8 hours ago
13
I am a psychotherapist who works with frazzled, snappy parents, and spend my days writing about why we struggle to find calm. I also used to pick up my phone hundreds of times a day, failing to realise that it was making me a snappier, more irritable, less present mother.
My phone was my office, my income, my means of communication. Every time I checked it, there was something to action, a notification of something new, something that told me I was useful and productive, giving me dopamine hits that motherhood didn’t offer. It had become my coping mechanism.
The phone was also where I went to decompress, to have five minutes that felt like mine. But while social media appears to be the most stimulating thing in the universe, what felt like rest was actually just a further demand on my already stretched mind.
When I thought about how much time I spent on my phone, I felt ashamed. That number wasn’t just data; it signified the gap between the available mother I wanted to be and the one I was in those moments.
It was only when I started paying attention to what happened in my body when one of my children (aged seven, nine and 11) interrupted me mid-scroll that something shifted. I felt the spike of irritation and heard a sharpness in my voice. I had been treating my snapping as a patience problem and a character flaw, but what I realised is that reaching for your phone more than you want to is not weakness – it’s biology.
Research shows that for those of us with ADHD, or tired from chronic stress and poor sleep, the pull of the phone is really strong. Impulse control is a frontal lobe function, and that part of our brain weakens when we are tired or overwhelmed. I was going through perimenopause, which makes it harder still as oestrogen declines and the brain becomes more reward-seeking.
I promised to limit my use, but I’d break my own rules every time. So I stopped relying on willpower and downloaded an app called App Block. I cannot access social media or my email during the hours my children are home, and I have 15 minutes to check in once they’re in bed. If I need to do something for work, I go to my laptop, which feels far more intentional.
What I didn’t expect was how much calmer I would feel. The low hum of overstimulation I had normalised turned out to be costing me more than I knew. My nervous system finally had room to breathe. I was less irritable, more present, in a way that didn’t require effort.
One habit that helped was narrating my phone use out loud. When I pick it up in front of the kids, I say: “I’m just adding bananas to the shopping.” It keeps me accountable, because once I’ve said it, I do that one thing and put it down. And it tells my children that I’m not disappearing, as I used to.
Now, when the kids settle in front of the television in the evening, I laze with them and read a book. Being spoken to mid-chapter doesn’t spike stress in the same way. There’s no algorithm or notification vying for my attention. I’d forgotten what it felt like to be bored, where rest lives and ideas surface.
And this change has improved my relationship with my husband. Much of our evenings together had been sitting side by side on our phones, each somewhere else entirely. Without the phone as my default, I’m more available. It’s improved our relationship in ways I didn’t anticipate. We talk more, debriefing over our days. We give each other more undivided attention, which is the most valuable thing you can give anyone.
Reducing the time I spent on my phone has deepened my most important relationships, and that is no small thing. My kids see me relaxed and resting. They tell me about the small details and worries of their days, they snuggle up to me. These moments are so special and now I’m fully present for them.
Anna Mathur is a psychotherapist and author. Her new book, How to Stop Snapping at the People You Love, is published by Penguin Life.
