The Quiet Library of My Mind

When I was 5, my family had to move from Luhansk, Ukraine, to Kyiv to escape the 2014 invasion by the Russians. From my earliest memories, there has been chaos, which I got used to. It’s taken me years to figure out that I prefer calm—and to find ways to achieve it. 

My first teacher in elementary school in Kyiv yelled a lot. She hit students’ fingers with a ruler. I saw school as a competition to advance in the world as I got older, not a place of happiness. 

In 4th grade, I cheated for the first time—during a math quiz, when the teacher had her back turned. It was an impulse: I opened the calculator app on my phone and got the answers. I felt a rush of adrenaline, like I was James Bond on a mission. And it worked. I was happy to do well on the quiz, but I also liked the thrill of risk and of getting away with cheating. 

I was in 5th grade when Covid sent us all to our bedrooms and computer screens. Between Zoom-bombers, bad internet connections, and just sitting at our desks in our bedrooms all day, school online felt like a waste of time. I played games and watched YouTube videos on my phone for hours. 

I felt lonely, depressed, and numb during lockdown, and it didn’t get better when we got back to the classroom. Being with people now made me tired, and I found myself wanting to get back to my phone. I spent most of my time watching others play the horror/mystery game Five Nights at Freddy’s on YouTube, which gave me an adrenaline rush like I got cheating on a test. 

My parents told me to get off my phone and live in real life, but people felt annoying and boring, like something I wanted to escape. I couldn’t align with others the way I used to, and I didn’t like myself much either. 

An Offer of Help

In 7th grade, my mom confronted me about my bad grades and wasting time on my phone instead of doing homework. She kept asking me questions from my biology book and discovered I hadn’t read any of the material. I was behind in chemistry too. As our back and forth got more heated, my mom seemed to grasp how depressed and lonely I was. She left my room looking concerned. 

I sat alone at my desk, sour and thoughtful. My grandma, who lived with us, came into my room and put a hand on my shoulder.

“Hey there,” she said softly. 

“Hi.” I didn’t look up from my notebook. I wanted to get my homework over with and go to sleep. 

“I can help you study chemistry,” she proposed. I looked at her. That idea sounded nice. “How about we start tomorrow by reading the first pages of your book?” 

And so we did. It was late in the school year to start the chemistry book: I was supposed to be through at least a third already. I would read a chapter or two a day, and then my grandmother and I would talk about it and answer questions to make sure I understood the material before moving on. 

My grandma had helped me with homework as a little kid, but this felt more emotional. I allowed myself to be more vulnerable than usual because I didn’t need to ask for help; she offered it. It was the kind of human connection I’d been missing. 

Progressing through the chemistry book with my grandma, I felt safe and supported, as if under a warm blanket. Our studying together pushed me toward this calmer kind of happiness. 

I wanted more of that contentment and challenge. I downloaded a meditation app and started learning Spanish on Duolingo. I also began seeing a therapist and started a painting project because of her encouragement. 

Losing Sight of Happiness

Soon after this breakthrough, however, my life was uprooted. After the Russians invaded Kyiv in 2022, my family had to leave our home. We spent three months in Slovakia, then moved to the U.S. I lost a whole semester of school. 

I ended up in a high school I like in Queens, New York, where I’m finishing up my sophomore year now. The teachers are helpful and friendly, and that has helped me embrace learning more and mistrust authority less.

Freshman year, however, I was still on my phone way too much. Screen addiction in the U.S. is different than it was for me in Ukraine. Social media is the most powerful presence for American teenagers, and I was trying to fit in. I downloaded TikTok for a few months in 9th grade, and at first it showed me videos about TV shows I liked: Suits, The Rookie, Lucifer.

Being off social media gives my brain a break from adrenaline. I can think more clearly and my focus is stronger.

But then the app started to feed me brain rot—trending videos of mindless memes that took over the conversations around me. Most of my classmates scroll constantly on TikTok and other social media and their conversations are full of  “rizz” and “sigma” and “skibbidi.” They just parrot content from the algorithms, and it feels nonsensical and useless.

I felt pressure to be cool by keeping up with all the memes. I couldn’t bring myself to use those words, but I laughed along when others did. 

I realized in the summer between 9th and 10th grade that trying to be a “cool girl” felt like being trapped in a box: I wasn’t happy pretending to be someone else.  

I started to contemplate what made me happy. I thought back to when I was young, at summer camp, training in aikido, walking through nature, alone or with real friends. Those were the memories I reflected on warmly, and I was afraid they’d end up as the only fond ones I’d have. I decided to try to live a more fulfilling life. 

Finding Calm and Focus

I read on social media about phone-free living (I know, right?) and it intrigued me. So I deleted TikTok and started spending more time in nature. On a trip upstate that summer, I went outside and noticed the quiet you don’t get in the city. I heard the wind rustling the leaves above me and the water hitting the rocks at the edge of the lake. I was reminded of how I’d felt before I was always on my phone, when I was a kid playing outside. 

This year, in 10th grade, I’ve made a good group of friends who I met through my boyfriend, and I can feel the difference from a few years ago when I wanted to escape people. This group is never boring or annoying. They’re not interested in brain rot and they’re not trying to be cool. We goof around, but we also encourage each other, and they do interesting things that inspire me, like sailing and learning ancient Greek.

I’ve even gotten into science with these friends. Recently, we sat together in the lunchroom and quizzed each other on the chemical properties of matter and homogeneous mixtures. It was fun; not like a chore. Once again, chemistry—which I thought I hated—connected me with other people. 

One morning not long ago, I woke up before everyone else. I avoided my phone and took my time with everything. I eventually sat down to do some homework and I had a revelation. I’m content now. I try to replicate those conditions, and more and more, it works! I can get to that calm.  

Being off social media gives my brain a break from adrenaline. I can think more clearly and my focus is stronger. Last week, I read a book in one sitting, even with my little sister interrupting me over and over. 

My emotions used to seesaw all the time. Before, I felt like the library that is my mind was in disarray, with storms blowing through the windows leaving books strewn across the floor. Now, it feels like a space filled with sunshine, books neatly filed in alphabetical order. 

The chaos that has surrounded my life has dissipated somewhat, but the change is more mental. I’ve found refuge from my depression, Covid, the war, immigrating, my phone addiction in calm and discipline. I can organize the library of my life. I can create the present I want and don’t need to try to escape my reality.