Lent is about to begin, and this year I’m going all in. I’m giving things up. Intentionally. Publicly. Not for aesthetics. Not for applause. But for alignment. And I’m doing it publicly to let you know, you can do it too.

If you’re Catholic, you already know the drill. Forty days. Prayer. Fasting. Almsgiving. A faithful walk toward Easter. If you’re not Catholic, stay with me. Because what Lent represents goes far beyond religion. At its core, it’s about restraint in a culture that worships consumption. It’s about silence in a world addicted to noise. It’s about asking yourself what actually has a grip on you.

And if I’m being honest, a few things definitely have a grip on me.

Why I’m Giving Up Social Media for Lent

I usually cringe at posts announcing a social media break, but here I am breaking my own rule to say I’m stepping away for a while.

Not because it’s evil. Not because I think I’m above it. But because doomscrolling is real and it’s relentless. One minute you’re checking a message, the next you’re twenty posts deep into outrage, comparison, breaking news, and commentary from strangers who somehow feel louder than your own thoughts.

If the world feels heavy right now, that’s because it is heavy. There isn’t a lot of good news if we’re being honest. And while staying informed matters, constantly absorbing the deranged things going on — it’s not the same thing as living well. Or at all.

Catholicism talks a lot about guarding your heart and your mind. About being intentional with what you consume. Lent is a built-in invitation to detach from what distracts you from peace. For me, social media has become more noise than nourishment.

There is actual life happening outside of the screen. Conversations at the dinner table. Walks without headphones. Boredom that turns into creativity. I want that back.

What Actually Happened When I Turned My Phone Off for a Weekend (And Why I’m Quitting Social Media for Lent)

This weekend my phone was off most of the time. Just to see what would happen.

And almost immediately, I felt different.

Lighter. Happier. Clearer.

Instead of instinctively reaching for my screen, I turned on the TV for a little background noise and started coloring. That turned into reading a book. I then dusted my home. I even rolled out my mat and worked out with my new Bala Beam and Bala Power Beam, which had been sitting there waiting for “when I have time.” Turns out, I had time.

By the end of the weekend, I had mapped out my upcoming week and actually set myself up for success. One small offline choice stacked into another.

Without the constant notifications and micro distractions, I wasn’t just productive. I was calm. Focused without feeling frantic. I felt unstoppable.

It made me realize how much of my exhaustion isn’t from doing too much. It’s from fragmenting my attention all day long.

When the noise disappeared, my energy came back.

And that alone confirmed I’m on the right track this Lent.

Lent and Consumerism: Why I’m Also Giving Up Shopping

I’m also giving up shopping.

Even though I try to be mindful, I can absolutely slip into binge cycles. Add to cart. Flash sale. Limited drop. Just browsing. We live in a world engineered to make spending feel like self care.

Unfortunately though, most things aren’t made that well. Most of us already have more than we could ever need. And more stuff has never once delivered lasting fulfillment.

One of the underlying themes of Lent in the Catholic tradition is detachment. Not because material things are inherently bad, but because attachment can quietly become disordered. When shopping becomes a coping mechanism. When buying becomes a dopamine hit.

Lent asks a better question. What are you trying to fill. Instead of reaching for my wallet, I want to reach inward. Discomfort is a teacher if you let it be.

The Convenience Trap: DoorDash, Uber Eats, and Starbucks

Convenience is the other thing I’m confronting this Lent.

DoorDash. Uber Eats. The mindless tap that turns into a thirty dollar lunch from Sweetgreen that shows up cold. It’s easy. It’s fast. It’s wildly overpriced. And it’s become normal.

I have a kitchen. I have groceries. I have two hands.

There’s something humbling about cooking your own food. About slowing down long enough to prepare a meal instead of outsourcing it because you’re tired or bored or overstimulated. Lent has always been about fasting in some form, and while I’m not eliminating food, I am eliminating the unnecessary indulgence of constant convenience.

Which means yes, Starbucks is on the list too.

Not just because it’s expensive. Not just because the rewards program feels like a moving target. But because I had to ask myself why I was outsourcing something I’m fully capable of doing at home. I own an espresso machine. I have a tumbler in the cupboard. Yet I was still lining up daily for what? A mediocre black coffee with burnt beans that costs more than it should? Insane.

Again, Lent exposes the small dependencies we justify.

The Deeper Meaning of Lent in Catholicism

If you strip it down, Lent in Catholicism is about freedom.

Freedom from sin. Freedom from attachment. Freedom from whatever quietly runs your life without your permission.

Prayer refocuses you. Fasting strengthens you. Almsgiving stretches you. It’s spiritual training. Not punishment.

And even if you don’t identify as Catholic, there is something undeniably powerful about choosing voluntary discomfort. About saying no in a world that constantly tells you to say yes. Yes to upgrades. Yes to faster shipping. Yes to more content. Yes to another subscription.

What if less is the upgrade?

Choosing Less on Purpose

For the next forty days, I’m opting out of excess. Less scrolling. Less spending. Less outsourcing. Not because I’m trying to be extreme. Because I want to be awake.

Awake to my habits. Awake to my impulses. Awake to how easily I trade presence for convenience.

Lent is not about perfection. It’s about practice. It’s about examining your life with honesty and asking where you’ve drifted.

Whether you’re Catholic, spiritual, skeptical, or somewhere in between, I think there’s something radically countercultural about sacrifice. About restraint. About choosing depth over distraction.

I don’t need more apps. More packages. More lattes.

I need more clarity. Discipline. Space.

And sometimes the only way to find that is to give something or multiple somethings up.