Digital Abandonment: What Happens When Children Compete with Smartphones

Look Up: A Child’s Plea to Parents Lost in Screens

"There is no such thing as a perfect parent. So just be a real one." — Sue Atkins

I was not born asking for much. A year into this world, I only knew the warmth of your arms, the rhythm of your voices, the comfort of your heartbeat. Yet, one morning, everything changed.

I hope you are doing well. I truly see your struggles — the long hours, the pressure of careers, the endless attempts to balance everything. I know you fight daily battles so that our bills are paid, so that life feels comfortable, so that I grow up with opportunities. For that, I thank you. But today, I ask you to see another truth: my battles.

When I was barely one year old, you put me in a day-care. One year — let me repeat. One year. I had no words, but I had tears. I cried for hours, reaching for the two people who had brought me into this world. And while I cried, you sat outside, not holding me, not soothing me — but watching me through your phones. Do you know how it feels when the only safety I knew handed me to a stranger’s arms?

Until that day, my world was small but whole. Your touch, your scent, your voices — that was my universe. And then suddenly, without asking me, you cut me out of it. A stranger’s face replaced yours.

I was still dependent on breastfeeding, and yet, that natural nectar was taken away too. Ten long hours every single day — without the comfort of your embrace, without the food nature designed me to receive, without a familiar face. Can you imagine how lonely that feels for a child who has barely lived a year? What a welcome into life. Was it easy for me? Just think over it.

But somehow, I survived. Children always do, don’t they? We learn to adapt, even to wounds invisible to the eye. I was almost always the first one to arrive at school and the last one to leave. Do you know what that means? It means I sat and waited — watching other children run into their parents’ arms, hearing their laughter echo as they left, while my own little heart whispered: When will mine come?

Do you know the weight of waiting eyes? The kind that light up every time a door opens, only to fall again when it isn’t you? I was barely a year and a half, and yet I was already learning disappointment. Just think over it.

You will say, “We had to do this for our careers.” I can try to understand that part. I really can. But what I cannot understand is why, even when you come home, you still don’t choose me. You enter the house, but your attention doesn’t. Your phones get the smiles, the laughter, the focus that should have been mine.

I ask you — do you even remember what you do on those phones? Which videos? Which chats? Which feeds? Tell me — is there anything on that screen more alive than me? More real than me? More yours than me?

When I try to take your phones, you say it’s “bad” for me. If it is bad for me, why is it good for you? Just think over it.

Slowly, I feel the bond thinning. I see myself craving screens too, because that is what I see you love. I feel restless when the device is taken away. I cling to it like it’s oxygen. Do you realize what that means? That’s addiction. That’s how addicts behave. Am I becoming one? And if yes, isn’t it you who handed me this inheritance?

So I ask you again: are you making me an addict willingly? If yes, then we are no longer a family — we are a chain of dependents bound to glowing rectangles. If no, then why are you pushing me toward this slow poison?

You say you see me through photos and live streams the school sends. But do you not see the absurdity of that? That you need a screen to see your child, when I sit here in flesh and blood? You say, “Look, I saw you smiling today in class!” But Mumma, Papa — I wasn’t smiling for the camera. I was smiling in spite of it. Because deep down, I was still waiting for you.

"The greatest gifts you can give your children are the roots of responsibility and the wings of independence." — Denis Waitley.

But how can I grow roots when the soil of love feels neglected? How can I grow wings when my own parents teach me dependence — not on them, but on devices?

I don’t need a perfect life. I don’t need expensive toys. I don’t need luxury. All I need — all I have ever needed — is you. Your attention. Your presence. Your voice unfiltered by a speaker, your eyes unclouded by a screen.

I am not asking for everything. I am asking for something that only you can give, and that no device ever can.

So, Mumma, Papa — if your chest still beats with love, if your mind still remembers its duty, then choose me. Choose me before the world. Choose me before the screen. Hug me before you scroll. Look at me before you unlock. Because if you don’t, one day I may stop waiting. One day, my eyes may no longer look for you.

And if that day comes — no phone will ever bring me back.

Yours,
Your Child

Just think over it.

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