Fierce Grace Advocacy

---

Why I Read Stolen Focus: Post-COVID Brain Fog and Advocacy

I just finished Johann Hari’s Stolen Focus, a book about why none of us can pay attention anymore and what’s been done to us – not by us, but to us – to fragment our capacity for sustained thought, presence, and deep work.

I picked it up because I’ve been struggling. Badly. My focus has collapsed, especially since getting sick with COVID – over a year go! I can’t get through a single project, can’t make it through a work day without my mind fracturing into a dozen directions. When I watch TV, I’m simultaneously scrolling my phone. I can’t just be with one thing at a time. My brain constantly seeks something new to “focus” on every few minutes – a new tab, a new notification, a new hit of novelty. I fight against it. I try to read instead of scroll before bed. I try to just sit and stare without reaching for my phone or a book or music. But it’s exhausting. It’s a fight I feel like I’m losing.

At first, I thought this was just me – personal failure, lack of discipline. Then I started reading about post-COVID cognitive symptoms. Turns out, COVID can cause persistent brain fog, memory problems, and attention difficulties even in people who had relatively mild cases. The virus can trigger inflammation in the brain, reduce blood flow, and provoke immune responses that affect cognitive function. And even for those who didn’t get COVID, the pandemic itself – the stress, anxiety, disrupted sleep, social isolation – took a measurable toll on everyone’s cognitive capacity. I certainly know that is true for me.

So part of what I’m experiencing might be biological. My brain might literally be working differently after COVID.

But that’s not the whole story. Because I’m about to start Crisis Intervention Training – 66 hours of intensive learning that will certify me to sit with survivors of sexual assault and domestic violence in their most acute moments of crisis. If there’s any work that demands the ability to be fully present, to hold focus despite distraction, to offer undivided attention as an act of care – it’s this. I needed to understand what was happening to me – both the biological and the systemic forces at play – and whether I could address it before I tried to show up for others.

The Systemic Theft of Our Attention

As Hari puts it:

“The truth is that you are living in a system that is pouring acid on your attention every day, and then you are being told to blame yourself and to fiddle with your own habits while the world’s attention burns.”

What Hari doesn’t fully address – though the pandemic makes it impossible to ignore – is how our physical and neurological health intersects with these systemic forces. COVID literally changed our brains while Silicon Valley was hacking our attention. We were already exhausted, stressed, and isolated, making us even more vulnerable to the algorithmic manipulation designed to keep us scrolling. The perfect storm.

I agree with almost all of Hari’s analysis. The research is alarming. The interviews with former tech insiders who express remorse for building these systems are chilling. The chapter on how our devices literally hijack the same neural pathways as slot machines? Horrifying. And this quote stopped me cold:

“One day, James Williams—the former Google strategist I met—addressed an audience of hundreds of leading tech designers and asked them a simple question: ‘How many of you want to live in the world you are designing?’ There was a silence in the room. People looked around them. Nobody put up their hand.”

I’ve also seen the devastating effects firsthand in my legal work. I’ve worked on cases where parents have sued social media companies after losing their children to suicide – young people crushed under the weight of algorithmic pressure, comparison culture, and the relentless demand for performance and perfection that these platforms manufacture. The damage is real. The body count is real. This isn’t abstract theory about “distraction.” People are dying.

Who Benefits When We Can’t Focus?

Here’s what Hari does point out: there are powerful interests who benefit enormously from our inability to focus.

An unfocused, distracted population offers tremendous advantages – not to society as a whole, but to specific political and economic actors in the short term:

For capitalism: A distracted population consumes more. We’re more susceptible to marketing when we can’t think critically. We’re less likely to question planned obsolescence, environmental destruction, or the pursuit of profit over human well-being. We stay trapped in the labor structures that fuel productivity because we’re too overwhelmed to imagine alternatives. We keep buying, endlessly, sustaining the growth model that capitalism requires to survive. A focused, educated, critical population might choose to save rather than spend, might prioritize sustainability over convenience, might challenge the entire system. That’s dangerous to profit margins.

For certain political factions: An uneducated, unfocused electorate is easier to manipulate through propaganda and fear-based narratives. They’re less likely to understand policy or hold politicians accountable. They’re more susceptible to populist appeals and charismatic messaging. Scandals and corruption can flourish when voters lack the focus to follow complex stories or the education to understand what they’re seeing.

