Why Your Health Rules Aren't Working
I used to have 47 browser tabs open at any given moment. Not kidding—I counted once during a particularly unhinged work session at 2 AM. Email notifications every 3 minutes, Slack pinging constantly, phone buzzing with everything from LinkedIn updates to my meditation app reminding me to... meditate.
The irony wasn't lost on me, even then.
I was the product manager for a social media app that shall remain nameless (think young people dancing to 15-second clips), basically professional addiction dealer. My job was literally to make sure people couldn't put their phones down. And boy, was I good at it. Too good.
Then I read another article about optimizing my life with rules and systems. You know the type—wake up at 5 AM, cold showers, no phone in the bathroom, park in the farthest spot. All sensible stuff. I tried implementing them, failed spectacularly, felt guilty, tried again.
But here's what nobody talks about: What if the problem isn't that we need better rules? What if the problem is that we're so dissociated from our own experience that we need rules to tell us how to be human?
The Optimization Trap
Don't get me wrong—I'm not anti-structure. I wake up early now (ish). I exercise regularly. I've got boundaries with my phone that would make a digital wellness coach weep with joy. But getting there wasn't about finding the perfect system.
It was about asking a different question entirely.
Instead of "How can I optimize my behavior?" I started asking "Why do I feel such a compulsive need to escape this moment?"
Because that's what all our scrolling and snacking and shopping really is, right? Elaborate escape mechanisms from the present moment. And you can't hack your way out of that with morning routines and no-phone zones. Trust me, I tried.
The real kicker? Most of us are treating symptoms while completely ignoring the disease.
The Anxiety Underneath
Here's what I've learned from my own journey and from talking to hundreds of other burned-out professionals: our compulsive behaviors aren't moral failings or willpower problems. They're nervous system responses to chronic low-level anxiety.
Think about it. When did you first start reaching for your phone during every quiet moment? For most of us, it wasn't a conscious choice. It was our nervous system learning that stillness felt threatening somehow.
Maybe because stillness means we might actually feel our feelings. Notice that we're lonely. Recognize that our job is meaningless. Face the fact that we've been running on autopilot for years.
The phone becomes a tiny escape hatch from our own minds.
So you can make all the rules you want about bathroom scrolling (guilty as charged), but until you address why silence feels so threatening, you're just playing whack-a-mole with symptoms.
Beyond the Bio-Hacking Bros
I spent two years in the optimization rabbit hole. Tried everything—intermittent fasting, cold exposure, supplement stacks that cost more than my rent. Some of it helped, sure. But I was still treating my body like a machine that needed better programming instead of... well, like the home of a human being who was struggling.
The breakthrough came during a particularly brutal period where I was following about 23 different "rules" for optimal living. I was tracking my HRV, timing my meals, doing breathwork on a schedule, optimizing my sleep environment. I was the picture of high-performance health.
And I was absolutely miserable.
That's when it hit me: I was using wellness culture the same way I used to use work—as a way to avoid actually being with myself.
What Actually Worked
Instead of more rules, I started with one simple practice: noticing when I wanted to reach for a distraction, and just... pausing. Not stopping myself necessarily. Just noticing.
"Oh, there's that feeling again. The one that makes me want to grab my phone/eat something/check email for the 47th time today."
And then I'd ask: "What am I trying to avoid feeling right now?"
Often it was boredom. Sometimes loneliness. Frequently it was this low-level dread about my to-do list. Occasionally it was excitement that felt too big to contain.
Here's the weird part—once I started actually feeling these feelings instead of immediately numbing them, they became way less scary. And way less powerful.
Turns out most emotions last about 90 seconds if you don't feed them with stories or resist them with distractions. Who knew?
The Real Rules That Matter
After three years of experimenting with this approach, I do have some "rules" now. But they're different:
Rule #1: Notice the urge before acting on it. That split second between feeling triggered and reaching for the distraction. That's where the magic happens.
Rule #2: Ask what you're avoiding. Not what you should do instead. What you're trying not to feel.
Rule #3: Feel it anyway. For just 90 seconds. Set a timer if you need to. Most emotions are way less dramatic than we imagine.
Rule #4: Move your body. Not as punishment or optimization, but because trapped emotions literally get stuck in our tissues. Walking, stretching, dancing to bad music—whatever helps you feel connected to your physical self.
Rule #5: Talk to someone. Not necessarily about the big stuff. Just... connect. Our nervous systems regulate partly through social connection. Isolation makes everything harder.
These aren't sexy. They won't make you more productive. But they address the root cause instead of just managing symptoms.
The Privilege Problem
Real talk for a second—a lot of wellness optimization comes from a place of privilege. Having the luxury to worry about whether you're parked in the optimal spot or timing your meals perfectly means your basic needs are met.
I'm not saying optimization is bad. But I am saying that maybe we need to check whether we're using it to avoid dealing with bigger, messier questions about meaning and connection and what we actually want from our lives.
Because for all my talk about ancient wisdom and modern rules, the truth is that humans have always struggled with being present. The methods of escape just keep getting more sophisticated.
Where to Start
If you're reading this and recognizing yourself (hello, former me), here's what I'd suggest:
Pick one compulsive behavior. Just one. Maybe it's phone checking, maybe it's stress eating, maybe it's online shopping when you're anxious.
For one week, don't try to stop it. Just notice it. When does it happen? What were you feeling right before? What are you hoping it will do for you?
No judgment. Just curiosity.
Then, for week two, try pausing for 10 seconds before acting. Just 10 seconds. Feel whatever you're feeling. Name it out loud if that helps.
Week three, try doing something different. Not necessarily "better"—just different. Call a friend. Step outside. Put your hand on your chest and take three slow breaths.
This isn't about becoming perfect. It's about becoming present. And presence, I've learned, is the foundation everything else gets built on.
The Plot Twist
Here's the thing that still surprises me: when you stop running from discomfort, life doesn't become more difficult. It becomes more real. And real, it turns out, is way more interesting than optimal.
I still have rules now. Good ones. But they grew organically from understanding what I actually need, not from trying to force myself into someone else's framework.
I wake up early because I love the quiet, not because productivity gurus told me to. I don't look at my phone in bed because I sleep better, not because it's on some list of optimization hacks.
The difference is subtle but huge. One comes from fear and control. The other comes from self-understanding and care.
So maybe that's the real rule for 21st-century health: Stop optimizing your way out of your own experience and start getting curious about it instead.
Your nervous system will thank you. And you might just find that the person underneath all those compulsive behaviors is worth getting to know.
