Blog – Navigating Digital Fatigue and Techno-Resistance

If you’d told me before the pandemic that much of my research and my daily life would be filtered through a screen, I’d have laughed (and maybe cringed a bit at the thought). Yet here I am, just like so many others in dementia research, juggling Zoom meetings, virtual conferences, and wondering how much worse my eyesight is going to get.

Don’t get me wrong, we all know that digital tools have opened doors and broken down barriers. They’ve made it possible to keep studies running through the lockdowns that we’d all rather forget, traverse geographic barriers without needing to leave our desks, and reach people we might never have connected with before. But there’s a flipside that doesn’t get talked about nearly enough – the creeping exhaustion that comes with constant screen time, wobbly wifi, and the feeling that sometimes technology makes things harder, not easier.

Just to be clear, this isn’t just about me either. I’ve seen digital fatigue first-hand from those living with dementia who engage with my work and that of many others that I know. For some, it’s an overload to the senses, for others, a lack of confidence, digital access, or even trust.

In this post, I want to get honest about what digital fatigue and techno-resistance look like in dementia research, from both the researcher and participant perspectives, and how we can avoid being exclusionary in our practice. I’ll share stories, explore why it matters, and swap tips for making our tech-fuelled world a little kinder for everyone involved. Because sometimes, the most innovative approach is just picking up the phone or remembering that it’s ok to take a break.

Screen time realities: Fatigue and frustration in everyday research

Recently, I had a conversation with a person about their lived experience. They had tried to valiantly navigate a video call, but ultimately frustration led to an exasperated sigh of “Can’t we just meet up for a cuppa?” The tone was playful, but the implication was clear: for some, technology isn’t an open door but rather an unwelcome hurdle.

People who live with dementia, and their families and caregivers, are navigating daily life with enough on their plates already. When you then add a parade of different platforms to use and understand, it’s no wonder many end up frazzled or frustrated. Some don’t own smartphones or struggle with all the little onscreen buttons that seem obvious until they’re…well, not.

It’s also not just the logistics, there’s a real emotional cost. I’ve heard from families who worry that their loved one is being left behind, either because the digital world feels inaccessible or because it simply drains their energy in ways that face-to-face contact never did.

The researcher’s perspective

It’s really easy to assume that researchers are “digital natives”, happily multitasking across a sea of tabs and apps. But let’s be honest, a lot of us have had to muddle through as we go, too. For every tech glitch I’ve solved, I’ve also had other issues with dropped connections, lost files, and my cat walking across the screen with no warning.

There’s a strange guilt to feeling digitally fatigued when tech is supposed to make things easier. Some days, the load to balance in adding more tech to our day-to-day research lives, and helping participants and families do the same, can make your brain feel a bit like a buffering wheel, perpetually spinning and trying to keep up.

And then there’s the “human” bit – eye contact through webcams, reading body language in a mosaic of tiny digital tiles, gentle prompts lost to lagging or silence. For a field where rapport and empathy are everything, screens can feel like a barrier, making it harder to bring our whole selves, and really connect.

Just when you think you’re wrapping your head around all the video calls, platforms and endless notifications, along comes another layer of tech to grapple with: artificial intelligence.

AI in dementia research: embracing the future with caution

It’s hard to ignore the growing presence of AI in dementia research. New screening tools with “intelligent” algorithms, chatbots for caregiver support, and predictive analytics arriving faster than I can keep up. Sometimes, I feel both fascinated and a little uneasy, especially when I catch myself wondering “Will AI really make our work more human-friendly, or just add another learning curve?”

I’ve picked up on anxieties amongst participants and lived experience groups too. Some worry about how their responses might be judged by a ‘machine’ that lacks human nuance, or how their privacy could be affected. There’s relief when people find out that there are still humans listening and caring as much about the story as they do the data. However, at the same time, the buzz around AI sometimes creates the expectation that it will “fix” everything, glossing over the importance of that aforementioned human nuance.