Democracy, Empathy, and the Cost of Distraction

Hari connects this directly to the current political crisis: 

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence that this crisis in paying attention has taken place at the same time as the worst crisis of democracy since the 1930s. People who can’t focus will be more drawn to simplistic authoritarian solutions—and less likely to see clearly when they fail.”

And even more bluntly: 

“Democracy requires the ability of a population to pay attention long enough to identify real problems, distinguish them from fantasies, come up with solutions, and hold their leaders accountable if they fail to deliver them.”

Yes, in the long term, this hurts everyone – it weakens economic performance, undermines democracy, threatens stability. But in the short term? It’s incredibly profitable and politically useful to keep us fragmented, distracted, and unable to think clearly.

This isn’t a bug. It’s a feature.

And the pandemic made it worse. It gave us brain fog and cognitive impairment while simultaneously forcing us into even greater dependence on screens, isolation, and the very technologies designed to fragment our attention. We emerged from lockdown with damaged brains facing a more predatory attention economy than ever.

The News Cycle and Doomscrolling: When Staying Informed Destroys Focus

There’s another dimension to this that Hari touches on but doesn’t fully explore: the constant news cycle itself damages our focus by triggering the brain’s threat response, leading to anxiety, stress, and hyper-vigilance, which disrupts concentration and can cause burnout. This perpetual stream of negative information creates mental overload, making it hard to stay present, work effectively, sleep well, and maintain a balanced view of the world – often leading to what we now call “doomscrolling” and a paralyzing sense of helplessness.

Research from the American Psychological Association confirms what many of us are experiencing: there’s a significant correlation between news consumption and increased stress and anxiety, particularly around distressing events. And here’s the kicker – constantly monitoring the news doesn’t actually help us stay better informed. It just keeps us in a state of perpetual agitation that makes clear thinking impossible.

How the news cycle harms focus:

• Brain’s negativity bias: Our brains are wired to notice threats, so negative news grabs our attention, making it difficult to disengage and focus on other tasks. We evolved to pay attention to danger – and news outlets exploit this biological reality.
• Constant distraction: Notifications and endless feeds pull our attention away, interrupting deep work and leading to fractured concentration. Every alert is another thread yanked from the tapestry of sustained thought.
• Emotional fatigue: The cumulative stress from upsetting news depletes mental energy, leaving less available for important tasks. When I’m doom-scrolling through images from Gaza or videos of ICE violence, I’m not just losing time – I’m burning through the cognitive and emotional resources I need for everything else.
• Skewed perception: Sensationalized or extreme stories can create a distorted view that the world is worse than it is, increasing worry and preventing present-moment focus. This doesn’t mean the crises aren’t real – they are. But the constant stream makes it impossible to think clearly about how to respond effectively.
• Mental health impact: The APA research shows that people who constantly monitor their newsfeeds report higher levels of stress, anxiety, and even fatigue than those who check news just a few times per day.

This is where I’ve struggled most. How do you stay informed about atrocities without being consumed by them? How do you bear witness to genocide without losing your capacity to act? How do you maintain the focus needed for effective advocacy when every scroll brings fresh horror?

I don’t have perfect answers. But I’m learning that unlimited exposure to the news cycle doesn’t make me more effective – it makes me less capable of sustained action. It fragments my attention exactly when I need it most.

Individual Action in a Systemic Crisis

Hari’s solutions are almost entirely systemic – regulation, legislation, mass movements to dismantle surveillance capitalism. And I’m not against any of that. We should regulate these predatory systems. We should fight back collectively. In fact, this is one of the things Hari gets most right – this problem cannot be solved through individual action alone. It’s not merely our fault that this is happening to our ability to focus and pay attention. This is a systemic problem, engineered by some of the wealthiest, most powerful corporations in human history, designed specifically to exploit our psychological vulnerabilities for profit. Of course we can’t just willpower our way out of it.

But I’m also sitting here in January 2026, watching genocide livestreamed from Gaza. Watching ICE agents kill American citizens in broad daylight in Minnesota. Watching the daily cascade of horrors that demand our attention, our rage, our action. The threats Hari identifies are real – but they’re competing with threats that feel more immediate, more visceral, more deadly.

And here’s the thing: our inability to sustain attention on any of these crises is exactly what allows them to continue.We scroll past genocide. We move on from state violence. We struggle to hold focus long enough to organize, to demand accountability, to build the sustained pressure that could create change. This serves power perfectly.

