Of course, all of this would translate as hypocrisy if I didn’t have a healthy relationship to my own smartphone. I kicked Instagram a couple of years ago, and my husband and I rarely have our phones out when our kids are around. My daughter has seen me take tech sabbaticals, and I explain to her in real time what makes it hard to be constantly connected. (“See how many texts I’ve gotten just since we’ve been sitting here? And they all want me to do something!”) At the same time, I show her the research. I once paid her $10 to read a study about self-esteem in tweens who use social media. She may think I’m crazy, but she at least knows I have the backing of experts.
I remember trying to stay alive in the cutthroat arena of the middle school cafeteria, and I keep that empathy close to the surface. I often assure my daughter that I see how it could be hard for her not to have a phone in certain situations, and these regular acknowledgments help stave off her complaints. We talk a lot about how living a meaningful life may require making different choices than the kids around her, but that hard things are worth it. By waiting a little longer than her friends, she’s been able to watch them disappear into their phones, something that seems less appealing when you can feel its effects as an outsider.
I do have to give on other issues. Parents can be fanatical about only a couple of things — clean nutrition, maybe, or excellence in sports. I choose to put my energy toward reducing screen time, and I surrender some of the other stuff. Do I love that she and her friends pass around candy like, well, candy? Do I love that they all “need” a newly trendy water bottle every six months? I do not. But by giving in where I can, I show her that the phone issue is not a lack of trust or a desire to ruin her social standing.
My husband and I originally told our kids they could have smartphones when they got to high school. My hope is to preserve a free-range, imaginative childhood — but also to give my kids phones early enough to educate them on safe usage while they’re still living under our roof. Within those goals, though, there’s plenty of wiggle room, and my daughter has made a decent case for a phone in eighth grade. She knows I’m open to changing my mind, and that, whatever we decide, her reasons matter to us. After all, there’s no mom trophy for holding out, and kids tend to revolt when they catch the scent of implacability.
I believe a phone-free childhood is a gift my daughter can draw on for the rest of her life, and I’m careful to frame our choice as a gift rather than a punishment. Her understanding is developmentally limited by short-term thinking, but she is at least convinced that I believe what I’m saying. One day — when she’s chained to her screens like the rest of us adults, her phone buzzing nonstop in her pocket — her independent childhood is something no one will be able to take from her.
This article originally appeared on HuffPost.
