Why do I keep checking whether my message was read?

You keep checking because those little signs, “Read,” two blue ticks, “last seen at 4:12,” give you a tiny bit of news every time you look, and that is exactly how a checking habit forms. After a long marriage or the loss of a spouse, there is often a second reason too: the house is quieter than it used to be, and the phone has become the place where company might arrive.

Why do I keep looking when nothing has changed?

Bev is 66. She was married for 41 years and widowed three years ago. Her granddaughter set up a messaging app on her phone at Easter so the family could share photos. Now Bev has been out to lunch twice with Tom, a retired pharmacist from her church, and they write to each other most days.

Last Tuesday she sent him a photo of her tomatoes. Under it, the word “Delivered.” Twenty minutes later, “Read.” Then nothing for the afternoon. Bev picked the phone up while the kettle boiled, while the news was on, and once on the way to bed. Each time she knew it would say the same thing. Each time she looked anyway.

Here is what she actually knows:

• What happened: Tom opened the photo at 2:40 and hasn’t written back yet.
• The reading: He saw it and didn’t care to answer.
• The fear: She’s being a bother, and he’s losing interest.
• The next step: Another look, probably.

“Read” tells Bev that a message was opened. It doesn’t tell her whether Tom was in a parking lot, on the phone with his son, or smiling at the tomatoes and meaning to reply later.

Researchers studying smartphone use have a name for what Bev is doing: a checking habit. In work from Finland and the United States, people’s phones were full of brief, repeated looks, most lasting under 30 seconds. These checks weren’t random. They were set off by a small number of situations, like a commute or a bored moment, and they were kept going because the phone gives a little new information almost instantly.1 Most people found the habit more of an annoyance than anything darker.1 That’s useful to know. You’re not doing something strange. You’re doing something very human, and a little tiresome.

Is everyone checking these little signs?

A great many people are. In a study of online status signs, the “online” or “active now” labels many apps show, almost everyone (99%) used at least one app that had them. More than half said they had opened an app just to see someone else’s status.2 Over a third had avoided opening an app, or signed out quickly, so that a particular person wouldn’t see them online.2

That second finding cuts both ways. Tom may know about “Read” and “last seen” too, and some people deliberately wait before opening a message so they don’t feel rushed. Others never look at their status line at all. You can’t tell which kind of person he is from a word under a photo.

If you’re newer to these features, it helps to know that many apps let you switch them off for yourself in the privacy settings. A grandchild can show you in two minutes. You don’t have to, but some people find the evenings easier without the little word to watch.

Why is it harder since I’ve been on my own?

For many years, you probably didn’t need a screen to know where your person was. You heard the car in the drive, the radio in the kitchen, the footsteps on the stairs. When that goes, the quiet can be very loud.

In a study that followed older adults before and after the death of a spouse, loneliness turned out to be the main challenge of widowhood, more than having fewer people around or less support from them.3 You can have kind neighbors and caring children and still feel the absence of one particular voice. A phone that might buzz with a message from someone new offers a little of what’s missing. No wonder your hand reaches for it.

That doesn’t mean you need to stop caring about Tom’s reply. It means the checking may be doing two jobs at once: waiting for him, and keeping you company. Only one of those jobs is really his.

How do I check less without feeling cut off?

Gently. Habits loosen best when you change the setting around them, not when you scold yourself.

Set check times. In a study from the University of British Columbia, adults who limited themselves to checking email three times a day felt noticeably less daily stress than in a week when they checked whenever they liked, even though most found it hard to hold back.4 That was email, not messages from someone you’re fond of, but the principle carries. Try morning, after lunch and early evening. In between, the phone can live in a drawer.

Change the trigger. If you check while the kettle boils, put a crossword by the kettle. If you check during the evening news, leave the phone charging in the hall. The habit is attached to a moment. Give the moment something else to do.

Give it time. When researchers at University College London tracked people building new daily habits, it took an average of 66 days for a new behavior to feel automatic, and the time varied widely from person to person.5 So a week of checking less is a start, not a failure if it still feels odd.

Answer, then let go. Once you’ve sent your message, the next move is theirs. Looking again doesn’t move it along.

When is it more than a habit?

If the checking keeps you awake, crowds out things you used to enjoy, or comes with a heavy, restless feeling most days, it’s worth mentioning to your doctor or talking with a licensed counselor. Grief can show up in all sorts of places, including a phone you can’t put down. Getting support is not a sign that anything is wrong with you.

What can I do this week?

1. Pick three check times and write them on a note by the phone.
2. Find your trigger. Notice the moment your hand reaches for the phone. Kettle? News? Bedtime?
3. Swap one check for one person. When the urge comes, ring a friend, a sister or a neighbor instead.
4. Leave the phone out of the bedroom for three nights and see how you sleep.
5. Look at the week, not the word. Is this person kind, does he keep plans, does he write back in his own time? That tells you far more than “Read.”

Bev tried the kettle trick. Tom’s reply arrived at 6:15: “Those tomatoes put mine to shame. Lunch Friday?” She saw it at seven, after supper, which turned out to be soon enough.