Hari warns: 

“If you see the world through fragments, your empathy often doesn’t kick in, in the way that it does when you engage with something in a sustained, focused way.”

So what do we do? Wait for legislation that may never come? Join a movement that feels impossibly large when we can barely get through our email? Give up because individual action isn’t enough? Accept that our post-COVID brains are just broken now?

Here’s what I think Hari gets right that matters more than all his scattered policy proposals: our attention is precious. It is, in fact, one of the most valuable things we have to give. And we need to do what we can as individuals – not because it’s sufficient, but because it’s necessary preparation for the collective action that actually can create change.

When I sit across from a survivor in crisis next month, the most important thing I can offer them isn’t my knowledge of trauma-informed care protocols (though that matters). It isn’t my familiarity with the justice system (though that helps). It’s my complete, undivided, present attention.

To look at someone and truly see them. To listen without planning my next response. To be there, fully there, in the hardest moment of their life. That requires the exact capacity that’s being systematically stripped from us – by tech companies, by capitalism, by political manipulation, and yes, even by viruses that damage our brains.

Hari is right that this is theft. But he’s wrong that we’re powerless as individuals while we wait for the revolution. We’re not powerless – we’re just not sufficient alone.

Reclaiming our attention is both an act of survival and an act of resistance. And it’s the prerequisite for effective collective action.

Practical Steps to Reclaim Your Focus

So here’s what I’m doing, concretely, to claw back my focus:

• Silencing most notifications. My phone doesn’t ping at me constantly anymore. I decide when to engage, not the algorithm.
• Refusing to check work emails after hours or on weekends – unless it’s something I myself am waiting for. My attention outside of work hours belongs to me, to my relationships, to my recovery.
• Sleeping more. This isn’t negotiable anymore. My brain needs those hours to literally wash out toxins, to process the day, to restore cognitive function. Post-COVID brain fog doesn’t improve without adequate sleep, and neither does my ability to be present for others.
• Taking evening walks with my dog without my phone. Just me, the dog, and whatever thoughts arise. No podcast, no music, no scrolling. Just presence with the physical world and whatever my mind wants to wander toward.
• Reading more. Books, not articles. Long-form, sustained engagement with ideas and stories. Rebuilding those neural pathways for deep focus.
• Writing more. Like this. Processing, reflecting, creating meaning instead of just consuming it.
• Giving myself permission to be still and silent. To sit without reaching for a device. To let my mind wander. To be bored, even.

These aren’t just self-care tips. They’re not substitutes for systemic change – Hari is right about that. But they’re not nothing, either. They’re training. They’re preparation. They’re potentially even rehabilitation for post-COVID brains. They’re the work of becoming someone who can hold space, who can think clearly, who can show up to meetings and movements and organizing work with the sustained focus that collective action requires.

Reading and Writing as Acts of Rebellion

And here’s something I want to acknowledge explicitly: reading books like Stolen Focus and writing this blog post are themselves small acts of rebellion.

How reading rebuilds what’s been stolen:

• Strengthens neural networks: Deep, regular reading – particularly for 20-30 minutes daily – increases connectivity in the left temporal cortex (the area associated with language reception) and strengthens white matter, improving communication between brain hemispheres. I’m literally rewiring my brain away from the fragmented patterns that scrolling creates.
• Enhances memory: Reading boosts both episodic memory (tracking storylines, following complex narratives) and working memory (holding information while processing it). For those of us dealing with post-COVID cognitive issues, this matters enormously. Research shows reading can slow the rate of memory deterioration.
• Improves focus: Reading requires sustained attention. Every time I sit with a book for thirty minutes, I’m training my brain to resist distractions and rebuilding my capacity for longer attention spans. It’s like physical therapy for an attention system that’s been injured.
• Reduces stress: Immersive reading can reduce stress levels by up to 68% in just six minutes, lowering heart rate and muscle tension. When I’m calmer, I think more clearly. When I think more clearly, I can engage more effectively with the crises that demand my attention.

How writing rebuilds cognitive capacity:

• Physical engagement: Writing by hand activates more brain regions – including those for vision, sensory processing, and motor control – compared to typing. When I journal by hand, I’m giving my brain a full workout.
• Deeper encoding: The physical act of forming letters builds “mental hooks” that help with information retention. Writing forces me to slow down, to process, to truly think rather than just react.
• Enhanced cognitive processing: Writing encourages summarization and synthesis rather than just copying or consuming. When I write posts like this, I’m not just reporting what Hari said – I’m processing it, connecting it to my own experience, making meaning from it. That deeper processing strengthens focus and memory.
• Brain stimulation: The complex motor patterns involved in handwriting stimulate brain regions that typing doesn’t reach, improving word processing and overall cognitive fluency.

