Lately, I’ve been noticing how much emotional stress technology places on people across all demographics. Technology increasingly shifts burdens onto users by design, creating anxiety and exclusion—particularly for those less comfortable navigating digital spaces, and I believe that it’s time to recognize and reverse this trend.
Have you ever felt your head explode at the sight of yet another mandatory app download, or the frustration of helping a loved one navigate a website that’s supposed to be ’easy’? Welcome to the emotional cost of tech ubiquity. We’re living in an era where digital tools have become unavoidable, yet we’re still in the earliest days of figuring out how humans and technology should coexist.
My mom’s experience stands out vividly. All of her medical information, scheduling, and doctor communications were funneled through web interfaces she couldn’t navigate. Without me acting as her tech translator, she would have been limited to traditional phone calls and voice messages that took forever to return—far less efficient than the online portal supposedly created to help her.
But here’s the thing: that portal wasn’t built primarily to benefit her, contrary to the press releases. It was designed to reduce the workload of her healthcare providers. The technology shifted the burden onto patients, with little regard for whether or not they could handle it. As a result, she spent a good part of her later life feeling as though the world had left her behind — to the point where she even had an iPhone that she insisted on learning how to use, and failed miserably when she tried. Thereafter it remained untouched, forever charging in the corner of the kitchen, a constant reminder of inadequacy.
We should be able to live our lives without needing to know how to use an app! I also think about how rarely tech is designed with older adults, neurodivergent users, or those with visual impairments in mind. Accessibility should not be an afterthought—it should be essential. When I’m clicking on bicycles to prove I’m human before opening a website, it’s an annoyance. What kind of hell is it for someone who can’t see the screen?
This pattern repeats everywhere. I’ve seen it in friends and family who struggle with technology. They feel abandoned, somehow deficient or “too dumb” to understand these systems. What’s heartbreaking is that they blame themselves when the real failure lies in the software itself.
It’s Not You, It’s the Software
The truth is, much of the technology we encounter is poorly designed. It doesn’t provide clear error messages, offer graceful fallbacks, or create intuitive workflows. Yet we are made to feel inferior when in fact it’s the software that’s substandard.
Consider how many parking lots now require an app just to park. No attendants, just an expectation that everyone can download, install, and correctly operate yet another app on the spot. Or think about how many services now require dedicated apps that offer some desired value but come with massive privacy trade-offs and notification overload.
Many of these things provide useful services—that’s why they’re successful. But their business models often create misaligned incentives. When revenue comes from advertisers rather than users, the primary focus shifts from providing value to “monetizing” by capturing attention and data. It’s not that these companies deliberately set out to create anxiety (which would be bad for business), but their priorities seldom seem to include making life easier for those of us who aren’t technically inclined.
This affects people across all age groups and technical abilities. I teach young people, and I see how their digital lives are fragmented across multiple platforms. The most popular apps create their own ecosystems that discourage leaving, not through outright barriers but through frictions that make switching costs high. If you want to switch social media providers, you’ll need to convince all of your friends to move platforms with you, recreate your digital identity, and learn new interfaces to try out something new that might not even end up being better—all significant barriers.
The brilliant Cory Doctorow vividly describes this process of platform decay—where users are initially given a great experience until they’re captured, then that experience is gradually degraded for profit, but never quite enough to overcome the switching costs. It’s worth understanding the process as a whole, so I recommend giving his work a full read. You’ll see it in action everywhere, once you understand what’s going on.
The emotional impact is real, too. As someone who provides tech support to people from age 10 to 85, I see a common thread: people just want to do stuff without thinking about the technology itself. The best designs are those that fade into the background, allowing users to focus entirely on their desired goals — so the reward for well-designed software is that we don’t notice it. No wonder it’s such a hard sell for some developers.
But when software ships with major usability issues, or familiar interfaces get “upgraded” without warning, it creates genuine anxiety. People freeze. They stop experimenting. They lose confidence. What’s particularly challenging is watching the gap between those who navigate technology well and those who struggle, reinforcing a sense of inadequacy that’s entirely undeserved.
Finding Better Paths Forward
So what can we do to cope with this awkward adolescence of technological ubiquity?
Be mindful of defaults. For those comfortable with technology, knowing about defaults is crucial, both for ourselves and for those we assist. Default privacy settings, notification permissions, and other pre-selected options rarely serve users’ best interests. Being deliberate about how we configure our digital tools can significantly improve our experience. Take a look at the Consumer Reports guide to Facebook privacy settings for an excellent example of how to take better control.
Prioritize software that’s aligned correctly. I use tools like Kagi search, RSS readers, and ad blockers that prioritize good user experiences because they directly align with my needs. Kagi is a paid search service: they don’t make money unless they provide a better way to search the internet, and they do that very well indeed.
RSS is a protocol (a set of agreed-upon tech rules) that is interoperable. With it and the right software (I use the free NetNewsWire app on my Mac and iPad), any compatible websites syndicate their content so that I can collect it at a single location, allowing me to keep up with what’s new without visiting dozens of separate websites every day.
At this point it feels as though I could barely use the web without a good ad blocker, and I sometimes forget that everyone isn’t using them. Support for my favorite blocker has recently been removed on Chrome-based browsers. Thanks, Google! It doesn’t take much to understand why. These services help us stay online without being walled in or inundated, and it’s wonderful, but only if we know that they exist and can use them effectively.
Digital literacy is essential. Young people inheriting this tech-saturated world need to understand the trade-offs they’re making and the alternatives available to them. We all need strategies that allow us to take better control, retain our privacy, and give us options. We need to understand how algorithms and personalized feeds work to influence us. We need to know how to evaluate digital privacy risks, and how to get support when we need it.
And don’t believe the hype that says kids don’t care about these things. In my experience, many are already seeking strategies for a healthier tech-life balance, recognizing the fragmenting effect of constant connectivity.
Use (or provide) community resources. For those less comfortable with technology, community resources like libraries and tech centers can provide crucial assistance. Many communities offer free or low-cost technology workshops specifically designed for different skill levels. If you’re tech-savvy, consider volunteering at these programs—you’ll gain valuable perspective on the challenges others face. And if you’re supporting family members, remember that teaching them to fish (building their confidence with technology) is ultimately more empowering than fishing for them (doing everything for them), even if it takes more patience initially.
Be kind to yourself and others about tech. It’s so important to spread the message that when technology fails, it’s often not the user’s fault. We’re living through the earliest days of human-technology interaction, which also means that we’re the pioneers figuring this stuff out in real-time, and that comes with challenges.
The truth is, you shouldn’t need to be a geek to use technology effectively. The fact that it often feels that way isn’t a failure of users—it’s a failure of design and incentives. As technology becomes increasingly unavoidable, we have both an opportunity and responsibility to ensure it serves humanity in all its diversity, rather than expecting humanity to adapt to its limitations.
We don’t need technology to disappear; we need it to respect and empower users of all skill levels. So, next time you encounter frustrating tech, remember: advocate for better designs, seek supportive resources, and always remind yourself—it’s the software’s job to adapt to you, not the other way around.