Put the Phone Down: A Loving Warning About Our Children’s Mental Health

Picture this: a community event, a social room with tens of tables. A family seating in a table of twelve. The food is warm, the laughter is easy, and three teenagers sit side by side, heads bowed over glowing screens, thumbs scrolling through worlds invisible to everyone around them. A young child tugs at one of their sleeves and asks them to come outside and explore. The answer, without a moment’s hesitation, is “no.” 

Then you look around and regrettably witness a few other instances in the room where young kids and adults are sharing a table, with some, regardless of age, paying more attention to their electronic device than to those around them.

This is National Mental Health Awareness Month, and the timing feels urgent. We can’t remain silent. Because what we’re watching unfold in the lives of our young people is not a phase, not a quirk of modern adolescence, and not something we can afford to normalize. 

It’s a mental health crisis: quiet, pervasive, and preventable. And the science is clear, and also alarming. 

In his landmark book The Anxious Generation, social psychologist Jonathan Haidt, PhD, identifies what he calls “the great rewiring of childhood,” a global shift, beginning around 2012, when smartphones, gaming and social media platforms fundamentally changed how children grow up.

And the data is unambiguous: rates of anxiety, depression, and self-harm among teenagers increased by 50 to 100 percent in the years following that inflection point.

During an interview with the American Medical Association in 2024, Haidt outlined four critical harms that affect all young people who grow up with a phone-based rather than play-based childhood:

• Sleep deprivation. Screens in bedrooms rob children of restorative sleep with long-term consequences for mood, cognition, and development.
• Social deprivation. Time spent with friends in person has plummeted. Gen Z began socially distancing, not because of COVID, but because of smartphones as early as 2012.
• Attention fragmentation. Constant notifications destroy the ability to focus, think deeply, and learn. Academic performance has declined across the developed world since 2012.
• Addiction. Social media platforms are deliberately designed to mirror slot machines. Between 5 and 15 percent of young people are, by meaningful clinical measures, addicted.

Given our formal training and work in neuropsychology and leadership, we have long known what the research continues to confirm: the human brain, particularly during adolescence, is exquisitely sensitive to its environment. The architecture of the developing brain is literally being shaped, and in too many cases, reshaped by the relentless stimulation of algorithm-driven platforms. 

The mirror neuron systems that underpin empathy and social learning, the prefrontal circuits governing self-regulation and decision-making, the dopamine pathways tied to motivation and reward, all of these are vulnerable to the kind of chronic, low-quality stimulation that various electronic devices deliver by design.

We have witnessed the four critical harms noted by Haidt too often. The scene we described at the opening of this blog is not hypothetical. We have lived it. And we suspect you have too. 

We have watched teenagers struggle to make eye contact, avoid live conversations because they’re “too awkward” (hence the one-word response to even casual conversation), and decline invitations for real-world connection because the pull of the screen is stronger (kids wanting to stay at home on their computers rather than spend time with a friend at their house, because “it’s boring”). 

We have seen young people at family dinners who are, quite literally, present in body but absent in soul. And we have seen the heartbreak on the faces of the younger children who still know how to want connection, who reach out a hand and get nothing in return, worse yet, feel rejected.

We have therefore engaged in dialogue with others about this. We have shared research. We have gifted copies of The Anxious Generation and its companion workbook to family members and close friends.

The main message we want to share is that human beings are wired for connection. Research from long standing studies on wellbeing to modern workplace insights, consistently shows that relationships are the foundation of a meaningful life. 

When screens begin to replace connection rather than support it, we lose something essential: eye contact, active listening, empathy in real time, the ability to navigate discomfort in conversation, shared experiences that build belonging. And perhaps most concerning, we normalize it.

We wish to be clear about the following: we are not anti-technology. We use and appreciate what technology offers. The early internet was, in many ways, extraordinary. The issue is not technology itself; it’s the specific, addictive impact of electronically delivered social media and gaming platforms, deployed without guardrails, into the hands of developing children. 

So what can we do? The encouraging news is this: we are not powerless. And the actions available to us are not expensive or complicated. They require something more fundamental: the willingness to lead, to hold a line with love, and to act together.

• Delay smartphones until high school. Overwhelmingly, parents give their children a phone in case of emergency. A basic phone (i.e., flip phone) for safety and communication is sufficient. There is no developmental or safety benefit to giving a middle schooler unrestricted smartphone access. On the contrary, there is significant documented risk to doing so.
• Delay social media until at least age 16. Early adolescence is a period of profound neurological vulnerability. We would not hand a child the keys to a car before they are ready. The same logic applies here. Once allowed, set clear guidelines around usage, content, and time.
• Keep screens out of bedrooms. Sleep is non-negotiable for healthy brain development. Charge devices outside the bedroom, every night, without exception.
• Teach, not just restrict. Help children and youth understand why boundaries exist. Share age-appropriate insights about how technology impacts the brain, emotions, and relationships.
• Model the behavior you want to see. Put your own phone down at family gatherings. Be the adult who is fully present. Children learn from what we do far more than from what we say. And, please, stop sharing excuses as to why you must be regularly “checking” your smartphone. 
• Create phone-free zones and times. Meals, family events, outdoor time, and bedtime are natural starting points. Make these agreements and hold them.
• Create collective accountability. Talk with other parents, caregivers, and educators. When expectations are aligned across environments, they become easier to uphold.
• Champion phone-free schools. Join your school community in advocating for policies that keep phones out of classrooms and hallways. This movement is gaining real momentum worldwide.
• Give children back the gift of unstructured play. Outdoor play, mixed-age groups, and yes, even risk and challenge are not optional extras. They are the conditions under which healthy human beings develop.

Change is already happening. Legislation is advancing. Schools are adopting phone-free policies. Parents are finding each other and holding the line together. Scientists, physicians, and mental health professionals are speaking in one voice.

As Haidt writes, none of this requires new technology or new funding. It requires shared norms, adopted collectively, because the power of these norms lies precisely in their being shared. 

When enough of us decide that we will not give our young children an unmonitored electronic device, the social pressure that drives that decision in the first-place dissolves.

Our children are not broken. They are responding, predictably and neurologically, to an environment that was not designed for their wellbeing. That environment was designed by adults, and it can be changed by adults: by all of us.

We invite you to join us. Put the phone down. Look up. And choose presence and connection, with our children, and with each other.