I remember watching a Batman movie and hearing Alfred say something that stuck with me. It wasn’t even a good Batman movie—if I recall correctly, it was the 1997 offering, Batman & Robin. The film itself doesn’t matter, but the words did. I remember them as: “A gentleman never discusses his health or finances.”

I’m almost certain this wasn’t an original Alfred-ism but rather a phrase with Edwardian roots. Still, it resonated with me, and over the years, it became something of a guideline—not with close friends or family, but in everyday interactions. When asked how I’m doing, I am always excellent, and I never casually discuss financial struggles.

But this time, I’ve been on a health related journey, one worth sharing, and perhaps one worth reading about.

I had been undergoing physiotherapy on my leg for just over a month. My right thigh had a muscle issue that was causing knee pain. Then, one Sunday, I was feeling quite well—so much so that I finally tackled some chores I’d been putting off for a while. As you can imagine, I was in an exceptional mood about my recovery. A mood that was, unfortunately, short-lived.

As I stood at the top of the stairs, my seemingly “fixed” knee failed in its kneely duties. I slid down the stairs, collided with the wall at the bottom, crashed against the rail post, and finally landed—ironically—back on my failed leg. The term calamity feels appropriate.

Since then, I’ve been in a state of recovery. I spent six hours in the hospital’s A&E, only to learn that my leg wasn’t broken—but I had torn whatever it is that makes an ankle do ankle things and given my knee enough of a whack to make it balloon like a potato.

The hospital also ignored my shoulder, clearly recognizing my undeniable manliness and assuming I could simply power through the pain (that’s a lie—they said it was badly bruised and didn’t need treatment. But I know it’s really because of my manly beard!)

In the couple of weeks since my high-speed descent into danger, I’ve experienced some unexpected side effects. Navigating stairs with my problematic limb has been a challenge, and I’ve had to regularly elevate it to reduce swelling. This has unexpectedly left me feeling somewhat… less than.

I’m so used to simply getting on with everything that needs to be done in my life. But having to take an enforced time-out—unable to keep up with chores, walk my dog, or fully focus on my writing—has put me in a pretty shitty mood.

I realized during my first foray into voice chat with a friend—the day after my injury—that I was irritable, short-tempered, and taking quite literally everything as a direct assault. Thankfully, I had enough self-awareness to give myself a week-long time-out. Even after that, I remained cautious about my mood before returning to regular nattering.

So, I took a week off. Not from work—let’s not get confused here. A dude still has bills to pay. I took a week off the internet. For the first time in, quite possibly, my entire adult life. I stopped short of turning off the WiFi, but I closed Discord, stopped checking emails, ignored YouTube, turned off notifications and avoided all news feeds. Instead, I sat, played chess on my iPad, and watched Vampire Diaries (which is a masterpiece, no matter what anyone says! A masterpiece, I tell you!)

In the evenings, I listened to music on my DAP (a Surfans F28), read books, studied scripture, and had some early nights—while doing my best to ignore the pain in my ankle and knee. (I didn’t even think about the shoulder, of course, because of my aforementioned manliness.)

I was still mad at myself for the fall and frustrated that I couldn’t keep up with chores. I know this might sound odd, but I genuinely like doing tasks. I find housework meditative, and walking the dog, playing with the dog—being obsessedwith the dog—is a genuine source of joy in my life. It was hard to do that with constant ankle pain.

But here’s the thing—I found new joy, unexpected joy, in stepping away from the internet in such an intentional way. I’m not someone with a doom-scrolling or social media habit. In fact, I think I have a far healthier relationship with the internet than most people I know. But still, stepping away was wonderful. There was a calm to it, a sense of freedom.

I still used Netflix, Chess.com, and, occasionally, Clip Studio Paint (which I think was using an internet connection sometimes—though I have no idea how that actually works, I just know I like to draw things). But these connections demanded very little from me—cognitively or socially—and it felt great.

Focusing on scripture without notifications distracting me allowed me to engage with the passages more clearly than before. Drawing became more zen-like, and writing—when my throbbing foot allowed—held me in a deeper trance than usual. And, just to hammer this point home, I never even look at notifications. I just clear them and get on with my day… but the total absence of them was noticeable.

This got me thinking—if I, someone who doesn’t have a toxic relationship with the internet, found solace in stepping away from notifications, news, chat apps, and YouTube… then what about the people who do have a bad relationship with it?

I half wish I could just pull the plug for the doom-scrollers and TikTok-obsessed masses. Imagine how freeing it would be to get all that time back. I don’t even think I procrastinate as much as most people I know, but somehow, I felt like I had hours back each day—just from being intentional about my internet use.

My leg is on the mend now, and I’ve started reintroducing things. I’ve slowly returned to voice chats and begun saying good morning in my Discord group. But I’ve also kept notifications off, set my email to “on demand,” and removed a lot of apps from my iPad and phone. Going forward, I think I’ll be using less of the internet, not more. And if I were offline for a long time, I think I’d be just fine—maybe even, possibly, a little better in some ways.

I’d definitely miss the connections I’ve made with people, but I wouldn’t miss all the culture, content, or crap I left behind. Maybe I secretly strive to be a Luddite, or maybe I’m just getting old. Who knows? But one thing’s for sure—I’m a grumpy bastard when I’m in pain.