The “use it or lose it” principle: Regular, lifelong reading and writing can slow the decline of cognitive functions and protect against memory loss. Every book I read, every blog post I write, is an investment in maintaining and rebuilding the cognitive capacity that surveillance capitalism is trying to steal.

When I spend an hour reading Stolen Focus instead of scrolling Instagram, I’m not just learning about the attention crisis – I’m actively reversing it in my own brain. When I spend two hours writing this post instead of consuming endless content, I’m not just reflecting on the problem – I’m practicing the solution.

This is resistance. Not dramatic, not flashy, but real. In a world that profits from my distraction, every moment of sustained focus is an act of refusal. Every deep reading session is me taking back what was stolen. Every thoughtful piece of writing is me rebuilding capacity for the work ahead.

The system wants me fragmented, exhausted, unable to think clearly or sustain attention on injustice. Reading and writing are how I fight back.

Attention as Resistance: Preparing for Crisis Intervention Work

You can’t dismantle surveillance capitalism if you can’t focus long enough to understand how it works. You can’t organize effectively if you’re constantly fragmented. You can’t bear witness to genocide if you scroll past it after thirty seconds. You can’t demand justice if you can’t sustain attention through the long, grinding work that justice requires. You can’t hold politicians accountable if you can’t follow a story for more than a news cycle. You can’t build a movement if you can’t think critically about the systems you’re fighting.

Our distraction isn’t accidental. It’s profitable. It’s politically useful. It keeps us docile, consuming, and unable to organize against the forces that benefit from our fragmentation.

Yes, we need systemic change. Yes, we should fight the tech giants and demand regulation and build collective power.

But we also need to be able to focus long enough to do that work. We need to be present enough to witness atrocity and not scroll past. We need attention spans that can sustain us through years-long advocacy fights and the exhausting, essential work of caring for each other. We need to be able to show up – not just physically, but mentally and emotionally – to the movements that can actually create change.

And for those of us dealing with post-COVID cognitive symptoms, this work might be even harder. Our brains might need more support – better sleep, reduced stress, medical attention, patience with ourselves. But that doesn’t change the fundamental truth: we still need to practice presence. We still need to fight for our attention. The stakes are too high to surrender.

There is only so much we can do as individuals. Hari is right about that. But what we can do matters. Not because it solves the problem alone, but because it makes us capable of being part of the solution together.

As Hari reminds us: 

“Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.”

The book is unfocused – ironically so, scattered across twelve causes and a various proposed solutions. But maybe that’s fitting. Because the fight for our attention is happening on every front simultaneously. There is no one answer. There’s only the daily practice of choosing presence over distraction, depth over speed, connection over consumption – and then bringing that reclaimed capacity to the collective work of resistance.

I start Crisis Intervention Training on Tuesday. I’ll be learning how to support survivors through some of the worst moments of their lives. And the first thing I’m bringing to that work – before knowledge, before skills, before credentials – is the commitment to be fully, completely, attentively there.

Because here’s something else I’ve learned from my work with trauma survivors: “To pay attention in normal ways, you need to feel safe.” When I offer my full attention to someone in crisis, I’m not just listening – I’m creating safety. I’m saying: You matter. Your story matters. I am here, completely here, with you.

That’s not everything. But it’s not nothing either.

Our attention is precious. The people we serve deserve all of it. And reclaiming our capacity for focus isn’t just about personal productivity or individual wellness – it’s about building the kind of presence that makes advocacy, solidarity, and justice possible.

We can’t wait for the system to change before we practice being present. The crisis is now. The need is now. Individual action isn’t sufficient – but it’s necessary. It’s the foundation. It’s how we become people capable of sustaining the collective fight.

I believe that doing this work – silencing notifications, protecting my time, reading deeply, writing thoughtfully, practicing stillness – will help me. And I believe that showing up for others, listening to them completely, making them feel safe through my undivided attention, will help them too.

Our attention – fierce, focused, and freely given – is needed now. For the survivors we serve. For the movements we build. For each other.

And every moment we reclaim it is an act of refusal against the systems that profit from our distraction.