Evan Puschak (aka The Nerdwriter) is widely admired for his ability to blend intellectual clarity with emotional honesty. In Escape into Meaning (2022), his essay “I Think the Internet Wants to Be My Mind” explores how our digital habits reshape not just what we know, but how we think, remember, and experience ourselves. For clinicians and patients alike, especially those living with chronic disease, his reflections feel strikingly relevant.

Puschak begins with something familiar: the automatic reach for the phone. The tiny impulse to check, to confirm, to distract. He notes how the internet has shifted from a tool we consciously use to an extension of our own mental processes. Autocomplete finishes our thoughts; search engines store our knowledge; notifications tug at our attention. He writes with humor rather than alarm, acknowledging how reflexive and relatable these habits have become.

Several psychological studies echo his observations. Research on transactive memory shows that when people expect information to be stored externally, their ability to recall that information weakens. They remember where to find it rather than what it was. Work on autobiographical memory in the digital age further suggests that heavy reliance on external recording—photos, posts, search histories—subtly shifts how people attend to and recall their experiences.

For many patients managing chronic illness, these cognitive shifts intersect with an already complex landscape: medical appointments, medication schedules, symptom tracking, lab values, conflicting online information, and the emotional burden of uncertainty. When patients describe feeling foggy, forgetful, or overwhelmed, it is important to recognize that they are navigating not just illness but a cultural environment that disperses attention and memory.

Puschak’s playful tone matters here. Instead of pathologizing distraction, he invites curiosity about how our minds adapt in a digitally mediated world. This same attitude can help clinicians discuss cognitive and emotional concerns with patients—without shame, and with shared understanding.

In this context, the role of narrative becomes crucial. Chronic illness can bring repeated shocks to the sense of continuity: unexpected diagnoses, hospitalizations, physical changes, and the steady erosion of former routines. These experiences can accumulate into a kind of ongoing trauma. Trauma, in psychological terms, is not only what happened but what overwhelms the capacity to make meaning. And meaning is made through narrative.

A coherent narrative is more than storytelling—it is a psychological framework that organizes memories and helps a person integrate difficult experiences into a broader understanding of themselves. Research in trauma psychology shows that when individuals construct narratives—by speaking, writing, or reflecting—they strengthen emotional processing, reduce intrusive symptoms, and restore a sense of agency. Narrative helps convert isolated moments of suffering into a timeline that can be understood, shared, and lived with.

But digital life complicates this process. When memories are increasingly externalized—captured as fragments in photos or scattered across devices—the sense of a continuous story can weaken. Patients may remember where data lives (in apps, in lab portals, in search histories) but feel less connected to the thread linking these moments. Encouraging patients to reflect, journal, or verbally narrate their experiences helps rebuild this thread. It roots identity in lived experience rather than in the scattered traces of a digital archive.

Research on extended cognition supports this understanding. Scholars like Richard Heersmink and John Sutton argue that digital tools do not merely supplement memory; they reshape the entire cognitive ecosystem. For patients, this means that managing illness in the digital era involves both biological and cognitive adaptation. Devices can support care, but they can also scatter attention, disrupt memory, and introduce emotional turbulence. Helping patients take mindful ownership of their narrative is a way of counterbalancing that fragmentation.

Clinically, this might involve asking patients not only what they remember but how they remember: Do they rely on phone reminders? Do they look things up repeatedly? Do they journal? Do they discuss experiences with loved ones? These questions open space for reflection on the relationship between digital habits and illness management. They also acknowledge the patient’s agency—the ability to shape their story, even amid uncertainty.

Puschak’s essay ultimately serves as an invitation to awareness. It reminds us that the internet has become a silent companion in nearly every cognitive act we perform. It nudges us to laugh at the ways our minds tangle with our devices, and to reclaim the parts of thinking that feel most human—reflection, attention, memory, and meaning. For patients and clinicians navigating chronic illness, these themes are not abstract; they are lived every day. The digital world shapes how patients approach symptoms, how they interpret information, and how they build coherence in the face of disruption.

In this essay, Puschak becomes a guide for recognizing how our inner life is shaped by the tools we use. His reflections remind us that caring for the mind involves not only managing biology or behavior, but cultivating the narratives that anchor us, especially in moments of trauma or illness. He invites us to reclaim the parts of our mind that matter most—and to help each other do the same.

References

1. Puschak, E. (2022). Escape into Meaning: Essays on Art, Culture, and the Internet. Penguin Random House.

2. Sparrow, B., Liu, J., & Wegner, D. M. (2011). Google Effects on Memory: Cognitive Consequences of Having Information at Our Fingertips. Science, 333(6043), 776–778.

3. Stone, C. B., Wang, Q., & Boyer, P. (2021). Autobiographical memory in the digital age: How smartphones shape our remembering. Current Directions in Psychological Science, 30(5), 394–400.

4. Heersmink, R. (2018). The Internet, Cognitive Enhancement, and the Values of Cognition. Minds and Machines, 28, 495–512.