I try to be as transparent as possible about how (and why) new technologies like AI are used, and equally, their limits. Sometimes, that means having conversations about consent, privacy, or what really happens with the information people share. Reassuringly, these conversations nearly always bring us back to the same truth: tools might be getting smarter, but dementia research is (or should be) first and foremost about people. 

When tech creates distance, not inclusion

There’s often a well-meaning belief that providing digital access is key to research inclusion. But in reality, true inclusion in dementia research means going beyond just technology – it’s about understanding and honouring how people want to take part.

I’ve seen people relax visibly when offered the choice to join by telephone or receive paper documents instead of being pushed online. Sometimes, the most inclusive thing we can do is to slow down and ask “How would you prefer to take part?” rather than defaulting to digital. For some, the screen is a lifeline; for others, it’s a wall. I’ve heard many stories of the connection an online option has given, but I have also heard many about the pressure, confusion, and embarrassment that others have felt if tech didn’t work smoothly.

Cultural and generational factors also matter. In some families and communities, face-to-face meetings are seen as a sign of respect or trust, and a webcam simply doesn’t carry the same weight. And for people with sensory or cognitive challenges, the very things that make digital tools efficient can make them inaccessible.

At the end of the day, meaningful inclusion means flexibility, patience, and a willingness to question our own assumptions about convenience. Sometimes it’s not about adding more tech, but about asking better questions, and being ready to meet people where they are, even if that means going offline. 

Swapping survival tips

After more than a few “can you hear me now?” moments and enough email threads about missing meeting links to fill a novel, I’ve created a small library of workarounds and wisdom – from both colleagues and participants – that genuinely make life easier for everyone.

• Lead with choice: start every project or interaction by offering real options – phone, video, post, or even a face-to-face chat if possible. Sometimes, just knowing there’s an alternative takes the pressure off.
• Keep it simple: When you do use digital tools, the plainer and more familiar, the better. I now try to share step-by-step instructions, and never assume that everyone has prior knowledge of the meeting software that is being used.
• Normalise tech glitches: I openly admit when my own wifi drops off or I fumble with a mute button. Hearing me say “this happens to all of us, honestly!” helps those who are less confident with the technology to relax and join in without worrying about the idea that they may ‘mess up.’
• Be generous with time: build in extra minutes (or even a second appointment) for people who need them. Rushing is the enemy of inclusion, especially when learning something new is involved.
• Ask for feedback (and listen to it!): I regularly check in and note preferences of those I interact with during the course of my research.
• Don’t underestimate paper: For some, a posted consent form is miles easier than navigating yet another portal. Bringing “old-school” options back can feel surprisingly fresh and inclusive.
• Self-care for researchers: It’s not just participants who need a break. If I am frazzled, I step away from the screen between sessions or schedule a catch-up that doesn’t involve yet another video call, where possible.

These aren’t radical hacks, but in a tech-filled world, a little flexibility and goodwill can go a long way.

Looking forward

As we continue to innovate, it is essential that we balance the promise of new technologies with the lived realities of those involved in dementia research. Digital tools and AI have enormous potential to accelerate and broaden participation, but they are not a panacea.

Looking ahead, I hope we cultivate approaches that are as adaptable and compassionate as the people at the heart of our studies. This means listening carefully, creating space for diverse preferences, and recognising when simpler, human-centred methods are best.

By doing so, dementia research can remain both cutting-edge and deeply connected to the individuals and communities it serves. The future may be digital, but our focus must always be on respect, inclusion, and care.

Jodi Watt

Author

Dr Jodi Watt is a Postdoctoral Researcher at University of Glasgow. Jodi’s academic interests are in both healthy ageing and neurodegenerative diseases of older age, and they are currently working on drug repurposing for dementia. Previously they worked on understanding structural, metabolic and physiological brain changes with age, as measured using magnetic resonance imaging. As a queer and neurodiverse person, Jodi is also incredibly interested in improving diversity and inclusion practices both within and outside of the academic context.

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