What Happened on My Dopamine Sabbatical

This post is 89% true.

A month ago I left the world of pings, dings and things and took a dopamine sabbatical. It did not feel like 30 days, I feel like I’ve been away a year.

Here’s what happened.

This will probably be spread over a couple of posts because I have a month’s worth of un-shared words that need to be spilled.

At the start, I decided to take notes on the experience which I intended to use to write a Substack after it was all over because obviously everyone will be soooo interested in my astute observations and if I don’t write them down, I’ll forget what happened because I’m 53. This is that post written from those notes.

Day 1 – Friday 18^th July

Today went OK. I missed my usual morning chat with my accountability buddies over whats app at breakfast and had to stare out of the window at the trees and sky instead. With nothing to be accountable for. Felt very virtuous and it was only 8am.

8.30am opened up my laptop and opened Facebook as had shouted ‘tummy control swimwear for the over fifties’ loudly near my phone the night before in the hope that my feed would be flooded with ads this morning because I need one and I’m too lazy to google. Zuckerberg failed me on both accounts – making me succumb to my addiction on the first day AND not sorting the algorithm to sell me shit when I actually wanted it to. Felt very weak and it was only 8.35am.

The kids pointed out that telling everyone I’m doing a dopamine sabbatical, is, in fact an attempt to get a dopamine hit. They giggled as they said it, which means they had been talking about me behind my back. Annoyingly they were right, so I resolved not to mention it again. That was one of the hardest bits of the month as I had to keep my self-righteousness to myself.

Lots to keep myself busy with such as making a mood board of the rooms I’m re-decorating (because I cannot abide ugliness), getting jazzed up about the idea of painting 73 new pieces to donate money to the Hunger Project then discarding the idea because it’s mad and organising stuff to keep my fingers busy so they cannot scroll.

Holiday booked for 10 days time, I am not sure I can bear the quiet when I am removed from all the things I can ‘do’.

Day 2 – Saturday 19^th July

Endless day.

Read in bed for hours.

Husband is currently sharing my office over the summer which is kind of me but also very annoying.

I consider this room to be my artist studio and I cannot paint while he is in there click clacking away. He went out today and I went in and threw paint at a blank canvas in an orgiastic manner. Due to The Rules, I cannot show it to anyone. This leaves me feeling incomplete and uneasy. Like when the teacher rubbed out the whole blackboard but left one little square of chalk. ‘Hey, look what I did!!’ is so ingrained into my creative process and I am uncomfortable noticing this part of my personality.

Just before I started my sabbatical, I was invited to meet Manda from The Hunger Project to brainstorm ideas about how they can grow their fundraising efforts here in the UK (I have been involved with the organisation since I read The Soul of Money by Lynne Twist in 2013). Since then I have found myself scribbling idea after idea because although ‘scribbling million-dollar business ideas’ is against The Rules, surely if it’s for charity it’s allowed? I say yes.

She also told me about an upcoming Hunger Project visit to Bangladesh in November. I am too scared to go and I’m cross I’m not braver.

(Note: since then, the fear has disappeared. I may or may not be going. TBC.) My brain-space is now filled with this instead of counting Instagram likes; my mind apparently likes to be busy and full.

This is not news to me.

But DOING anything about all these ideas is against The Rules so at least I’m not making a mess anywhere other than inside my own mind.

Day 4 – Monday 21^st July

Today was the two-year anniversary of my mum’s death. I was upset by how conditioned I am to post a picture of her to mark this moment. Like I’m dishonouring her in some way if I don’t. Like no-one will know that I am sad and in need of comfort. I am sad that Facebook even gets to play a part in this heart-breaking experience.

I travelled the five hour train journey to Suffolk to join my sisters as we go to my mum’s favourite restaurant and sprinkle a little bit of her into the river outside the restaurant doors while pretending to smoke fags. Was a bit bored watching them check their phones over lunch while I stared at the wallpaper. A kind lady took an awful photo of us together which I also wanted to post because we only get together once a year and again, if it’s not on Facebook, it didn’t happen. Fuck you, Facebook, I hate what you’ve made me become.

The photo was awful because I had a huge nipple sticking out of my shirt for no good reason (there was nothing sexy or cold going on). But did you know if you put a photo like that into canva, you can remove a nipple with the click of a button, just like that? Now you do. Photo above. Nippleless.

One of my sisters was disappointed because me and my other sister have massive bazookas so I asked Chat GPT to large hers up so she didn’t have to be sad. Chat told me he would not be up for that. Glad to see he has some morals.

Day 6 – Don’t know what date it is as no longer hanging out with my phone.

Feels like a lot longer than a week. Fuck me, it’s not even a week, it’s only 6 days.

I’m worried I’m missing something important in my emails by not checking them. If you asked me what, I have no idea – all I get is newsletters about things I was excited about ten weeks ago but am over already. AI and suchlike.

My kids don’t understand why people use email. I’m starting to wonder if I could go email-free after this is over. But I don’t want to replace it with snaps or toks.

Every corner of my sabbatical is being filled by The Hunger Project. Conversations, books, ideas, re-joining Unleashed Women. Nights filled with dreams of being strangled in Bangladesh by a cobra after getting off the minibus because I need a wee then eaten by a Bengali tiger then kidnapped by terrorists and finding myself on the plane with no knickers on.

The Hunger Project and The Handmaid’s Tale. I’m doing 3-4 episodes a day because I now have so much free time. Fuck it, as I write this, I realise that’s just one dopamine hit every 60 minutes as the cliffhanger dissolves into the start of the next episode.

I was tricked!!!!

I am getting very riled up about the plight of women in both Africa and Gilead. And America. And here. And everywhere. I receive some news that lets me know that a woman saying ‘no’ is not enough.

There’s something calling me here.

It’s injustice.

I can tell when my heart starts to burn.

(Note: over the next weeks, this then morphed into conversations about the role of charity versus the state and then into politics which I’m now currently obsessed with. Me, who stopped watching the news after the Twin Towers. Weird shit happens when you change the way you do your every day for a while and create space.)

Day 7

A completely and utterly unremarkable day. And completely and utterly enjoyable. A bit of art, a bit of kids, a bit of dog walk, a bit of gardening, a bit of cooking, a bit of husband, a bit of meditation, a bit of reading, a bit of laundry, a bit of writing, a bit of wine and the day is over.

Duh. Perhaps life doesn’t have to be post-worthy to feel rewarding.

I am left gobsmacked.

And my notes end here.

Tomorrow I’ll write about five wonderful things I have learned from the past month, what I’d recommend if you want to try it and share what I’ve created that’s new - whoop whoop, I can finally share it - watch this space - and subscribe if you haven’t because I know you’re on tenterhooks :)