I Ditched My Old Sunday Routine for this Analog Ritual Instead — It’s Changed My Life

For the longest time, I let the same feeling settle over me every night at around 11 p.m. I’d be lying in bed, anxiously flicking through articles about natural disasters, violent immigration raids, and the existential threat of AI. Maybe I should stop, I’d think, as my thumb swiped up to conjure the latest catastrophe. It was affecting my ability to fall asleep. You’ve probably been there, too. “Doomscrolling” is hard to avoid when your phone is a portable portal to potentially infinite amounts of information.

After a particularly dread-inducing winter night, I finally decided to do something about it. I realized I wasn’t informed, I was inundated. There had to be a better way! Then I remembered how my mom used to get the news when I was a child: the humble newspaper.

So I turned off the news alerts, unfollowed dozens of social media accounts, and disabled Google News and Apple News — I was honestly shocked to find out how much news I was passively plugged into. Then I signed up for the Sunday subscription to my local newspaper, the Los Angeles Times, just like my mom did when I was growing up. Now, reading the paper has become my favorite weekly ritual — and it’s transformed my relationship to the news, my home, and my mental health.

In my professional life as a tech journalist, I’ve reported on social media and its implications for mental health. Studies showed that exposure to news about tragic events from social media and other platforms were associated with emotional distress, depression, and PTSD symptoms. The effect may be worse for millennials and Gen Z, who are more likely to get news from social media. 

In my personal life, I’ve found that social media is actually the worst place for me to get news. I get overwhelmed by the emotional whiplash of scrolling through pictures of my friend’s adorable new baby, then immediate news of the climate crisis. Because TikTok videos and Instagram carousels have such narrow limits on length, I often come away feeling enraged or sad, but not fully informed. Plus, research shows that falsehoods spread on social media faster and farther than the truth, so I can’t always trust whether what I’m seeing is even true. 

Enter: the Sunday morning newspaper. I wanted a news routine that felt intentional and routine-bound — not constant, passive, and chaotic. I wanted to read for the nuance and depth missing from social media. But most of all, I wanted a more balanced way to stay informed. 

The contrast between chaotic night scrolling and my new Sunday paper routine is stark. On Sundays, I wake up early and walk my dog. The paper is already waiting for us at the doorstep. While the kettle boils for my morning tea, I unfurl the pages across the dining room table. I read the most on Sundays and finish the rest of the paper slowly throughout the week. 

The first thing I noticed was the variety of the news I was reading. A newspaper is curated by humans, not an algorithm. Every week, I read beyond what a narrowly tailored For You page would have served me, like a science story about trees, the efforts of a local workers’ union, and new Oaxacan restaurants in town. 

I can also trust the news I’m reading. While humans are imperfect, I know at least that journalists are trained on a rigorous code of ethics and editing processes. Unlike social media, where anyone can say anything and pass it off as “fact,” my newspaper gives me so much more confidence in what I’m consuming. 

I haven’t ditched the internet entirely. If I want to seek more perspectives, particularly from communities historically under-represented in journalism, I’ll go online. Since I’m a tech journalist, I still read niche science and tech newsletters throughout the week. 

One benefit I didn’t expect? Reading the newspaper feels unbelievably chic. I feel like the heroine of a Nora Ephron movie, reading the paper and sipping my coffee while the sun streams into my apartment. Sunday mornings have become a cozy analog ritual — cute matching pajamas and all. 

Most of all, my home feels more serene. Instead of passively letting the outside world flood in through my phone every night, I actively invite it into my home once a week. Sundays feel more like peaceful childhood weekends, when I’d watch my mom read the paper while my dad cooked silog (Filipino garlic fried rice and eggs).

Reading the paper on Sundays isn’t about shutting out bad news or insulating me from feelings of grief or outrage at the injustices I read about. It’s about choosing what I invite into my space. It’s about making my home feel safe again, which, for a daughter of immigrants like me, feels meaningful at a time when so much news about attacks on immigrants can make people like me and my loved ones feel unsafe in our homes.

I’ve occasionally been wildly out of step with the rest of the digitally connected world. When the U.S. and Israel launched the war on Iran, I didn’t hear about it from a news alert or social media. I found out from a joke on Saturday Night Live that week. Part of me felt guilty for finding out about such a consequential global event late. I didn’t read about it until the next day, after it felt like all my friends had known for ages. 

But then, wasn’t that the point of the Sunday morning news routine? By finding out “late,” I could skip the hot takes and speculation that springs up after breaking news. Before my Sunday paper ritual, I probably would have doomscrolled on my phone until I burned myself out in a fit of anxiety. By waiting to read about it in the paper, I got a deeper analysis, a stronger understanding of what was happening, and ideas for how I might help in my local community. By designing a more sustainable news ritual and a healthier relationship with my phone, I could regain the energy to do the real, practical things that actually help — like volunteering or voting in my local elections. Being “behind” was a more than worthwhile trade-off. 

So on Sundays, I put on my cozy pajamas. I spread out the newspaper and sip my coffee slowly, wrapped in the safety and gentleness I’ve created in my home. Unlike the internet, my Sunday paper has a last page. There’s nothing else to click. There is only putting down the paper, ending the ritual, and trying to do good in the world beyond my doorstep.