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3. Screen Addiction: The False Promise of 'Mindset Therapy'

The screen, now an extension of ourselves, encourages compulsive behaviors that “mindset therapy” claims to fix. But by ignoring the unconscious mind and deeper psychological conflicts, this approach imposes a one-size-fits-all norm, pushing people further away from their own personal truth.

Excessive screen use often results in compulsive patterns, where individuals struggle to cut back despite being fully aware of the negative consequences.

Today, the screen has become a space of projection—a mirror reflecting our solitude, a portal to fantasy and an endless source of stimulation. It is no longer just a tool, it’s embedded in our daily lives, an extension of the self and often a shield against reality. More than a medium, the screen now shapes the very atmosphere we live in. It offers a disembodied kind of pleasure. We scroll as if searching for a breast, a voice, a gaze.

We “like” as if seeking comfort, we “swipe” as if trying to escape. These compulsive gestures have come to dominate our interactions. There’s no lasting satisfaction in the digital flow, only fleeting pleasures and bursts of stimulation that keep us perpetually on edge. The screen is no longer just a tool for communication, it has become a source of alienation. It demands a constant, overwhelming presence—short-circuiting absence, erasing longing and leaving no room for daydreaming.

Digital technology fuels a persistent illusion of novelty, but this so-called “new” is as predictable and engineered as what came before. Rather than offering the unexpected, it delivers algorithmic variations of the familiar. Trapped in this cycle, we move in circles under the false impression of progress. The more images and messages we consume, the more reality dulls, its vividness eroded by the power of illusion.

In today’s digital landscape, we are no longer led by desire. Instead, we’re driven by a shadowy compulsion, a quiet craving for the familiar. The screen becomes a stage for endless repetition, as we cycle through the same motions: unlocking, scrolling, watching, reacting. Everything seems designed to deliver a constant stream of fragmented, fleeting substitutes—notifications, stories, reels, hyperlinks, boundless videos. It’s a relentless pursuit of calm through constant overload, one that merely conceals a deeper emptiness.


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What starts as leisure quickly turns into a loop, an endless cycle of return and repetition. The user becomes caught in a pull so absorbing that it blurs the line between browsing and being browsed. We don’t look to see, we look to distract ourselves from thinking. It is this very suspension of thought—this sidelining of the speaking self—that psychoanalysts find troubling. Excessive screen use isn’t just about how much time we spend, it signals a deeper shift in how we relate to the world.

In response to this pull, various therapeutic approaches have emerged under the broad label of “mindset therapy,” aiming to reshape the thoughts and behaviors linked to digital use.

What exactly is this latest iteration of the norm-setting industry? It operates within the framework of positive thinking, which acknowledges only what is visible, conscious and subject to conditioning. This includes approaches derived from cognitive-behavioral therapies (CBT) that focus on eliminating symptoms without addressing their deeper role in an individual’s psychosomatic balance—overlooking the fact that these symptoms often conceal a profound subjective truth. The ultimate goal is to modify behaviors deemed undesirable in order to align individuals with social and consumerist norms that support political and economic agendas aimed at producing compliant, well-adjusted citizens. The rise in popularity of “mindset therapy” for various addictions, including screen dependency, largely stems from its practical emphasis on observable thoughts and behaviors—elements that are easier to change and less resistant than unconscious impulses.

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In the era of personal development, a new imperative dominates mainstream discourse: change your mindset to transform your life. The prescription sounds deceptively simple—adopt the “right mindset,” reprogram your thoughts and visualize your goals to attract success, happiness and “resilience.” Though superficially appealing, this approach is shrouded in a veneer of simplistic rationality, questionable cognitive science and utilitarian pragmatism. A closer examination reveals “mindset therapy” as a framework that denies the unconscious, obscures intrapsychic conflict and ultimately sacrifices the subject’s authentic truth in the name of efficiency and conformity.

In “mindset therapy,” the self is seen as a project to optimize, retrain and discipline. Psychological distress is no longer treated as a meaningful internal signal, it is dismissed as a faulty mental strategy. Rather than exploring underlying anxieties or articulating psychic conflicts, these are reframed as mere “limiting beliefs” to be reprogrammed through self-suggestion, morning rituals and motivational mantras.

From a psychoanalytic perspective, this approach amounts to a denial of psychic conflict. The subject is not an Excel spreadsheet to be corrected, but a being torn by contradictory desires, uncontrollable impulses and deeply buried traumas. The belief that simply “thinking differently” can resolve these tensions only reinforces the childish illusion that the inner world alone can reshape reality. The screen short-circuits our access to the symbolic realm—to meaningful speech, the experience of absence and the emergence of new desires. Psychoanalytic discourse stands in stark contrast to digital immediacy. It unfolds in its own temporality: slow, hesitant, marked by reflection and half-spoken truths. Where the digital compresses time, analysis stretches it. Where the screen produces noise, psychoanalysis creates space for silence.

“Mindset therapy” has little to do with the unconscious. It rests on the belief that a person is fully self-aware, in control of their words and free to choose their path—so long as they simply decide to do so. This notion of total mental control stands in direct opposition to the psychoanalytic view of a divided self, shaped by hidden forces, entangled in language and haunted by what remains absent.

By offering a tidy storyline—“you suffer because you think the wrong way”—mindset therapy dismisses the complexity of personal history. It ignores the symptom instead of engaging with it. It refuses to listen to what slips out unintentionally, what returns unspoken and what lingers in silence.