Inbox FOMO and the Art of Doing Nothing

A friend recently asked me what I’m writing about, and why. I didn’t know how to answer, I think I said something like “I’m not sure yet” or maybe “keep reading and you’ll see.”

But looking back across these posts, at least part of the answer feels clearer: I’m writing about the quiet patterns beneath modern work. Not big strategies or productivity hacks, but the everyday frictions that shape execution, from inbox anxiety to discipline gaps to the subtle ways attention drifts. These aren’t loud problems, but they matter. The more we notice them, the more choice we have, and the more space we get to work a little differently.

And if you’re wondering what that looks like in real life , here’s another example.

I don’t check my inbox on weekends. At least, that’s what I tell myself. Especially in summer, when the out-of-office replies multiply and everything moves half a beat slower. But still, I check, just in case.

It’s rarely that I expect something urgent. And it’s not because I want to get ahead. I check because something in me twitches when I’m not in the loop. It’s quiet, but slightly tense: What if something happens and I’m not there to see it?

This goes beyond bad habits. There’s a deeper mix of FOMO, technostress, and a quiet kind of separation anxiety that’s become part of modern work.

Forget the flashy kind of FOMO. This one is work-shaped. What if someone sends me something important and I miss it? What if people think I’m unresponsive? What if I drop the ball without realizing it? Inbox FOMO is part vigilance, part guilt, and part identity. Especially in middle management, where your role is often to catch issues early, fill in the cracks, or show you’re on top of things without being asked. You’re chasing peace of mind. Just trying to stay in the loop, or at least not fall out of it.

Part of what fuels this loop is technostress, a term coined in the 1980s that feels even more real today. It’s the strain that comes from adapting to or being overloaded by digital technologies. Always-on tools like, email, Teams, and WhatsApp create an unspoken expectation of constant responsiveness. You stop working, but your attention doesn’t.

Then comes the quieter layer: separation anxiety. A low-grade unease that creeps in when you’re disconnected. Not addiction, just the sense that usefulness and control are tied to being reachable. The worry isn’t missing a message. It’s fading into the background, becoming uninformed, out of sync, or quietly overlooked.

The problem gets worse when teams never define what responsiveness really means. Without clear norms, everyone lives in a low-level state of overcompensation: replying too quickly, checking too often, staying visible just in case. Guilt thrives in that grey area.

Remote work adds another twist. In a physical office, visibility and presence are easier to calibrate: a nod in the hallway, a quick “good morning,” the natural rhythm of start and stop. But when you work from home, your inbox becomes your presence, and responsiveness becomes your proxy for engagement. That makes it even harder to unplug. You’re not just managing emails, you’re managing perception.

And all of this is layered on top of something deeper: the idea that your value is tied to being available. That presence equals dependability. It’s a trap that starts early and rarely gets challenged. As Oliver Burkeman writes in Four Thousand Weeks, the pursuit of inbox zero, that fantasy of perfect control, is less about productivity and more about soothing the anxiety of an unmanageable world. Clearing the inbox feels like progress, even when it’s just deferral (I mentioned Burkeman’s Four Thousand Weeks in the previous post, turns out, it keeps coming up even though I read this book over an year ago).

So what do you do when you can’t fully log off, but you also can’t keep living inside your inbox?

Start by setting a rhythm. Decide how often you’ll check messages and make that rhythm known. “I check email every 2 hours and go offline after 6.” Say it once. Stick to it. Clarity reduces anxiety, for you and for those around you.

Then, re-anchor your value. Responsiveness isn’t leadership. Judgment is. Follow-through is. The real scoreboard is what moved forward, not what came in. A well-timed decision or clear document usually carries more weight than fifty quick replies.

Build better trust loops. Use weekly check-ins, shared docs, or clearer handoffs so your team doesn’t rely on constant availability. When people know what to expect and when, they stop chasing you for every update. Trust scales through structure, not presence.

Catch the story behind the guilt. The next time you feel the itch to check, pause. What’s really going on? Is it fear of missing out? Fear of looking careless? Name the story. Then decide if it’s true — or if you’re just responding to old signals that no longer serve you.

Make absence visible. “I’m unplugged for the rest of the day, will respond in the morning.” Say it clearly. Model it calmly. Normalize silence as part of a healthy rhythm. If you manage people, go one step further: invite them to do the same. When absence is acknowledged and accepted, it stops being interpreted as neglect.

Consider designing team-wide agreements. If you’re in a position to shape the culture, try codifying communication expectations: response windows, escalation paths, and quiet hours. These small guardrails create room for attention to settle, and for people to breathe.

Experiment with turning off notifications for specific windows. Even 60–90 minute blocks of undisturbed time can rewire your reflexes. But silencing alerts only works if you replace them with intentional rhythms. Turn them off and then decide when you will check. Without that second part, you’ve removed the ping but not the habit. Let your team know your rhythm. Make space for focus. And when possible, use your tools to help, schedule replies, block distractions, and make disconnection visible. Create rituals that signal disconnection: closing the laptop, stepping away from the phone, physically leaving your desk.

And finally, zoom out. Are your tools serving your goals, or just feeding your anxiety? Rethink whether everything really needs to flow through email. Not every task requires a thread. Not every question needs an instant reply.

This isn’t about inbox tips, it’s a reflection on how we hold ourselves, and how we let others hold us, in a culture that never stops pinging. It’s a reflection on how we hold ourselves, and how we let others hold us, in a culture that never stops pinging.

Inbox FOMO, technostress, and low-grade separation anxiety all point to the same condition: chronic attentional drain. You don’t solve it by logging off once. You solve it by reshaping how you define presence, trust, and value for yourself, and for the team around you.

Disconnection shouldn’t feel like abandonment. Especially not in July, with the sea in your ears and sandals on your feet. It should feel like exactly what it is: a break. Even when you’re not in the loop, you can still be exactly where you’re needed.

Related:

• Mind the Discipline Gap
• The Attention Map Behind Every Strategy