Before the World Recognized Tech Overuse as a Problem, I Saw Its Impact in My Own Life
I never planned to start a residential treatment center.
For over a decade, I worked as a computer developer. I was a mother, a wife, and someone who found purpose in staying busy and accomplishing things. I thrived in the fast-paced world of tech. I could work 12, even 14 hours a day, completely absorbed in problem-solving and building systems. It felt exciting and purposeful until it didn’t.
“Walking away from tech was about more than change. It was about reclaiming purpose. I walked toward something human, healing, and lasting.”
Despite being clean and sober from drugs and alcohol for over a decade, I didn’t initially recognize what was happening inside me. My brain had shifted. Where substances once provided escape and stimulation, technology took over. This was long before anyone talked about digital addiction. Long before Kimberly Young released the first Internet Addiction Test. And back then, I had no idea why I was being pulled so strongly to screens. All I knew was that I was exhausted and unfulfilled.
Over time, the work that once gave me purpose began to feel empty. I realized I was living a life that looked successful on the outside, but wasn’t feeding me on the inside. So midlife, I made a change. I went back to school. I finished my bachelor’s degree in applied psychology, became a certified life coach, then earned my master’s in social work from the University of Washington. I’ve always loved the intersection of business and human behavior, so during COVID, I completed an Executive MBA.
Looking back, I can see that my journey was a search for deeper meaning. Like many, I had turned to tech to fill a relational void. When a difficult relationship ended, I found myself longing not for distraction but for purpose.
Early in my clinical work, I met a young man who played World of Warcraft for 18 hours a day. He had been misdiagnosed with agoraphobia. But as I listened to him, I heard something else. I saw myself. He wasn’t afraid of the outside world. He was stuck in a digital one. I knew that pattern intimately. His mind had been hijacked, just like mine once had.
I reached out to Dr. Hilarie Cash to consult on the case. Hilarie brought something profoundly valuable: a deep understanding of the psychological toll of digital overuse. For years, she’d worked with clients who were falsifying school records to hide their real behavior. People said they were in class, when they were actually online, lost in virtual worlds.
What made our partnership so powerful was that we came from two different but equally vital perspectives. I had lived digital addiction. Hilarie had treated it. Over the past 16 years, we’ve strengthened each other in this work, constantly learning, growing, and evolving together. We’ve shared tears, laughter, late-night problem solving, and moments of profound awe at the resilience of the human spirit. Our friendship and working relationship have endured and deepened through every twist of the journey.
“In a world dominated by digital distraction, we offer something radical—human connection.”
Together, we launched reSTART in 2009, the first residential treatment program in the United States specifically designed to address internet and gaming addiction.
When we opened, people didn’t quite know what to make of us. “Do you treat people virtually, over the internet?” they asked. The answer was no. We weren’t offering tech-based solutions to a tech-based problem. But when they asked, “Is internet use really addictive?” our answer was a resounding yes.
Since then, the digital landscape has evolved at lightning speed. We’ve seen the rise of social media, facebook, instagram, tik-tok, the normalization of 24/7 smartphone use, the explosion of streaming content, and passive-content consumption like twitch, immersive VR and AR experiences, AI chat companions, deepfakes, nudify bots, and now algorithmically shaped relationships. The digital world is more personalized, more addictive, and more socially reinforced than ever before. It’s no longer just about screen time. It’s about screen identity.
Many have struggled with gaming, depression, anxiety, or trauma. And through it all, reSTART has remained a haven for those seeking to come back to themselves.
“It’s not just about unplugging from technology. It’s about plugging into meaning and purpose.”
A fun fact about me is that it took seven years away from technology before I stopped craving it, before the urge to code finally faded. So when people ask if four to eight weeks is enough treatment, I just smile, knowing it’s only the beginning. Lasting healing takes time. It takes rebuilding from the inside out, creating a life worth living with real friendships, purpose, service, academic or professional growth, and joy.
We’ve witnessed those transformations again and again. Young adults who once couldn’t go an hour without their device are now waking up to care for children of their own. Some are married. Others are pursuing graduate degrees, building careers, or contributing meaningfully to their communities. And above all, they’re living lives they chose, lives not governed by screens but grounded in values.
“We’ve seen young adults go from isolation and despair to building lives filled with purpose, connection, and joy.”
There would be no reSTART without many people. But one I must name is my husband, Gary. A skilled craftsman, Gary has been the builder of our dreams. Every campus, every facility, every warm and welcoming space that has made healing possible, he helped bring to life with his hands. His quiet dedication behind the scenes has been just as vital as anything else we’ve built. We wouldn’t be here without him.
And ultimately, what keeps us going, what has fueled thousands of conversations over the years with parents and partners and individuals desperate for change, is something deeply human. Most of the people who call us want what we all want. They’re getting older, and they want to know they did everything they could for the child, spouse, or loved one they care about. They want to know that person has a shot at a meaningful life. Not one lived in isolation, behind a screen, disconnected and diminished.
“Families don’t come to us because they’ve given up. They come because they still believe their loved one’s story isn’t over.”
They want to leave this life knowing their loved one is okay. That they’re doing alright. That they’re living.
“No line of code ever gave me the kind of joy I’ve found walking beside someone on their path to recovery.”
And that, more than anything, is why reSTART exists. Because no trending app, no AI companion, no endless scroll can replace what it means to be human. And nothing compares to the joy of seeing someone choose life again.
