Knowing very little of Iraq, all I could think was, "the poor people who must now flee their homes." My heart sank.

It took a few years but slowly my grip on the pressing news loosened. My life became less stressful and I could focus on my actual life, and not what was happening out there, in places I could barely point out on a map.

Then March of 2020 came and the pandemic hit. I remember that familiar feeling creeping in. I clicked on the television, and this time my husband joined me in our pre-dinner to bedtime onslaught of news for days on end. We started with our Canadian news while we chopped our vegetables and peeled our potatoes. We'd listen to our Prime Minister give his updates, and we'd chat while he droned on in the background. During and after dinner we'd switch over to my old friends, CNN, and listen to how Trump viewed the pandemic, and the starkly different opinions the doctors they interviewed had from his. Life was chaotic, and once again, I was suck(er)ed in.

I spent all of 2020 news-watching which was nearly one hundred percent pandemic-related. It fed me as if I were some reptile drinking in the chaos and despair. In my logical mind I told myself I needed the information in order to prepare, to keep my family safe. But it drained me, and by 2021 I began losing interest and as a way of protecting my mental health, started to loathe any pandemic news that came my way.

Here we are in the first quarter of 2022, and a new disaster has drawn me in. As if a long, bony finger is summoning me back to the daily news. The day the news of the invasion of Ukraine by Russia broke, I found myself plunked down in that familiar spot again, CNN blaring into our home as my pupils dilated and fingers tapped nervously on the coffee table. I spent the first three days with the news on in the background constantly. In the evenings I sent my kids to play in their rooms so I could keep up with what was happening in real time. After they headed to bed, my husband and I sat with our glasses of wine and watched in horror as the crisis unfolded. Those familiar tears welled up in my eyes.

On the fourth day of constant CNN on the television, CNN in the car, and social media news coming at me in rapid-fire succession, I decided I needed a break. It had become too much. I couldn't allow myself to become addicted again to this feeling of needing to know. It was one thing at 18 years old, living with my parents and a retail job I could take or leave without consequence. It's entirely another at nearly 40 years old with two children, two jobs and running a household. I needed to step back and give myself some space from the heaviness. I had barely recovered from the pandemic haze I was stuck in. But turning it off felt like turning a blind eye and very privileged bordering on shallow.

On day 6 of the invasion, I found myself in a quiet moment. the kids had gone to school and with the house to myself, I sat quietly and closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I thought of the people fleeing their country for safety, and I sent them love. I conjured up images of the brave people staying to fight for their homeland, and I sent them love and strength. I thought of the soldiers who were misled and have found themselves in an entirely different and deadly situation than what they had been told, and my motherly instincts sent them love. I thought of all the Russian people who have no control over what is happening, but who are being punished as a result, and sent them love. I thought of all the people afraid right now, for many reasons, and I sent them all the love I could muster up. I opened my eyes, and made the decision that that would be how I would continue through this crisis. I do not need to be the first to know what is happening in the world. I do not need to see all the gruesome footage to know it is horrific. They may never know or feel the love I am sending in my prayerful meditation, but I feel the change in my heart and the mood in my home shifting. This feels more purposeful than the hours I would waste learning about the things I cannot control. This helps my family stay grounded and connected while not turning a blind eye. They may never know or feel the love I am sending, but love is always greater than fear, and I was feeding my fear by tuning in, and filling that space with love by tuning out.