We’ve been calling it burnout—but I don’t think that’s what it is.
This thing I’ve been feeling lately it’s not the kind of fatigue that comes from overworking or under-resting. It’s not solved by a weekend nap or a ‘do not disturb’ setting. It’s more like a quiet hum in the back of my brain that never switches off. My limbs aren’t tired, but my senses are. My brain isn’t slow, just oversaturated. And my body? It’s functioning, but untouched.
What I’m describing is not burnout. It’s overstimulation, emotional depletion, and a chronic case of being terminally online. A state where you’re never quite doing anything, yet always absorbing everything.
So, what is overstimulation fatigue?
It’s the feeling of scrolling through 18 reels before you’ve even brushed your teeth. Of hearing Slack pings and WhatsApp chimes in your head, even when your phone is silent. It’s watching people cry on Instagram, cook six-ingredient salads, break up, glow up, and fall apart—all before you’ve had your second coffee. Your brain, meanwhile, is clocking all of it. Every sound bite, every face, every outfit. There’s no off-switch. Just input, input, input.
You’re not physically exhausted. But your inner world is cluttered. And it shows up like this:
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You can’t focus on a single task without flipping between five.
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You feel weirdly raw after a day of ‘doing nothing’.
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Your skin feels sensitive, even if your products haven’t changed.
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You haven’t had a real hug in a while, but you’ve double-tapped 47 selfies.
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You keep refreshing your inbox for a dopamine hit that never comes.
It’s burnout, yes. But not from work. From exposure.
And the under-touched bit?
It sounds dramatic, but we’re a generation that touches screens more than people. And while that sounds like a meme, the nervous system doesn’t take it lightly. Skin-to-skin contact lowers cortisol, regulates your parasympathetic system, and reminds your body that it’s safe. In its absence, no amount of glowing screen light can simulate being held.
We live in a time where intimacy is postponed, friendships are maintained through reaction emojis, and sex is… a to-do. So when the days pass without a hug, a head rub, or even incidental human contact, your body starts to miss something it can’t name. But it shows up—quietly—as anxiety, restlessness, or numbness.
Terminally online: not just a joke
It’s funny until it isn’t. The kind of hyper-visibility we exist in doesn’t just affect our time—it rewires how we experience the world. You start to see life as content. Moments become metrics. Even rest becomes something to aestheticise.
We no longer live in our bodies. We narrate them. Edit them. Consume them.
And while the algorithm thrives on that rhythm, our nervous systems? Not so much.
So what helps?
1. Silence as a sensory reset.
Not just quiet—but no podcasts, no playlist, no screen. Five minutes of nothing, daily. No productivity angle.
2. Real touch.
Ask for a hug. Book a massage. Brush your own skin with body oil and awareness. It counts.
3. Phone-free beauty rituals.
Do your skincare with your phone in another room. It’s not content. It’s contact with yourself.
4. Go from scrolling through feelings to moving through them.
Walk. Swim. Shake. Dance like a fool. Let your body metabolise what your brain can’t.
5. Say no to ‘should’.
Not every meal needs a reel. Not every opinion needs a quote post. You can exist without explaining.
We don’t always need to quit our jobs or book a solo trip to Portugal to feel better. Sometimes, we just need a little less input and a little more intimacy. Less being seen, more being felt. Because overstimulation isn’t the new burnout—it’s the burnout you don’t even notice building. Until you do.
And by then, all you’ll want is one thing: quiet.