I’d like to take a moment to share something I find very familiar – though, perhaps, many of us do not call it by that name.
I envision a teen lying in bed late one evening; their smartphone lies on top of the blankets as it glows. Perhaps this image resonates with me (and possibly you) because we have all witnessed it. Possibly because each of us has lived through this experience.
One video leads to another. A casual scroll through your feeds grows to 30 minutes, 60 minutes pass before you realize that you are no longer casually scrolling through your feeds. Celebrities break up. Natural disasters dominate headlines. You see photos of a party which you had no knowledge of. At some point during this process you begin to feel a knot forming in your stomach. Your brain feels as if it is screaming at you. You are connected to everything and yet you feel utterly disconnected.
This is no longer unique. This is the new norm.
It is easy to refer to today’s youth as “anxious,” and the term “anxious generation” is commonly used because it reflects what parents, educators, physicians, and particularly children can observe. Anxiety, depression, loneliness and self-injury did not simply increase over the course of the last decade. They increased rapidly and across nations, cultures and socioeconomic groups. Something altered in the perception of growing up and it occurred rapidly, nearly instantaneously.
When I analyze the data, I am struck by the fact that it is not the magnitude of the problem that I see, but rather the rapidity of the shift. Youth mental health remained relatively consistent for years, then approximately between 2010-2012, the bottom fell out. Rates of anxiety and depression rose sharply. Self-harm hospitalizations rose sharply. None of these issues were related to war, economic collapse, or a global pandemic. In reality, things were fine.
As such, I continued to ask myself: What happened?
While the answer cannot solely be attributed to screens and while there is certainly an element of idealization regarding the past (there is no perfect past), something fundamental altered within childhood.
When I reflect on how children grew up historically, I consider free play, wandering through neighborhoods, boredom, taking risks, falling down, fighting with friends and then resolving disputes. While this type of childhood was enjoyable, it served as a form of training for children. It allowed them to develop the ability to deal with fear, rejection, uncertainty and conflict in small doses.
However, prior to the introduction of the first smartphone, that type of world was disappearing. Children were becoming increasingly fearful of their environment. Neighborhoods were perceived as being unsafe. Children were being monitored more closely than previously. They were also being secluded more frequently and trusted less. Free play was being organized. Recess was becoming shorter. The risk associated with daily life was being systematically eliminated.
Then the smartphone arrived and completed the task.
With the arrival of smartphones, children suddenly had the means to entertain themselves. They no longer needed to be bored. They no longer needed to negotiate relationships with their peers in person. Their devices provided endless options for social interaction, validation and distraction – instantly, endlessly and with minimal effort.
At first, the smartphone functioned as a tool. Eventually it evolved into a place. The primary place. The primary location for the development of peer relationships. The primary location for determining status. The primary location for developing identity.
This is where the breakdown of social norms occurred.
Social media provided teenagers a platform to interact with others, however, it also allowed them to evaluate their self-worth on a daily basis. Each posting became a performance. Each photo an audition. Each moment of silence could be perceived as a possible rejection. Was I liked? Was I good enough? Did I belong?
Many teenage girls experienced an intense need to compare their lives to those who were portrayed as perfect. Perfect bodies. Perfect lives. Filtered photos eliminating all imperfections. Popularity was now quantifiable through screen views. Self-worth had become measurable.
For many teenage boys, the pull was different but had an equally devastating effect. Online gaming, thousands of hours of video content, pornography, online forums to anonymously connect with other users—each of these options provided a place for teenage boys to disconnect rather than be noticed. Some disengaged quietly. Others became angry. Others felt completely useless.
The phone was always available. Whether in school, at the dinner table, or in bed at night —the phone was always there. Even when it wasn’t making a noise, the phone was demanding attention. Young brains, which are developing at such a rapid pace, adapted to this demand.
I’m not sure we fully grasp what it means to grow up without having time for boredom anymore. Long periods of quiet time have been eliminated. The mental space to imagine and think deeply has disappeared. The brain does not rest when it is continuously stimulated. Attention span weakens. Memories deteriorate. Anxiety grows.
But the content itself is also a problem.
A teenager scrolling through their feed today is not simply looking at jokes and trending topics. They are viewing images and information about climate collapse, war, mass shooting events, cruelty, anger, and despair—algorithms are designed to present them with the maximum amount of fear, which will keep them engaged. Teenagers’ brains are wired to react to threats as immediate and urgent. The Internet presents an ongoing stream of them.
I’m not overstating the case when I say many children are currently living in a state of low-grade panic. The world appears to be falling apart. The future seems daunting. However, children are simultaneously experiencing pressure to appear as though they are happy, successful, and unbothered.
Together, the pressures create a difficult scenario.
What hurts the most is that none of this was truly voluntary. Children were not asked if they wanted to participate in a global study about how technology impacts youth. We didn’t perform any experiments or hold a waiting period. We simply gave youth smartphones and expected the best.
At this point, we are dealing with the effects.
However, I don’t feel hopeless.
I witness parents pushing back against the use of phones; establishing guidelines with their children and setting boundaries. I observe schools securing phones and observing students regain focus and experience joy. I hear teenagers stating that this cannot continue —that they want something else.
It’s significant.
I believe we can alter the trajectory of this narrative. Not immediately. Not perfectly. But meaningfully. We may be able to restore space for genuine life to exist. Space to take risks. Time to be bored. Space to be present.
We can instruct youth not merely how to utilize technology, but how to remove themselves from it without feeling guilty. We can demonstrate the behavior ourselves—by putting the phone down, focusing on the present, and being entirely in the moment.
Most importantly, we can pay attention. Listen. Truly listen. What is beneath the scrolling? What is behind the selfie? What is behind the silence?
They did not develop this environment. We did.
And I believe we owe it to them—not with remorse or shame, but with humility and bravery—to design something superior. An environment that feels steady. One that is human. One worth turning off your phone for.
Perhaps, by doing so for them, we will also find a way to rediscover how to do so for ourselves.
